Page 15 of Rampage

"If she'll let me."

My father exchanges a look with my mother, some sort of silent communication passing between them. "Make sure she knows the club has her back," he says finally. "Whether she accepts your help or not, the Sinners protect their own."

"She's not mine," I say automatically, though something possessive flares in my chest at my father's words.

My mother's knowing smile tells me she sees right through me. "Not yet, maybe. But you've never shown interest in a woman like this before."

She's right. I've had relationships, of course. Some serious, most casual. But I've never felt this overwhelming need to protect someone, to earn their trust, to be worthy of it.

"Take it slow," my father advises, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Damaged people need patience. Trust me on that." He glances at my mother with such tenderness that I have to look away.

"I know," I say. "I told her we'd go at her pace."

Mason makes a whipping sound, and I flip him off without looking.

Later that night, lying in my bed at the apartment I keep above the club's garage, I stare at my phone. It's too late to text her now, she's probably asleep. But the urge to check on her is almost overwhelming.

I settle for a simple message.

Had a good time today. Sleep well, Lily.

My thumb hovers over the send button for a long moment before I finally press it. I don't expect a response, but my phone buzzes almost immediately.

Sleep well.

That small response has me grinning like a total idiot.

Lily

The next morning, I wake up with a smile and I reach over for my phone to see if I have any new messages, and I do. From Reid.

Good morning, beautiful. Hope you slept well.

I stare at the message, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. This is all happening so fast, this feeling of having a connection with someone. It's both thrilling and terrifying.

I did, I type back. You?

His response comes quickly.

Better than usual. Thinking about you helps.

Heat floods my cheeks. I'm not used to this kind of open affection, this directness. Before I can overthink my response, there's a knock at my door. I freeze, old instincts kicking in before I remind myself that I'm safe here. Only a few people know where I live.

"Lily? You up?" Deb's voice calls through the door.

I exhale slowly and get out of bed. "Coming!"

When I open the door, Deb is standing there with two coffee cups and a knowing smile. "Thought you might need this after your late night."

"Thanks," I mutter, accepting the coffee and stepping back to let her in. My apartment is small, just a studio with a kitchenette and tiny bathroom, but it's mine, and I've made it cozy over the past year.

"So," Deb starts, settling onto my only chair while I perch on the side of my bed. "Reid, huh?"

I take a sip of coffee to hide my embarrassment. "It was just dinner."

"Uh-huh." Her tone makes it clear she doesn't believe me. "And the motorcycle ride? And the jacket he put around your shoulders? Marge from the bookstore called me the minute you two left the café together."

I groan. "Does everyone in this town have nothing better to do?"

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