Ryker Fate

His hands trembled as he turned—slowly, like his body refused to believe what his mind already knew.

And there—standing a few feet away—was him.

"Arthur? Is it actually you?"

Ryker's voice dripped with fake surprise, his face twisted into a mocking grin. His eyebrows shot up in feigned shock, but Arthur could see right through it.

That voice.

That smug tone.

Arthur's jaw clenched, his breath shallow, rage already bubbling beneath his skin.

Ryker stood tall, his bulky frame casting a shadow over Arthur.

The difference between them was staggering. Ryker's body was built like a tank—six feet of pure muscle, every inch of him honed, a physical wall towering over Arthur's leaner, short, malnourished body.

It was like pitting a wolf against a lamb.

But Arthur wasn't prey.

He couldn't be prey.

Ryker wasn't alone.

Three others were beside him.