Page 70 of Claimed By Rage

I shake my head, already knowing the answer. Having Rage’s child will tie me to him permanently, and a baby born into the bratva will become a weapon just like its father. I can’t let that happen, or all of my dreams of a perfect, normal, happy family will go up in smoke.

The walk to the pharmacy around the corner is frigid, chilling me to the bone. I’m shivering as I step up to the counter and ask the pharmacist for aPlan B. Forty dollars and a numb journeyhome later, I’m standing in my master bathroom with a tiny cardboard box in hand.

I will give you everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you’ve ever dreamed.

For a moment, I believed him.

But only for a moment.

Chapter 22

Rebel

Thanatos calls toinform me that they’ve found Rage passed out in the cold and handcuffed to his car. Who knows how long he’s been there. An hour? Two? Longer?

If the fucker hadn’t locked me inside my own goddamn room all day, none of this would have happened. I would have gone to breakfast, smoothed things over between them, and reaped the benefits.

Because once Rage and Celia finally get together, then it’ll bemyturn.

Rage is just too goddamned stubborn to let things go any way other than his own. It’s going to put him in an early grave. I grimace as the picture of Rage passed out on the ground flashes to mind.

Okay, not the best turn of phrase… but that doesn’t make it any less true.

While Ruin and Than rouse our brother and take him to see our very own Doc-in-a-Box, I make my way to where Celia should be—her home.Despite how little time we’ve spent together, Celia’s house has become one of my favorite places. Unlike our apartment above the club, it’s spacious and open, with enough wide windows to bathe every square inch in endlessnatural light at all hours of the day. Sunlight, moonlight, and any other kind of light in between. I love it, and that’s the most surprising part.

If I could steal it from her, I would.

That’s why I spend hours searching its every nook and cranny, taking little knick-knacks and shiny things when I can fit them in my pockets. The problem with driving a motorcycle is that it doesn’t lend itself to much cargo space without saddlebags—and those bitches areugly.Meaning, if I want to take something, it has to fit in the palm of my hand.

Swiping her keys was easy. Making a double of every single one and slipping the originals back into place was even easier. The thing about Celia is that she’s oddly trusting for a woman whose life we bulldozed through all of a sudden. Scratch that—she’s oddly trusting for a woman raised within thebratva.Maybe that’s why she’s complacent about it, though—she knows how inevitable we are.

The bratva creates the kind of person that’s impossible to refuse. Despite all her fussing, Celia hasn’t put a gun to our heads and demanded we leave her alone.

I’d be impressed if she did.

It’s why I’m not the least bit concerned when I bound up her three little front porch steps and unlock the main door to her house. She has a shotgun hiding in the hall closet and a pump-action rifle beneath her bed, but she wouldn’t dream of using them on someone as charming as me.

I’m her favorite.

“Celia!” I call out, scanning her living room for her first. Then I jog to the kitchen and find it empty. I click my tongue and swipe a bottle of her favorite white from the wine cooler, then pinch two wine glass stems between my fingers.

A little romance can’t hurt.

Shedidtry to kill my brother—allegedly, if we believe Ruin’s theory. Unless Rage antagonized the fuck out of her and she suddenly snapped, I don’t see Celia as the killing type

What the hell did he do to her?

Rage won’t fess up, too stubborn to admit when he’s done something wrong, so it’s up to me to smooth things over with our girl.

I kick the cooler door closed and shiver at the chill. Jesus, is the heat off? I turn on my heel to check the thermostat down the hall when movement in the corner of my eye grabs my attention.

The back door is ajar, letting in the cold evening air. Curtains hanging over the window scratch against the glass as a breeze blows them back and forth.

I set down the wine glasses and reach for my handgun. “Celia? You home, baby?” Carefully rounding the corner to the dining room, I check the corners before stepping inside. Rose petals flatten beneath my feet, with even more of them covering the entire dining room table. A heavy vase sits in the center, its crystal spiraling and sharp from the base to the lip. Two taper candles flicker on either side, like someone set the table for a romantic candlelit dinner.

Although I wouldn’t oppose dinner with our girl, I doubt she has romance on her mind after this afternoon. I set the chilled wine on the table and continue moving through the house. The ground floor is clear, so I head to the stairs. Bottlenecking in a stairway is the worst idea ever, but it’s the only way upstairs unless I feel like climbing the giant oak in the front yard.

Not fucking happening.

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