Page 52 of Ruger's Rage

We lie in silence, our bodies cooling in the night air.

I should feel vulnerable, exposed.

Instead, I feel strangely protected, like the walls I've built around myself have expanded to include him inside their confines.

"What happens now?" I ask finally, voicing the question that's been circling my mind since the man showed up at the bar.

"Now we find the fuckers who are looking for you," Ruger answers, his voice rumbling against my cheek. "And we make it very clear that you're not alone anymore."

"Marco won't stop."

"Neither will I." He tilts my face up to his, his expression deadly serious. "I protect what's mine, Tildie. Always have, always will."

I should bristle at the possessiveness in his tone, should remind him that I belong to no one but myself.

But after so many months of being alone, of having no one to turn to, his words feel less like a cage and more like a shield.

"One day at a time," I remind him, echoing our promise.

"One day at a time," he agrees, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Starting with tonight."

As I drift toward sleep in the circle of his arms, I know things have fundamentally changed.

For better or worse, I've tied my fate to Ruger's. To the club's.

The thought should terrify me.

Instead, for the first time since I fled Pittsburgh, I sleep without dreaming of falling down stairs, of Marco's hands pushing me into darkness.

Tonight, I sleep peacefully, in the arms of a man who would never allow any harm to come to me.

CHAPTERSEVEN

Ruger

A call comes at 5:30 in the morning, dragging me from sleep and Tildie's warm, plush body.

"Prez, we got a problem." Bloodhound's voice is tight, like he knows I’m not gonna be happy about this shit. "Grim Vultures' clubhouse in Amity just went up in flames."

I'm instantly awake, easing out of bed to avoid disturbing Tildie. "Any casualties?"

"None reported. Place was empty."

"And why's this our problem?" I ask, though I already suspect the answer.

"Because someone left one of our patches in the parking lot. Word's spreading that Saints Outlaws torched the place."

"Fuck." I rub a hand over my face, mind racing. "I'll be at the club in twenty."

I hang up, turning to find Tildie watching me with sleep-heavy eyes.

She pulls the sheet up to cover herself. "Something happen with the club?"

"Yeah." I sit on the edge of the bed, letting my hand rest on her hip through the thin fabric. "Someone hit a Vultures club in Amity last night. Left one of our patches there, like a fuckin’ signature."

Her eyes widen. "But you didn't order it."

"No, I didn’t." The fact she immediately understands what’s going on does something to my chest. "Someone's settin’ us up."

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