Page 40 of Rage

He turns to the others, his voice taking on a commanding tone.“We’re heading out.I’ll keep you updated.”

Dad steps forward, his face a mask of conflicting emotions.“Meadow, are you sure?—”

“She needs rest,” Mason cuts him off, his tone brooking no argument.“We can deal with everything else tomorrow.”

For a moment, I think Dad might argue.But then he nods, his shoulders sagging.“Take care of her,” he says gruffly.

“Always,” Mason replies, the word heavy with promise.

As we make our way to Mason’s bike, I can’t help but lean into him more.The need to be close, to feel his warmth, is overwhelming.

“Hold on tight,” Mason says as we settle onto the bike.

I wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his back.The familiar rumble of the engine vibrates through me as we pull away from the hospital.

The cool night air whips past us, carrying away the sterile hospital scent.I close my eyes, focusing on the solid warmth of Mason’s body against mine.For the first time since Peterson’s attack, I feel safe.

* * *

MASON

I lift Meadow off the bike, cradling her against my chest.Her weight feels right in my arms, like she belongs there.The clubhouse looms before us, a fortress of brick and steel.Safety.

“Mason,” she murmurs, her voice thick with exhaustion.“My apartment…”

“Not tonight, darlin’.”I tighten my grip, pushing through the heavy doors.“Peterson’s still out there.You’re staying here.”

Brothers nod, their eyes sharp with concern.I feel Meadow tense, her fingers curling into my shirt.

“It’s okay,” I murmur, lips brushing her ear.“You’re safe here.”

I carry her up the stairs, each step echoing in the quiet hallway.My suite’s at the end, away from the noise.Private.Secure.

The door clicks shut behind us.I ease Meadow onto the bed, my hands lingering longer than necessary.She looks small against the dark sheets, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache.

“Mason,” she starts, her eyes fighting to stay open.“I don’t want to be alone.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut.“You’re not,” I move closer.“I’m right here.Not going anywhere.”

She nods, her hand finding mine.I lace our fingers together, marveling at how perfectly they fit.

A commotion downstairs breaks the moment.Voices raised, heavy footsteps.Meadow’s family, no doubt.Here to check on her.To question me.

I stand, reluctant to leave her side.“Rest,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.“I’ll handle this.”

Meadow’s eyes flutter closed, her breathing already evening out.I pause at the door, drinking in the sight of her.Safe.Here.With me.

The voices grow louder.Time to face the music.

I square my shoulders, heading downstairs to deal with whatever’s coming.

One thing’s for certain: Peterson’s still out there.And when I find him, he’ll wish he’d never laid eyes on Meadow.

seven

Mason

The clubhouse door creaks open.I step inside, the familiar scent of leather and whiskey hitting me like a punch to the gut.Every eye in the room snaps to me.The air crackles with tension thick enough to choke on.

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