Page 110 of Rampage

Sunlight hits my face as the heavy doors close behind me. I inhale deeply, filling my lungs with fresh air that tastes of freedom. The weight of what I've done settles across my shoulders—not guilt, but responsibility. For Lily. For our unborn child. For every woman Frank ever hurt.

Lane waits by his bike, his expression carefully neutral as I approach.

"It's done," I tell him, stowing my medical bag in my saddlebag.

He studies my face, recognizing something there that makes him nod once, decisively. "Good."

We mount our bikes in silence, engines roaring to life beneath us. As we pull away from the prison, I feel the last threads of Lily's past severing behind us. Frank Dawson will never speak her name again, never see her face, never hear her voice. He will live in the darkness he created for others, experiencing the helplessness he inflicted.

Revenge is oh-so fucking sweet.

Almost Three Months Later

Lily

"Reid, can you grab that tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven?" I call, wiping flour from my hands onto my apron. The bakery is unusually busy for a Tuesday morning, and I'm grateful for the distraction. At nearly nine months pregnant, keeping active helps with the constant ache in my lower back.

Reid appears from the kitchen, oven mitts on his hands and concern etched on his face. "You should be sitting down," he scolds gently, setting the fragrant tray on the cooling rack. "Doctor's orders."

I roll my eyes, though his worry warms my heart. "I'm fine. The doctor said light activity is good?—"

The words die in my throat as a sharp pain seizes my abdomen, radiating around to my back with surprising intensity. I grasp the counter, breathing through it as Reid rushes to my side.

"Lily? What is it? Is it the baby?"

"Just a contraction," I manage once it passes. "I've been having them on and off since last night."

Reid's face pales. "Since last night? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because they were irregular and mild. This one was… different." I glance down in surprise as I feel a warm gush of liquid running down my legs, pooling on the bakery floor. "Oh."

Reid stares at the puddle, his medical training momentarily forgotten as panic floods his features. "Your water broke. The baby's coming. Now. We need to get to the hospital."

I shake my head, suddenly certain. "No hospital. I want to go home."

"Home? Lily, you need medical?—"

"Call Meadow," I interrupt, gripping his arm as another contraction builds. "She's delivered dozens of babies. I want her to do this. At the cabin."

"That's not safe," Reid argues, already pulling out his phone. "What if there are complications? What if?—"

"Reid." I meet his eyes steadily, despite the pain building in my lower back. "I trust Meadow. I trust you. I want our baby born at home, not in some sterile hospital room."

He hesitates, torn between his medical training and my wishes. Finally, he nods, hitting speed dial. "Meadow? It's time. Lily's water broke at the bakery. She wants a home birth." He pauses, listening. "Yes, I know what I am, but I'm not delivering my own child. That's what I have you for."

Fifteen minutes later, we're in the cabin. Reid has transformed into a whirlwind of nervous energy, simultaneously setting up our bedroom with clean sheets and towels while rattling off medical facts about labor and delivery.

"First babies usually take longer, but with your water already broken, things could progress quickly. We should time the contractions. Are they getting stronger? How far apart? Do you feel pressure? What about?—"

"Reid, breathe." I interrupt his medical monologue with a weak laugh that transforms into a grimace as another contraction seizes me. This one feels different than the last one—stronger, more insistent. I clutch onto the bed, a low moan escaping my lips.

Reid's phone rings, and his face falls as he answers it. "What do you mean you're stuck?" His voice rises with panic. "How long? Lily's contractions are already—" He glances at me, his expression shifting from concern to barely concealed terror. "Okay, okay. Just… hurry."

"What's wrong?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Avalanche on the mountain pass. Roads are blocked." His voice sounds strained, professional detachment warring with raw fear. "Meadow's trying to find a way around, but it could be hours."

Another contraction rips through me, pulling a cry from deep in my chest. Reid is at my side instantly, his hand finding mine.

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