Page 47 of Ruger's Rage

Just a phone number, no name.

"I'll keep that in mind," I say, taking the card with fingers I refuse to let tremble.

As soon as he's gone, I bolt for the bathroom, barely making it before my breakfast comes up.

I retch until there's nothing left but acid and fear.

In that first text, Marco said he knew where I was… and now I know he wasn’t bluffing.

He’s already sending his people after me, and soon he’ll be here to personally put me down like a dog that’s misbehaved.

The card burns in my pocket as I rinse my mouth and splash cold water on my face.

I stare at my reflection—pale, eyes wide with terror.

Run.

That's my first instinct, the same instinct that got me out of Pittsburgh alive.

I could pack what fits in my car and disappear. New name, new town, start over.

But running means leaving Ellie, who's become the closest thing to family I've had since cutting ties with my parents.

It means leaving the bar, the first place I've felt safe in years.

It would mean leaving Ruger before whatever's growing between us has a chance to become something real.

I make it through the rest of my shift on autopilot, jumping at every door chime, every unfamiliar voice.

By closing time, my nerves are shot, hands shaking as I count the register.

Ellie locks the front door, looking over her shoulder and stares right at me. "You going to tell me what's wrong, or do I have to guess?"

I hesitate, then pull out the business card. "A man came in looking for me. Used my real name."

Her face darkens. "That Marco fellow?"

"One of his men. Had to be."

"Did he threaten you?"

"Didn't have to." I slump against the bar. "Offering money for information about where I am—that's how Marco operates. First comes the search, then comes whatever he's planning once he finds me."

Ellie takes my hands, her grip warm and steady. "You're calling Ruger."

"No."

"Yes, you are. This is exactly what the club is for—protection."

"I don't want to drag anyone else into my mess."

"Honey," she says firmly, "your mess walked through that door today. Now you can face it alone, or you can accept help from people who care about you."

Her words hit harder than I expect—people who care about me.

When was the last time I had that?

"I'll think about it," I promise.

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