Saved | coming 2025

the end

RYKE

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"WAKE up asshole," my brother's harsh tone slices through the silence of my penthouse apartment waking me from my much needed sleep.

A groan flies from my mouth as I roll over in my silk sheets. "What do you want?" I growl out as I throw a pillow over my face preparing for the flip of the lights that's inevitable when he storms into my room. Which is far too often.

"Come on," he pushes as the pillow is ripped from my face and light floods my eyes making me wince at the sudden brightness.

My brother's disapproving blue eyes stare down at me as they trail over my tired form. I can only imagine what I look like through his judgmental gaze, especially after last night. My shoulder length hair is a tangled, knotted mess. I know my eyes are bloodshot, and the cuts on my lip and cheek stand out against my pale skin from the fight I got into last night.

"Do I need to call Shawn?" he asks simply referring to our family lawyer who more than once has gotten me out of the many sticky situations I keep falling into. Like the multitude of assault charges, public intoxication charges, one DUI, and of course the few public urination charges that line my ever-growing record.

"No," I answer gruffly. "He was a dick who deserved what he got, but not stupid enough to come after me," I tell him as I grab a hair tie off my nightstand and throw my dark hair up into a half-assed bun.

I look up at my older brother as he runs his eyes over my disarray of a room. The random bottles of liquor covering every possible surface, the faint dusting of white powder that lines my windowsill, and the joint waiting to be smoked on my nightstand. The mess that is my life constantly surrounds me. It reminds me of who I really am and all that I'll ever be. I scratch the rather new tattoo on my wrist and try to ignore my brother's judging gaze as he runs a hand over his blonde buzzed head.

"What do you want Wren?" I question as irritation cuts through my rough tone. He's always checked up on me randomly, but as of late he's been more consistent with the amount of times he's come barging through my penthouse doors unannounced.

A flash of uncertainty washes over his intense stare and my body immediately sits up straighter. A bolt of something reminiscent of fear strikes my spine in faint realization that something is on the horizon. That my brother's regular pop-ins have all led to this.

"You're going on tour with me," he states his words coming out clear and precise as if he's rehearsed them. As if I don't have an option.

My face scrunches in confusion and a touch of bitter annoyance. "Why does that sound like I don't have a choice?" I question speaking my thoughts aloud as my eyes narrow. I never have done well with authority.

His shoulders drop slightly. "You don't Ryke," he tells me truthfully. His stormy blue eyes that match our father's fill with exhaustion as a heavy sigh hisses through his lips.

"I think I do," I counter. "I'm not going on your stupid ass tour," I tell him as I hop out of bed in only my briefs. I walk towards the pile of clothes on the floor and grab a random T-shirt that doesn't completely smell like sex, vomit, or weed to toss on.

Wren may be my older brother, and a rock star, but he lives the life of a damn old lady these days and being on tour with him watching my every move sounds fucking terrible. This is his third tour, his biggest one, and while the women may be easy, nothing else will be if I have him babysitting me.

My brother has nothing to bargain with at this point. He has no cards and a twisted smile lifts at my lips at the thought that he thinks he has a say in my life. Not after what he did, not anymore.