Page 113 of Ruger's Rage

Kinsey stands beside me, uncertain of her place in this aftermath.

The blood on her clothes has dried to a rusty brown, and exhaustion lines her face, making her look younger than her years.

"Come on," I tell her, taking her arm. "Let's get you cleaned up."

She nods gratefully, letting me lead her toward the clubhouse.

But for the first time since I fled Pittsburgh seven months ago, I think I can see an ending that isn't just more running.

An ending where Marco's shadow no longer follows me, where I'm free to be more than just a woman in hiding.

As Kinsey and I enter the clubhouse, brothers part to let us through, several nodding respectfully to her.

She's earned something tonight—if not trust, then at least a chance to prove herself.

Just like I did.

I help Kinsey wash her father's blood from her skin, both of us silent as the water runs red, then pink, then clear down the drain.

Tomorrow, Marco's fate will be decided and tomorrow, we'll begin to rebuild what Striker and Marco tried to destroy.

But for now, we've survived.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

Ruger

Morning light filters through the blinds, casting stripes across the bed. I’m too stuck staring at my ol’ lady to notice the ruckus coming from the main hall, everyone laughing and having a good time.

She looks so peaceful for the first time in weeks, her body curled against mine, one arm draped across my chest like she's afraid I might disappear.

I brush a strand of hair from her face, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the slight part of her lips as she breathes.

Last night brought an end to Striker. My uncle, my blood. Dead at the hands of his own daughter.

I can't pretend to mourn him.

Whatever family loyalty I had died the night he laid hands on Aunt Ellie, and Kinsey made her choice when he tried to kill her.

But Marco is still breathing, locked in our basement.

That ends today.

Tildie stirs, her eyes fluttering open to meet mine. "Morning," she murmurs, voice groggy with sleep.

"Morning, darlin'." I press a kiss to her forehead. "How'd you sleep?"

"Better than I have in months." She stretches, wincing slightly at her sore muscles. "No dreams about Marco. No waking up in a cold sweat."

"That's because he can't hurt you anymore," I assure her, choosing my words carefully.

She studies my face, those amber eyes missing nothing. "What happens to him now?"

"Don't worry about that. I'll handle it."

"I want to be there," she says, sitting up. "I need to see it happen, whatever you decide."

I shake my head. "You've seen enough violence, Tildie. Let me deal with this part."

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