Page 89 of Ruger's Rage

Two hours of waiting, and I can't stand the silence anymore.

Moving to the window, I stare out at the yard where prospects patrol the perimeter.

They may be young and stupid, but they're armed and watching for anything.

It should be slightly comforting, but it isn’t. I know they’ll protect me—everyone here at the club—but no one protects me the way Ruger does.

Speaking of him, I have no updates.

He promised to text when they arrived at the warehouse, but so far, not even a peep.

"He'll be okay," I mutter to myself, though the words sound hollow even to my own ears.

A knock at the door startles me.

I find Kinsey standing there, looking as anxious as I feel.

She hovers in the doorway. "Any word?"

I shake my head. "Nothing."

She enters hesitantly, like she's still not sure of her welcome.

She might have gotten off on the wrong foot with the club, but I feel a strange kinship with her.

We're both outsiders here, both victims of men who claimed to love us while controlling our every move.

"They should have been there by now," she says, checking her watch. "The warehouse isn't that far."

"I know."

"My father won't go down easily," Kinsey finally says, sitting on the edge of the couch. "He hates losing even more than he hates being wrong."

"Ruger's smarter than him," I counter.

"Smart doesn't always win against desperate." She touches the bruise around her eye, now a sickly yellow-purple. "And my father's very desperate."

I study her, seeing beyond the designer clothes and attitude she arrived with. "How long did it take you to see through him?"

She looks up, surprise flickering across her face at the direct question. "Too long. I was so desperate for a father that I ignored all the red flags." A bitter laugh escapes her. "Even when Rookie tried to warn me, I wouldn't listen."

"Have you seen him? Rookie?"

"Briefly, thanks to you." Her expression softens. "He wouldn't even look at me at first. Can't say I blame him."

Another knock interrupts us—this time it's Ellie, carrying a tray with coffee and sandwiches.

"You girls need to eat something," she announces, setting down the tray. "No use starving yourselves while we wait for news."

Ellie's eyes linger on Kinsey's bruise, and it’s almost like she knows who did it.

She's never met this girl before, yet there's something unspoken between them.

"Have you heard anything?" I ask, taking the coffee she offers.

"Nothing yet." Ellie settles beside me. "But that's normal. They wouldn't risk talking to us until they're fully in position."

I catch Kinsey watching Ellie with curiosity. "You're Striker’s wife," she says suddenly. "Which makes you... what to me?"

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