Page 61 of Ruger's Rage

"To be fair, I have a property about fifteen minutes away. It’s on forty acres, but I stay here when necessary."

She laughs. "Your own little slice of paradise."

"Exactly."

I give her the quick tour—bathroom, bedroom, small office.

She trails her fingers along bookshelves, examines the few photos I keep, catalogs the pieces of me most people never see.

"When should I get my things?"

"Tonight, if you're comfortable with it. I can send a couple of guys with you."

She nods, but I can see she's processing her reality—these precautions are necessary.

"Tildie." I wait until she meets my eyes. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"You can't promise that."

"I can promise to do everything in my power to keep you safe. To keep us both safe."

She steps closer, resting her hand against my cheek. "I know. That's why I'm staying."

This woman who's been so betrayed, so hurt by men with power, is choosing to trust me with her safety.

"When this is over," I tell her, "we'll figure out what comes next. Okay?"

"One day at a time," she reminds me, echoing our agreement.

"One day at a time," I agree, pulling her close.

As she melts against me, I allow myself a moment to simply feel her warmth, her softness.

In the middle of this fucking war, she's become my calm, the thing I want when the world goes to hell.

And I'll burn down the world before I let anyone take her away.

CHAPTEREIGHT

Tildie

Waking up in a strange bed isn't new to me, but waking up in Ruger's bed is a whole different kind of experience.

I blink at the unfamiliar ceiling, disoriented for a second until the memories of yesterday flood back—moving my essentials to the compound, settling into Ruger's apartment attached to the clubhouse, falling asleep with his arm draped protectively across my waist.

The space beside me is empty, sheets cool to the touch.

He's been gone awhile, I’d guess.

On the nightstand sits a handwritten note:

Had to handle some business. Breakfast in the main room. Nobody bothers you here. - R

The confidence in those last four words should reassure me.

Instead, it makes me feel a flutter of anxiety at the thought of facing the club by myself.

These people are Ruger's family, his world.

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