Page 42 of Claimed By Rage

“She won’t know where to find us.” Ruin props his foot up on the bench press. “Unless we leave her breadcrumbs.”

“You’ll probably leave her a blood trail and scare her half to death.”

He inclines his head. “She is not scared of blood.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Could’ve fooled me.” The bloodied comforter’s been tossed to the floor and a new one brought in from the linen closet.

“She willnotdecide on her own,” Rage grumbles, “because she’ll choose wrong.”

Ruin and I stare at each other, then at our brother. Rage always thinks he knows best. Or, at least, he refuses to be wrong and manipulates the situation until he’s proven right about whatever’s got him bent. It’s usually something to do with the bratva, or the club, or all of the boring meetings he has to attend as an honorary city board member. He likes to be right.

But this isn’t something I can let him bulldoze his way through. I won’t let him lock Celia in a cage—the metaphor will turn real if we let it slide now.

“You don’t trust her?” I ask gently.

Rage’s face contorts into something pained. He glances down at Celia, shifts her weight in his arms so that she’s leaning more on the pillow than his chest, and presses his forehead to hers. Then he murmurs something too soft for me to hear, presses a tender kiss to her lips, and lets her go.

Heactuallyreleases his death grip.

A muscle in his jaw tics as he peels himself away from her, careful not to jostle her as he gets up from the bed. He crosses to the bench press and sits beside Ruin’s foot, then picks up one of the heavier dumbbells.

Then the fucker starts to pump iron.

I get it—he’s stressed.

At least it gives me room to slide up next to Celia and curl into her warmth. That’s the thing about her that’s different from most women—she’swarm.In all the evenings we’ve shared, I’m the one shivering once the sun goes down. She’s the one stripping into a tank top in the middle of winter. I get cold justlookingat her.

Rage exhales slowly, pausing with the weight draped across his bare thigh. “I don’t know.” His gaze flicks toward Celia, and thankfully, he doesn’t flip his shit that I’m touching her. “She hasn’t done much to prove that she’s…” He presses his lips into a thin line. “Happyabout it.Aboutus.”

Despite how old Rage is—somewhere over the cusp of thirty and inching closer to forty every day—sometimes I think he has a lot of growing up to do. Like I’m one to talk—shit, our whole family’s kind of fucked in that department.

Our parents weren’t exactly role models.

“She won’t be happy if you keep suffocating her.” I level him with a stern look. “With your fistoryour cock.”

“Or both,” Ruin murmurs, still keeping up with the conversation. “She only wantsgentlesuffocation.” He flexes his fingers, like he has experience with this.

I mean,strangulation, yeah, he does. But with Celia?

My eyes narrow as he idly reaches toward her and mimes grabbing her. I’m not sure what he’s imagining—his hand around her wrist or around her neck?

Either way, I’m not sure I like it.

Rage clearly feels the same.

“Hey. Look at me.” He snaps his fingers to get Ruin’s attention. “You can play with her, but you can’t suffocate her.”

“And no knives.” I slide my fingers into Celia’s hair. It’s soft as fuck, and I cradle her head against my chest. Warmth spreads from her body to mine, sending a shockwave of something heavy through my bloodstream. I lick my lips, enjoying the way she wiggles to get comfier. She’s passed out cold despite the conversation happening around her.Abouther.

The tiniest smile curves on her lips.

I find myself smiling, too.

It’s what makes Ruin’s interest that much harder to swallow. When he finds something he likes…

He breaks it.

“No knives,” I repeat, closing my eyes. They’re starting to ache from how long I’ve been awake today.Yesterday.Jesus, what day is it? “And she’s not allowed in your room.”

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