He stalks to Jaxon’s side of the car with a predator’s grace, the soles of his boots crunching against the gravel.
Without breaking stride, Ryker slams his palm against the car roof, the force resonating through the metal with a dull thud that makes the entire vehicle tremble as if it might buckle under his rage.
Jaxon doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even turn his head at the sound. Instead, he leans back slightly in his seat, one hand resting lazily on the wheel while the other moves unhurriedly to the window control. The glass slides down inch by agonizing inch, deliberate and controlled, until Ryker’s face comes fully into view. His jaw is clenched so tightly it looks like it might crack under the pressure, his eyes blazing with fury barely held in check.
“What the f**k is she doing in yo
