Page 10 of Rampage

His eyes hold mine steadily. "I know enough to want to help. Besides, I've got a bike and time on my hands."

The image of walking into Jeremy's wedding with Reid beside me, this imposing man with his leather cut and tattoos, makes something flutter in my stomach. Not fear, but something adjacent to power. Frank wouldn't dare approach me.

"I couldn't ask you to do that," I say, though part of me desperately wants to accept.

"You didn't ask. I offered." He leans forward slightly. "Think about it. No pressure either way."

I nod, taking a sip of my hot drink to hide my confusion. The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable, surprisingly. Reid seems content to share space with me, no expectations hanging in the air between us.

"Tell me something about yourself," I say finally. "Something real."

He considers this, running a thumb along the rim of his mug. "I've been with the Sinners since I was eighteen.

"Why join?" I ask. "Family pressure?"

"I believe in what we stand for. Protection. Brotherhood. Taking care of our own." He meets my eyes. "The world's a harsh place, Lily. Found families are sometimes stronger than blood."

The phrase "found families" resonates with something deep inside me. Isn't that what I've been building here, with Deb and Mrs. Winters and even Jeremy from afar?

"Your turn," Reid says. "Tell me something real."

I hesitate, weighing how much to reveal. "I ran away the night before my eighteenth birthday," I finally say, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. I've never actually told anyone this. "Climbed out a second-story window to escape my foster father."

Reid's expression darkens momentarily, but he controls it quickly. "That explains the ankle."

I nod, appreciating that he doesn't push for details. "First night in town, I slept on the floor of a storage room at the diner in my hometown. Jeremy found me and called Deb."

"And she gave you a job," he says, a smile touching his lips. "She's good people."

"The best," I agree. "I wouldn't be here without her. Or Jeremy, my friend from back home. He's the one getting married."

"And that's why you're going back?"

"Yeah. He saved me too, in a way." I trace a pattern on the table's surface. "I owe him."

He shakes his head at me. “You don’t owe anyone anything. Has he made you feel that way?” His voice grows darker toward the end of the sentence.

I try to force back the feeling of liking his protectiveness toward me, but I can’t. Because of the fact that no one in my life has ever cared if I lived or died.

“No, he never has and he said he understands.”

"He sounds like a good friend," Reid says, his tone softening.

"Yes, he is," I agree, smiling at the thought of Jeremy. "He caught me sleeping in the diner break room once when my foster dad locked me out. Instead of calling the cops, he brought me a blanket and woke me before his boss came in."

Reid's jaw clenches, but he quickly masks the reaction. "This foster father of yours?—"

"I don't want to talk about him," I interrupt. "Not today."

He nods, respecting the boundary. "Fair enough."

We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, sipping our coffee. Outside, the afternoon sun casts long shadows across the street.

Through the window, I can see people going about their Sunday routines—families walking together, couples holding hands, normal lives untouched by the kind of fear that's shaped mine.

"What are you thinking about?" Reid asks, his voice pulling me back to the present.

I shrug. "Just… normal things. Normal lives."

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