Page 54 of Rage's Heart

Killer and Dread exchanged a look that I ignored. They’d been giving me shit all morning about being domesticated now.

The jealous bastards could fuck right on off.

I followed Mac down the hallway to her small bedroom at the back of the apartment with Hewie and Louie trailing behind me.

True to her word, several boxes were already stacked near the door, and her closet was half-empty.

“Damn, woman.” Dread whistled, eyeing the closet. “You think you got enough shoes?”

Mac’s nose wrinkled. “Don’t judge me.”

I couldn’t help but smirk. I’d said something similar not even a day ago when trying to Nike slides in the closet. She’d given me the most adorable death stare before telling me she’d find them.

“Killer, start taking those boxes to the truck,” I directed, pointing to the stack. “Dread, you good to help with the bookshelf?”

He rolled his eyes. “I got shot in the shoulder, not the dick. I can handle tossing books into a box.”

“Jesus fuck,” I groaned at the same time Mac fell into a fit of giggles.

I wasn’t surprised. Since patching up Dread’s shoulder, they’d become fast friends. She wasn’t the slightest bit bothered by his constant crude language. In fact, she thought he was funny.

For the next half hour, Mac carefully packed her collection of ceramic ballet dancer figurines into a box while I dismantled her bed frame.

The last thing I ever thought I’d do in my lifetime was move a chick in with me permanently.

It was crazy.

And yet here I was doing just that and fucking happy about it.

“Grab an end, babe.”

Mac grabbed ahold of the heavy bed and hefted it from the floor. Together we moved toward the front door. The sound of keys in jingling in the lock made Mac freeze mid-reach for the handle.

“McKenzie? You here?“ A female voice called out as the door slowly opened.

“Uh, yeah. Right here,” she said softly, shuffling back as she shot me an anxious glance.

A moment later, a brunette stepped inside, her eyes widening as she took in the scene.

She was exactly as Mac had described. Petite, dark-hair, bright eyes, and a sweet face that made her look younger than she probably was.

“Sarah,” Mac smiled, somewhat strained. “These are?—”

“I figured,” Sarah cut her off, her eyes darting between us nervously. Her gaze lingered on my tattoos before jumping back to look at Mac. “So, it’s really happening? You’re moving out?”

Mac set down the rail she’d been holding. “Yeah. I meant to talk to you about it earlier, but…”

“But you’ve been MIA for weeks,” Sarah finished, her tone carrying a hint of hurt. “I feel like I barely see you anymore.”

Killer and Dread exchanged another look before Killer cleared his throat. “We’ll take these boxes out to the truck,” he said, hoisting two large containers like they weighed nothing.

Dread followed, giving Mac a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he passed.

That was probably the smart move.

I followed, wanting to give them some space, when Mac caught my hand. “Stay,” she murmured. “Please.”

I nodded, squeezing her fingers.

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