Page 108 of Ruger's Rage

The cabin grows larger as I approach, warm light spilling from its windows into the darkness.

Two vehicles parked outside—the black SUV and Marco's Mercedes.

The sight of that car, so familiar from our life in Pittsburgh, sends a jolt through my system.

I pause at the edge of the clearing, taking a deep breath to steady myself.

I know Ruger and his brothers are watching, positioned around the perimeter.

I'm not alone.

I’ll never be alone ever again.

I step into the open, deliberately making enough noise to be heard.

I'm halfway to the porch when the door swings open, and there he is.

Marco Santini stands framed in the doorway, his tall figure backlit by the cabin lights.

He looks exactly as I remember—expensively dressed even in casual clothes, dark hair perfectly styled, the posture of a man who's always in control.

His eyes widen when he sees me, something possessive lingering in those eyes. "Elizabeth," he breathes, using the name I abandoned when I fled. "You came back to me."

I stop several yards from the steps, maintaining distance. "I didn't come back to you, Marco. I came to end all this madness."

He steps onto the porch, and I fight the instinct to back away. "End what, baby? Our separation? I've been looking everywhere for you."

"I know." My voice comes out stronger than I expected. "You found me. Congratulations. Now you can move on with your life."

His expression darkens, the charming façade slipping. "Move on? After everything I've done to find you? After all the resources I've wasted?" He takes another step forward. "You belong to me. You always have."

"I don't belong to anyone." I stand my ground, aware of the gun pressed against my lower back. "I'm not yours, Marco. I never was."

"You're confused." His tone softens, switching tactics.

This is typical Marco—adapting to whatever he thinks will work. "Whatever these bikers have told you, whatever lies they've filled your head with?—"

"They didn't need to tell me anything. I already know exactly who you are." My heart pounds against my ribs, but my voice remains steady. "A controlling, abusive piece of shit who thinks he owns people."

His face contorts with rage for a split second before he masters it, smoothing his features into a concerned expression. "Baby, listen to yourself. This isn't you talking. You need help."

Okay, there we go, his typical gaslighting self.

"The only help I needed was getting away from you." I take a deliberate step forward, reclaiming the space between us. "And I did that.Allon my own."

Movement behind him catches my eye—Striker emerging from the cabin, his face hardening when he spots me.

"So the whore decided to show up," he drawls, eyes scanning the darkness around us. "Alone?"

"She's not alone," Marco corrects him, gaze still fixed on me. "She wouldn't come out here without her biker boyfriend nearby."

Striker pulls a gun from his waistband. "Then we should invite them to join our little reunion."

My pulse quickens, but I maintain my composure.

This is part of the plan—draw them out, keep them talking, give Ruger and the others time to move into position.

"I made a mistake," I tell Marco, shifting his attention back to me. "Coming here tonight. I thought I needed to see you one last time, to tell you it's over. But looking at you now..." I shake my head. "You're pathetic."

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