Running From My Abusive Husband, Claimed By A Biker

Chapter Ten

Emma’s POV

I couldn't move. I couldn't even breathe. The violin felt impossibly heavy in my hands as Ryder took a slow, menacing step into the doorway, his broad frame blocking out the light.

"I asked you a question," he growled, his voice dropping an octave, raspy and laced with pure venom. "What the hell are you doing in this room?"

My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. The way he glared at the walls, at the instrument in my hands, made it crystal clear—this wasn't just some random storage area. This room belonged to someone. Someone important enough that setting foot inside it was an absolute sin, though I had no idea who.

"I... I'm sorry," I choked out, my voice trembling violently as I backed away from the stand. "I didn't know—"

"I told you we were back," Ryder snapped, cutting me off coldly. His eyes were narrowed, lethal and unyielding, practically vibrating with a dark, territorial rage. "That didn't mean you get to wander through this house, and you sure as hell don't enter this room or touch a single thing in it. Get out."

The sheer, venomous harshness in his tone hit me like a physical slap.

Hot tears pricked the backs of my eyes, instantly pooling in my lower lids. I set the violin back onto its stand with frantic, shaking hands, not daring to look him in the eye as a tear spilled over my cheek.

I didn't say another word. I practically scrambled past him, ducking under his broad shoulder as I bolted out the door. The tear-streaked hallway blurred in front of me as I ran as fast as my bare feet could carry me, ducking past Tank and Jax, who scrambled out of my way in quiet shock.

I burst into my room, slammed the heavy door shut, and threw the deadbolt into place before collapsing against the wood, burying my face in my hands as a silent sob shook my chest.

Ryder’s POV

I stood in the doorway of the music room, my breathing heavy, watching Emma disappear down the dark corridor. The echo of her frantic footsteps faded, followed by the distant, sharp slam of her door.

The silence she left behind was suffocating.

"Man..." Jax muttered quietly behind me, stepping up to the threshold. He kept his tone careful, strictly respectful, but the underlying tension in his voice was clear. "You went heavy on her, Prez."

I didn't answer. My fists were clenched at my sides, my knuckles white as I stared into the space.

Blaze shook his head, sighing softly. He stepped forward and reached out, tapping my shoulder twice in a quiet, cautious gesture—a silent attempt to ground me and bring the temperature down before I tore something apart. "She didn't know whose room this was, Ryder."

The second his fingers touched my leather cut, I shoved my shoulder forward, forcefully shrugging his grip off, "Mind your own business," I growled, my jaw set tight.

Neither of them pushed it. They knew better than to cross me when the dark mood took over, especially when it came to this part of the house. Jax gave a single, respectful nod, pulling Blaze back a step as they began heading down the hall toward the sitting room, where the action movie was still playing on the television.

I turned back to face the dark music room.

As my eyes swept over the interior—the dusty amplifiers, the silent guitars, the violin resting unevenly on its stand—a sharp, sudden jolt hit me right in the center of my chest. It was a physical strike, a violent tug from the past that made my throat tighten.

My hands, still clenched in hard fists, began to tremble. My fingers twitched, shaking uncontrollably as the raw, suffocating pressure in the room pressed down on my shoulders.

I reached out, grabbed the brass handle, and slammed the heavy oak door shut. I pulled the key from my pocket, shoved it into the lock, and turned it until the bolt slid into place with a heavy, final clack. I had forgotten to lock it before leaving tonight. I wouldn't make that mistake again.

I didn't move away. I stood anchored in front of the locked door, my hand resting flat against the cold wood, staring at the keyhole.

Then the memories came.

They came rushing back before I could stop them. Faces I hadn't seen in years. A voice I'd almost forgotten. The faint sound of a melody drifting through this same hallway. Then came the laughter, the blood, the rain—and the sickening realization that I'd broken a promise I was never supposed to break.

Stop it, I snarled internally, gritting my teeth so hard my jaw ached.

I closed my eyes, forcing the air in and out of my lungs in deep, harsh gasps. In. Out. My chest rose and fell heavily against the door frame, the muscles in my back tight as iron as I fought the ghosts off, dragging myself back to the present second by brutal second.

Slowly, the memories retreated into the dark corners of my mind, leaving behind only a dull, aching silence.

I opened my eyes, my breathing finally smoothing out into a quiet, raspy rhythm. The dark rage that had consumed me minutes ago was completely gone, replaced by a cold, heavy realization.

Fuck.

I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing myself silently. I had lost my mind. I had barked at her, terrified her, and driven her out of the room in tears when she didn't even know. She had no idea whose room this was. She was just a girl looking for a piece of peace in a nightmare, and I had descended on her like a monster.

A surge of disgust at my own lack of control boiled over.

Without thinking, I swung my arm back and drove my right fist straight into the wooden wall beside the door frame.

The heavy, sickening crack of dry wall and knuckles echoed through the empty hall. Pain shot up my arm. I pulled my hand back, watching dark, fresh blood seep from the split skin over my knuckles, dripping down my wrist. I didn't even blink. The pain was clean. It was something I deserved.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a silver Zippo, and flicked the wheel. The flame caught, illuminating the dark hall for a fraction of a second before I snapped the casing shut and drew the heavy smoke deep into my lungs. Exhaling a long gray stream, I turned on my heel and walked down the hallway to my own bedroom.

I pushed the door open, stepping inside.

I froze in the doorway, the cigarette dangling between my lips, smoke curling past my eyes into the dim light of the room.

Sitting on the edge of my unmade mattress was Raven.

She leaned back against the wooden headboard, one knee bent, wearing a sheer, black lace nightgown that left nothing to the imagination. Her dark hair was tossed carelessly over one shoulder, her lips painted a deep, blood-red that gleamed under the soft, golden glow of the bedside lamp.

She looked up through heavy lashes, a slow, cat-like smirk spreading across her face as her eyes drifted over me—taking in the leather cut, the fresh blood dripping from my split knuckles, and the dangerous, volatile dark edge still rolling off me in waves.

"You took your sweet time down that hallway, Prez," Raven purred, her voice low, raspy, and thick with suggestion. She slowly uncrossed her legs, the thin silk shifting against her thighs. "I heard you tearing up the house over some little girl touching things she shouldn't."

I stared down at her, the fresh blood from my knuckles dripping onto the hardwood.

We didn't do romance. We didn't do feelings. Raven knew what this was—she’d always been the one I turned to when the noise in my head got too loud, when the lingering stench of cordite, blood, and old memories threatened to pull me under. It was raw, dirty, and cold, but it was an outlet.

And right now, with the taste of failure in my mouth, the memory of Emma’s tears burning behind my eyes, and my knuckles throbbing with fresh pain, I didn't want to think. I just wanted to forget.

I took a final, heavy drag of my cigarette, dropped it to the floor, and crushed the ember beneath the heel of my boot.

I walked over, yanked Raven up by her waist, and slammed her back against the doorframe. Raven gasped, but the surprised look on her face instantly melted into a dark, satisfied smirk. She liked the rough edges. She liked when the monster came out.

"Change of mind, Prez?" she whispered, her voice husky as she wrapped her bare legs around my waist, her long nails digging into the back of my neck.

I didn't answer her. I didn't say a single word.

I kicked the bedroom door shut with the heel of my boot, the heavy lock clicking into place.

My mouth came down on hers—hard, punishing, and completely devoid of warmth. Raven matched the aggression, her hands tearing at the brass zipper of my leather cut, desperate to pull the heavy hide off my shoulders.

I hauled her up, pressing her hard against the wall as her sheer black gown tore under the force of my grip. There was no gentleness in the way I touched her, no soft caress. It was pure, unadulterated friction—a desperate attempt to burn out the image of a tear-streaked face and the ghost of a violin melody that had no place in my world.

Raven let out a breathless, sharp moan as I drove her back onto the mattress, the bed springs creaking under our weight. She threw her head back, her fingers clutching at my sheets as I buried myself in her, pushing hard, fast, and relentless into the dark.

I kept my eyes shut tight the entire time, using her body like a drug to numb the pulse in my skull. I didn't look at her face. I didn't want to see who was under me.

For twenty minutes, the room was filled with the harsh sound of ragged breathing, the slapping of skin, and the raw, animalistic effort of two damaged people using each other for a fix.

When it was over, I pulled out and sat on the edge of the bed, my head hanging low between my shoulders, sweat dripping off my chest onto the floorboards.

Raven lay behind me, catching her breath, a satisfied, lazy smile on her painted lips as she reached out to trace a line down my spine. "Now that," she purred softly, "was exactly what you needed."

"Get dressed and get out," I said, my voice completely dead, staring down at my blood-crusted knuckles in the dim light of the lamp.