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Nicky's POV

I pull my room key out of my pocket as I walk down the dimly lit hallway to my room. A couple bags of snacks and groceries hanging from my arms.

I juggle keeping them from falling as I insert the key and shove the door open. I mutter curses under my breath as I drop a bag. I reach down and manage to pick it up once again without dropping any other bags. I kick the door shut behind me and lug everything into the small kitchen attached to the room.

I drop everything on the counters and then frown as I hear the sound of something metal hitting the tiled floor of the kitchen. I look down only to see a small cylindrical silver object. I frown as I pick it up and turn it over in my hands.

I freeze up as I finally grasp just what it is exactly. It's a bullet.

It's one of my bullets.

I look around quickly, trying to figure out where it came from, but seeing as the only light in the room is the one above the kitchen, I can't see anything but darkness and shadows in the rest of the room. I reach over and flip the light switch.

And then let out a startled scream.

I jump backward and my head hits the wall behind me. I drop the bullet in favor of holding my head, my fingers rubbing at the back of my skull. I wince and curse before turning my attention to the man sitting in the chair next to the desk.

His legs are crossed in front of him, his elbows rest on the arms of the chair, his fingers touching tip to tip in front of him, his mouth is a firm unsmiling line, and he's still wearing those damn sunglasses. His gun rests on the desk next to him along with a navy blue jacket with FBI written in yellow letters on it.

I don't have the words to speak. So, I just stare at him, waiting for him to make the first move or say the first word.

I want to ask him why he thought sitting in the dark like a creep was a good idea, but I figure that's not the best way to start out this conversation.

I notice the handcuffs hanging from his belt. I blow out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Well, he's here to arrest me. This ought to be fun.

I decide I'll be the first talk instead of him when he makes no move to say anything. "So . . ." I trail off, not sure what it is I want to say. I really want to ask him why he was sitting there in the dark with his sunglasses on, but I don't think that'll go over well.

"How'd you find me?" I ask instead. Not really the best question either. Mostly because I'm blatantly ignoring the figurative elephant in the room.

His eyebrows raise just barely and then he pushes himself out of the chair. "I don't think that should be your biggest concern right now." I can hear the barely contained anger behind his words.

I thought I had seen him angry before, but that's nothing compared to this. This is a quiet kind of angry. The kind of angry someone gets just before they're about to explode. It's not fun to be on the receiving end of.

I stare at him for a long moment. "I didn't want to lie to you," I finally say quietly.

He lowers his sunglasses enough to give me a look of utter disbelief. He then adjusts them back over his eyes.

I nod slowly. "Maybe originally I did," I tell him. "but then . . . I thought about telling you but I didn't think . . . you'd take it very well."

He scoffs loudly. "Wouldn't take it very well?" He questions in disbelief. "How would anyone take it? How would you take it if you found out that the person you're supposed to be protecting is the person you're also supposed to be hunting? One of the bad guys? I'm sure you're aware that the Nicolette Moore case is, in fact, my case. Damien and I are supposed to be working to bring you in." His jaw clenches. "Supposed to be bringing in the bad guys."

I don't say anything as I stare back at him. He runs a hand through his hair in obvious frustration.

"If you came here to take me in," I start quietly. "then take me in. If you're just here to yell at me and then do God knows what, then do that. I deserve it."

"Yes," He states harshly. "You do. That and so much more." His hand goes through his hair again. "God, what was I thinking? What were you thinking? Do you even realize what you've done? What will happen if anyone realizes I've been helping Nicolette Moore all this time? Do you know how that makes me look? Do you even care?"

"Yes," I whisper softly as I stare down at the floor below me.

He swears and rubs his fingers into his forehead. "And who you are is not even the worst of it," He mutters. "It's what you went and did."

I frown as I look up at him. "What did I do?"

He rips his sunglasses off angrily and glares at me. I flinch from the harshness of his gaze.

"You went and made me actually care about what happens to you." He spits out the word 'care' like it's the absolute worst thing in the world.

And I don't have the words to respond, because my heart starts beating faster and the irrational part of my brain is reading way too far into his words. Rational me is telling myself not be an idiot. That he doesn't mean anything by the words.

I almost convince myself to believe that, but it's kind of hard to believe since he hasn't actually handcuffed me or shot me . . . yet.

"Well . . . I'm sorry?"

He ignores me and turns his back to me, opting to stare out the window. He slides his sunglasses back on. "Nicolette Moore is a horrible, horrible person who's done so much damage to the world. That's what I've discovered in my search for you," He growls out as he braces his hands on the window sill, his fingers turning white from the force of his grip.

"Yes," I agree quietly. "I know what I've done. I know what kind of person I am. And I know no matter how much good I do, I'll never be able to rewrite the past. To make up for the things I've done. All I can do is try."

His hands seem to grip the window sill even tighter. I hear him blow out a shaky breath and I watch as his back tenses under his white t-shirt.

His next words are so quiet I almost miss them. "And yet, the girl I've been stuck protecting is nothing like the hacker everyone's been hunting."

"Ryder," I start quietly. "You don't owe me anything, I know that, but I do want to know what you intend to do. If you even have a plan. If you're going to shoot me, turn me over to the police, take me in yourself, or anything else."

He turns away from the window and turns toward me. I'm assuming he's glaring at me because of the fact that his entire body is tense and I can practically hear his teeth grind together.

"Why do you give a damn what I decide to do?" He hisses between clenched teeth.

I look away from him and at the wall. "I just, I need to know my options."

He swears and then runs a hand through his hair yet again. His other hand clenches into a fist. "You have none," He suddenly growls. "You have no options. Whatever happens next is what I decide. Not you."

He throws his arms up in the air in frustration, turning his back to me once again. "I've become a target because of you," He growls out. "I have Volkov and the gang chasing me down. Even when I'm not with you."

Something in his tone sets off alarm bells in my head. Like he's holding back from telling me something. "What happened?" I question instinctively.

His hands go to his head and he looks like he's about to start pulling his own hair out. "I took care of it," He says slowly.

"Took care of what?" I ask. I read his tone right. Something happened. "What happened Ryder?"

He shakes his head. "Volkov knows exactly who I am. That's what happened."

I wrap my arms around myself as guilt floods over me. "Did he come after you?" I question softly.

He shakes his head again, then swears and nods. "Indirectly."

I open my mouth to ask him what he means by that, but as I think it over, I know I don't have to. Indirectly. The only way I've ever known of Volkov going after something indirectly is through their family.

Which was why the first thing I did was remove mine from the equation so he couldn't get to them. Ryder never had the chance to.

"What happened?" I press him.

He mutters something I don't catch before responding. "He went after my dad and my stepmom when they were out at dinner. They got away . . . barely. And then he called to gloat about it after." He starts cursing him out.

Personally, I'd hate to be Volkov right now.

He keeps cursing and clenching his hands to fists as he begins to pace back and forth. I watch him silently as his curses get progressively louder and more colorful the longer they go on.

The guilt I was feeling before has grown worse with his admission that Volkov had gone after his family. So much so that I feel like I'm choking on it. My thoughts of turning myself in, come back to the front of my mind. Especially if it gets Volkov to stop going after Ryder and his family. Of course . . . Ryder might still be in trouble because he just couldn't keep his mouth shut and pissed Volkov off.

Suddenly, turning myself is not seeming like so much of a bad idea.

Finally, I decide I need to intervene. To tell him what I had been thinking before.

"Look," I start again, interrupting his cursing. "I know you protecting me puts you in a very tight spot, what with you being FBI and all." He gives me a flat look that says I can't possibly imagine the trouble I've caused him. "And you're hardwired to do the right thing. So, I've been thinking this over and the best thing for everyone would be if I let you turn me in."

He stares at me, not moving. I don't even think he's breathing. His expression is unreadable and I can't see his eyes because of those damn sunglasses. He doesn't move, doesn't say anything and for a second I think he must not have heard me. Until he starts swearing, long and vehemently.

"You are just-" He cuts off abruptly and throws his hands in the air in frustration. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. You are so freaking stupid. Have I told you that? What in the world possessed you to believe this was a good damn idea? No, you know what, don't answer that. I don't want to know."

I narrow my eyes at him and feel my face flush in anger as I listen to him continuing on about how utterly stupid I am. "I've thought it through and-"

"You thought this through? Really? I'm finding that extremely hard to believe. The minute you're in custody, you'll be killed. You do realize that, right? Oh, I'm sure you do, so tell me, what is the percentage you live through this mess if I take you in? What's the probability? Run through your damn numbers and get back to me."

I continue to glare at him. "I don't see what your problem is. I'm just trying to save you from this mess, to make sure you keep your job."

"By turning you in?"

"You didn't have a problem with it a few days ago."

He swears again and runs a hand through his hair. "Yes, I did."

"No, you didn't. In fact, you turned a gun on me," I remind him.

His hands clench into fists at his side and I get the feeling he's barely restraining himself from strangling me. The feeling is mutual Ryder. Don't doubt that.

"I'm not turning you in," He suddenly states harshly.

I give him an incredulous look. "Why the hell not? It's what's best for everyone. You keep your job, and the gang stops going after you."

"I'm noticing a distinct lack of how this is best for you."

"I'll manage, and what do you care? I'm a no good criminal."

He yanks the sunglasses off his eyes and glares at me. His emerald green eyes shining dangerously. "Yes, you are. And that's what's tearing me apart. I want to do the right thing. I want to bring you in, put you behind bars. God knows you deserve it. I'd be doing society a great service. But I can't."

I frown as I stare at him in confusion. "What? Why not?"

He shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair again, messing it up further. He stares at me right in the eyes, his gaze intense and sparking with something I can't identify.

"You're brilliant Nicky," He says as he crosses the room to stand right in front of me. Not even a foot away from me, but not touching. He stares down at me. "You can see patterns in everything, you can solve the most advanced problems in your head. But even with all you're brilliance, you're still the stupidest fucking person I've ever met."

My mouth is open in shock as I stare up at him, my anger flaring to life once again. "Call me stupid one more-" I don't finish my sentence.

His hand is at the back of my neck and his lips are on mine, demanding and yet gentle. His other hand is at my back, pulling me closer into him, my hands fisted into his shirt. When I respond, he deepens the kiss, as if trying to convey everything's he's feeling all at once, and making me dizzy.

When he pulls away, it feels like it ended all too soon. His forehead rests against mine and I stare at his eyes, his emotions out in plain sight for me to see. Or maybe they were there all along, and I just chose to ignore them. "Oh," I whisper, breathless.

"Do you see the problem now?" He whispers, his eyes staring into mine.

I blow out a shaky breath. "This is a bad idea," I tell him. "The probability that this blows up in our faces-"

"Shut up," He says, his lips on mine once again and suddenly I can't remember why I was thinking this was a bad idea.

Impending Doom. He's FBI, you're a criminal. You're likely going to be dead soon. Oh yeah, that's why.

I pull back to remind him exactly why this is a disaster of an idea and he glares down at me.

"If you open your mouth to say it's a bad idea again, I'm going to use you for target practice."

I snap my mouth shut and just stare up at him. "It is," I mutter quietly.

He swears some more. "For once in your life, stop thinking."

I open my mouth to protest, to tell him it really isn't possible for someone to just stop thinking, but his hands on my waist distract me as his fingers brush against my skin under my shirt. He backs me into the wall and I feel myself pressing as close to him as I can, but it doesn't seem to be nearly close enough.

"I'm still mad at you," He whispers softly, his breath fanning across my neck. Warmth rushes through me.

"Further proof as to why this is a bad idea," I mutter breathlessly.

"Maybe," He agrees. He pulls away to look me dead in the eyes. To make sure I hear and grasp every word he says next. To make sure I understand.

"But I'm done trying to fight this," He whispers against my lips.

And I'm doomed. So very very doomed . . .

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