Page 21 of Renegade Rift

I pause in the doorway and look back. “If I say no, will you leave it be?”

His jaw ticks with finality. “Not a chance in hell.”

I didn’t think so.

“Julie—” He sighs. “Etta. Let me help you.”

I’m not sure I can do that, but keeping him out is no longer an option.Lifting my hand, I gesture into my apartment. “Inside.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

FORD

This isn’t an apartment.

It’s a glorified closet.

The kitchen is just big enough that turning sideways allows Juliet to slide past where shock has glued my feet to the ground.

I don’t understand.

“You can wipe the surprise off your face,” she mutters as she opens the freezer.

There’s nothing but a few ice trays and a carton of sherbert.

My jaw drops. How the hell did she go from a penthouse to an impersonal closet with mismatched furniture and an empty fridge?

I’m trying to put the pieces together, but none of it makes sense. Who the hell is Earl, and why is she giving him money? Is that why she doesn’t have any food in her fridge? What happened to all the money Tyler made? Even if for some reason she didn’t receive anything in his will, there was a settlement for the families of the crash. She should sit pretty for the rest of her life if she was smart about spending it.

Juliet grimaces as she cracks the ice, and I notice a slight limp in her step when she moves to grab a sandwich bag and slide a few cubes in.

“You’re hurt.” I step toward her, but she meets it with a step back, pressing herself against the counter.

Her gaze narrows, and she offers me the ice. “I’m fine.”

She’s not.

Setting the ice on the counter, I swiftly slide up next to her and sweep her against my chest in a bridal carry.

She gasps and wraps her arms around my neck. For a split second, I can imagine she’s not about to blow up on me.

Of course. She does.

“Put me down!” she shrieks. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Helping you,” I grind out, careful to keep my injured hand clear of her thrashing legs. There’s still enough adrenaline coursing through my veins that it’s only an aching throb. I’m sure I formed my fist right for the punch, but something popped when I connected with Earl’s face, and it’s quite possible I might have tweaked something.

“I’m not a damsel in distress.”

“No, you’re a stubborn woman who won’t let anyone help you.”

“Not when you’re the Hulk, rushing in with fists and muscles.”

“Eh.” I shrug, “I’ve been called worse.”

I set her down on her bed, on top of a comforter that looks like it could be straight out of the seventies.

“Nice blanket.”

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