So, several of you seem to want chapters in Ryder's POV . . . I'll have to think about that. I always intended to write chapters in Ryder's POV but I was going to save those for the bonus chapters. Maybe I'll still do a couple. We'll see.

Enjoy!

I'm woken up by a jacket being thrown in my face. I all but startle myself awake. I grab my glasses from my lap quickly and look up at John from my place on the couch.

He's got a cup of coffee in his hand and he's glaring down at me.

Worst wake-up call ever.

"Get up," He says simply.

I stare at him for a beat too long and he grabs hold of my arm with more force than necessary and hauls me roughly to my feet. My shoulder and chest scream in protest.

He picks up the discarded jacket and shoves it into my hands.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I ask him.

"Strangle yourself with the sleeves," He says flatly. Problem is, I don't think he's joking.

I've barely slipped my arms through the sleeves before John is grabbing my arm and pulling me through the house and out the door. His grip on my arm is like a steel trap and I can feel him cutting off the circulation. Purposely, I'm sure. It takes all my willpower not to cry out when he shoves me roughly into the passenger seat of his car.

I stare out the window at the dark sky and then look back to check the clock on the dashboard. It reads a few minutes past three . . . in the morning. I'd like to kill him.

He's quiet as he backs down the driveway and drives down the street. He says absolutely nothing as we get further and further out of town and more into the less populated countryside.

I look in the back seat of the car and suddenly my stomach knots in unease. "Where exactly are we going?" I ask him.

He remains silent, his attention focused solely out the window and on the road. It's not as if he doesn't hear me. I know he does. He's not off in his own little world and not hearing what I'm asking. Nope. He's just flat out ignoring me.

"Are you planning on burying me in an unmarked grave?" I question. This gets me an answer.

"What made you jump to that conclusion, other than my obvious disdain for you?"

I want to glare at him, I really do. But in this moment, I value my life just a little bit more.

"Well," I start. "it could be the duct tape, shovels, rope, and plastic garbage bags in the back seat."

He doesn't take his eyes off the road for a second. "If I was going to bury you, I'd have brought a coffin. More air trapped inside when you're buried alive."

And that's a fun fact I don't ever need to think about.

"So," I start quietly. "where are we going?"

"I'm done babysitting you." That's all he says and then he goes back to pretending I don't exist.

It seems to take forever to get where we're going, but he finally pulls into the driveway of a large house that looks more like a house of horrors than something someone can live in.

Its color has long since faded, there isn't any glass in the windows just boards nailed across them to keep people out, and the door hangs on one hinge, tilted to the side. There are already various holes throughout the walls and in the front porch and the whole house looks like it's being held together by like, one nail.

I stare up at it in disgust as John gets out of the car. I follow suit until he starts walking up the porch steps. He stops and turns toward me when I don't take another step. He gestures for me to follow him.

I'll pass.

"I'd rather not," I say as I take a step back. "That house looks like it's on the verge of collapsing."

"Good thing I didn't ask for your opinion." He's down the steps faster than any person should be able to move and grabbing hold of my arm once again, dragging me into the house.

I dig my heels into the ground and claw at his hand but it does nothing to stop him. I'm not even sure it fazes him. It's like an elephant moving a kitten. Nothing's going to stop it.

"What are we doing here?" I question as he practically throws me into the middle of the room. I'm unable to keep my balance and all but face plant into the rotting floorboards. I let out a groan and glare up at him.

"We aren't doing anything," John says as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and types something into the screen. He slips it back into his pocket. "I am leaving. You're staying here."

I look at him blankly, not quite processing his words. Actually, I'm processing his words very clearly, I'm just wondering what makes him think I'm actually going to stay here.

"Yeah," I reply slowly. "That's not happening, but you can pretend it is if that makes you feel better."

John smiles at me. Only, it's not the kind of smile that is friendly or even mocking. It's the smile of a predator. The evil kind of smile.

I breathe deeply in an attempt to calm my racing heart as I eye him with caution. I watch as he pulls a gun from his waistband. I feel my eyes widen and breath catch in my throat.

Suddenly it makes sense. I'll be staying here alright. Because I'll be dead.

He raises his arm, aiming the gun at me. A gunshot goes off and I feel myself instinctively curl into a fetal position, my hands raised as if that'll protect me. My eyes closed tightly.

Five more shots echo out and then all is silent. The only sound is my loud gasping as I struggle to catch my breath. There's no pain in my body other than the gunshot wound that was already in my shoulder. I open my eyes and look up at John as he slips his gun back into his waistband. I then examine myself and come to the conclusion that he hasn't, in fact, shot me six more times.

The adrenaline rushing through my body makes me shake, at first in fear but then that slowly turns to anger. I'm just so sick of him shooting at me.

I glare at him defiantly. "Are you just that bad of a shot?" I question, my voice dripping with sarcasm and venom.

He glares back at me, but I don't back down. Not this time.

He suddenly smiles at me again and I have the insane urge to punch him right in his smug face. Maybe I'll break his nose.

I'm so focused on him I don't notice it until it gets louder. My eyes fly around the room, looking for the source of the noise. The second I realize what it is, I jump to my feet but it's too late. Between my weight and John's bullets, the floor gives way beneath me and I fall.

I hit the ground with a hard thud, my body twisted at an awkward angle and screaming in pain. I let out a groan as I roll onto my stomach and push myself up slowly.

Of course, there's a creepy old cellar under the house. Just my luck.

I push away the rotted pieces of wood and wave my hand around, trying to clear the dust from the air. I then turn my attention back to John and glare at him murderously.

He stands with his arms crossed over his chest at the edge of the hole, looking down at me without expression. I continue to glare. His phone pings with an alert and he pulls it from his pocket, his eyes going briefly to the screen.

"What the hell John," I growl.

He's not fazed in the least. He uses his phone to take a picture of me and I find myself wishing I had one of my own. Then he'd be real sorry.

He taps something into the phone and then slides it back into his pocket once more. "Volkov's on his way," He says simply.

I feel my blood run cold and I know my face pales, the glare falling off my face as I stare up at him. "What?" I barely manage to choke out.

He shrugs. "He put a bounty out on you." He suddenly smiles sinisterly. "And you walked right up to my front door."

I suddenly feel sick, my stomach in knots and my brain not quite comprehending. This is just a bad dream. Yeah, right. I'm not that lucky.

A light bulb goes off in my head and I find myself tilting my head to study him, determination replacing the fear. His eyes narrow when I smile slightly to myself.

"I'll double it," I say without hesitation.

His eyes narrow even further. "And just where will you get that kind of money? If rumors are to be believed, you don't work for the gang anymore."

I shrug innocently. "I don't," I reply honestly. I narrow my eyes at him when he raises an eyebrow at my response. "But you don't believe that."

He shrugs again. "I don't care to know exactly why Volkov wants you, but I find I don't believe that you'd just walk out of the gang. Not when you enjoyed it so much."

I glare at him once again. "What if I told you the rumors you heard about me were true?" I ask him and then pause before I start again. "All the rumors."

He eyes me with suspicion. Can't say I blame him, though I should probably be more suspicious of him.

"You're talking about the rumor of the gang losing their biggest account," He continues to stare down at me.

"Yes," I confirm. "I am." Of course, they didn't exactly lose it. I mean, let's be honest, that kind of money doesn't just get lost. It was stolen, plain and simple.

"Because of you," He says, though I can't tell whether or not that's a question or a statement.

Another light bulb goes off in my head. Another thought. Volkov needs to be taken out of the equation, and so does the head of the gang to ensure my family can go back to their lives. Me, I'll probably always be hunted one way or another, but my family can be free to go back to their lives without being hunted down because of me.

Sure, taking out the head gang leader wouldn't solve the problem forever. After all, someone else would take over and likely continue hunting me down for the money, but they wouldn't come after my family. Because I'd make sure to erase anything and everything that ever tied me to them to begin with.

I know there's no way I can take them out by myself, but coincidently, I happen to be the presence of a hitman.

I cross my arms over my chest with some effort and wincing on my part, and look up at John once again. "I'd like to hire you."

He says nothing for a long moment. "I'm listening," He says finally.

"I want the head of the gang and Volkov taken out."

John studies me for a while. "And you don't want to bloody your own hands. Still hiding behind something or someone else."

I'm thinking I do want to bloody my hands, I thought as I glare at him. I want to break your nose.

"Will you do it or not?" I ask impatiently.

He stares at me, then slowly nods. "Volkov will be harder to get to since he's continuously moving around looking for you. And likely, he covers his tracks very well because he doesn't want to be found by you."

"Hard," I state. "Not impossible."

He nods. "Gang leader will be hard as well because he surrounds himself with his gang members."

"But you can do it," I tell him and then let a smirk fall across my face. "Or can you not?"

He glares at me. "I can," He confirms. "But on my terms. One, you pay me first. If you get killed before paying me then there's no reason to continue the job. Though, if I can't take them out because say, someone else kills them, I will return your money. Two, there's no set deadline. Obviously, that doesn't mean I'm going to take months to get it done, but if it takes a few weeks so be it. Third, I will finish the job, no matter what, but if Volkov manages to get to you and kills you before I kill him, I won't be losing any sleep over it. I'll still be taking him out, but I might thank him for ridding me of you first."

I glare at him some more. "Get down here," I say.

He looks at me with confusion. "Why?"

"So I can hit you."

He rolls his eyes. "Do you agree to my terms?"

"Yes," I reply.

He nods. "I expect the money for my services by tomorrow night, if it's not there, I'll hunt you down myself."

"And do tell, how I'm supposed to know what this magic number of money is?"

He drops a piece of paper down in the hole and I pick it up off the floor. I turn it over and look at the amount of money he's written as well as a phone number.

"Call the number if you get information about Volkov or the gang leader that would be of use to me," John says.

"And your account numbers are . . ."

He just looks at me blankly. "I know you don't actually need them. You're a smart girl, figure it out for yourself." He turns and starts to leave.

"Hey!" I shout as he disappears from view. He walks back over and looks down at me. "You're just going to leave me down here?"

John just stares at me. "I'm sure you can find a way out on your own."

"That's not the point. John!" I shout when he disappears again. "John! What kind of person leaves someone else in a hole?"

"Oh," I hear him call back to me. "and keep in mind that I know what you look like now, so if you come knocking at my door again, I will kill you next time."

I hear the car engine startup. "Oh no, John! This isn't funny!"

I listen until I can't hear the car anymore. "Stupid bastard," I mutter as I look around the cellar.

I grumble more curses, all directed at John as I move throughout the cellar. I'm getting out of here alright. Even if it's only for the satisfaction of punching the bastard the next time I see him.

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