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Ryker (Dead Souls MC Prospects #4)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Savannah Rylan

Book Information:

My daughter is missing. And I’ll kill the mafia bastards that took her.
I will do anything to get Olivia back.
But when I find her, she is being cared for by Kaylynn, whose beauty brings me to my knees.
This was a twist I didn’t see coming.
Her delicious curves call to me but I have no idea if I can trust her.
She’s one of them after all.
But getting closer to her is the only way I can save Olivia.
I’ll just have to figure out a way to keep her out of my heart.

Ryker is part of the new chapter of the Dead Souls MC. It is a hot motorcycle romance that follows the prospects of the Dead Souls Motorcycle Club and the women that love them.

Books in Series:

Dead Souls MC Prospects Series by Savannah Rylan

Books by Author:

Savannah Rylan Books




I ran through the halls of my best friend’s home, trying to figure out where the fuck she’d gone.

“Ariel! Where the hell are you!?”

“I’m telling you, dude. I’ve got no idea what happened. I put her down last night, and when I woke up this morning—”

I whipped around, fisting his shirt. I brought my best friend of many, many years straight to my face. I snarled at him. Gnashed my teeth together. I forced him to stare at the scar ripping its way down my face to remind him of who I was.

Who I’d become over the years of our friendship.

“Ryker. Man. It’s me. Lyle.”

“Where. The fuck. Is my daughter?” I glowered.

“I’ve already put a call in with the police. My guess is she just ran away after your last argument with her. She was pretty upset about it. I tried calming her down, but—”

“Why the fuck didn’t you hear her leave, then!?”

“The police are already out there looking for her. An Amber alert has been put out. She couldn’t have gotten far, Ryker. You know, with that limp.”

My eye twitched. That fucking limp. The limp my father had given my sweet, precious little girl. I shoved Lyle away and ran my hands through my hair. I raced back down the hallway, whipping my way around the corner. Ever since shit had popped off with the crew, I hid her with Lyle. My best friend. Her “Uncle Lyle.” He was more family to her than anyone that really was blood-related to me. Especially after the shit my father put me through.

Put us through.

Put Mom through.

“They’ll find her, Ryker. Just like they did the last time,” Lyle said.

I winced at his words. The last time. Holy fucking hell, what a shit father I’d become. I raked my hand through my hair. Tears rushed my vision as quickly as I blinked them back. So many fights with my daughter. My precious, beautiful, vulnerable daughter. I’d done the best I could over the years. I’d tried my hardest to step into the role she needed me to play.

But sixteen-year-old boys weren’t suited to be fathers.

Just like her deadbeat mother hadn’t been suited to be a mom.

“When did you call the police?” I asked.

I slowly turned around as I stared my best friend down.

“I called them before I called you. I found her room empty around seven this morning and blew them up until I got units out here,” Lyle said.

“What did they say?”

“Not much. They confirmed I put her down. They checked out her room. Looked at the locks on the house. Nothing was broken. Nothing was picked. Nothing looked as if someone had forced their way into the house. And now, they’ve got units combing the streets. Checking up with her school. Checking the places where they found her last.”

“Have they called Carlie’s parents?” I asked.

“They were headed over there now just as you pulled up,” he said.

“Good. That’s good. Maybe she went there.”

Then, he put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ryker. Ariel’s got your disposition. She’s a hot head like her father, but she always cools down.”

I stood there on the porch, unable to get my feet underneath me as the guys called my name. “Ryker?” “Can you hear me, Ryker?” And every time I heard that name, it made me want to chuckle. Mom had been a massive fan of X-men. Why she named me after a villain, I’d never know. My theory, though, was that she enjoyed bad boys. Someone she could fix. Charity projects that changed because she was “important enough to them.”

I mean, why the hell else could she have possibly loved my sperm donor?

The scar on my face burned. As I replayed that phone call around and around in my head, its heat grew. It raked down my face, from the right side of my forehead to the left side of my jaw. Cutting my face into two pseudo-triangles with muted, dead eyes. One of my father’s beatings left me with that scar. He came at me with a crowbar and dug it straight into my face. And why did he do that? Well, because I got a C-minus in mathematics.

That was why he took a damn crowbar to my fucking face.

I teetered on my feet. I fell against the clubhouse wall as it grew harder to breathe. I closed my eyes, ripping myself back to that moment. That moment, two weeks ago, when Lyle and I thought Ariel had run away. Simply rushed off in the middle of the night to a friend’s house. Or to the library. Or to her school just up the road. Ariel had always been prone to running away. The first time she did it, she was only seven years old. We got into an argument over what to have for dinner that night. And after yelling at me that she wouldn’t eat what I’d cooked, she slammed her way out the door. I’d barely gotten the damn front door open before I saw her darting up the road. Rushing for her best friend’s house.