Page 29 of Rampage

"I just want to sleep for days," I murmur as Reid helps me onto the bike.

He climbs on in front of me, glancing back with concern. "You okay to hold on?"

I nod, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my cheek against his broad back. The engine roars to life, but instead of heading toward the diner, Reid turns in the opposite direction.

"This isn't the way to my place," I say, raising my voice to be heard over the engine.

"We're going to my house," he replies, not slowing down. "It's safer."

I tighten my grip on him, leaning forward. "Reid, I appreciate everything, but I want to go home. To my apartment."

He doesn't respond, just accelerates down the dark road leading out of town. Panic flutters in my chest, not fear of Reid, exactly, but of losing control again so soon after reclaiming it.

"Reid!" I shout. "Stop the bike! I want to go to my place!"

He pulls over abruptly, cutting the engine. When he turns to face me, his expression is resolute.

"Listen to me, Lily. Frank knows where you are now. That cop today was just the beginning. Your apartment has one entrance, paper-thin walls, and windows that don't even lock properly. It's not safe."

"That's my decision to make," I argue, anger rising to push back the fear. "I can't just abandon my life because he might come after me."

Reid's jaw tightens, his eyes flashing with something dangerous. "This isn't up for debate. You're coming to my house tonight."

"No," I say firmly, sliding off the bike. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm going home."

In one fluid motion, Reid dismounts his bike and stands before me, towering over me in the moonlight. "Lily, I respect your independence. I do. But right now, your safety trumps everything else."

"You can't just?—"

Before I can finish the sentence, Reid moves with startling speed. He bends, wrapping an arm around my waist, and hoists me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.

"Reid!" I gasp, the air knocked from my lungs. "Put me down!"

"No," he says and strides back toward the motorcycle. I pound my fists against his back, my indignation flaring hot and bright.

"This is kidnapping!" I shout, though the deserted road swallows my words.

"Call it whatever you want," Reid replies, his voice maddeningly calm. "I'm not letting you get hurt because you're too stubborn to accept protection."

He deposits me back on the motorcycle, this time climbing on so quickly I have no chance to escape. The engine roars to life beneath us, and I'm faced with a choice: jump off a moving bike or hold on.

Self-preservation wins. I wrap my arms around his waist again, fury coursing through me like electricity. I can feel the tension in his muscles, the rigid set of his spine against my chest.

The ride to Reid's house passes in tense silence. When we finally pull up to a modest cabin on the outskirts of town, surrounded by dense trees, I slide off the bike before he can help me.

"I'm still mad," I inform him, handing back his jacket with more force than necessary.

Reid accepts it without comment, his expression unreadable in the dim porch light he's flipped on. He unlocks the front door and gestures for me to enter.

Despite my anger, curiosity gets the better of me. The interior is surprisingly neat, rustic but comfortable. A large leather couch dominates the living room, facing a stone fireplace. Bookshelves line one wall, filled with what appears to be a mix of fiction and motorcycle repair manuals.

"Bathroom's down the hall," Reid says, dropping his keys on a side table. "I'll find you something to sleep in."

I stand rooted in place, arms crossed. "You had no right."

He turns to face me, running a hand through his dark hair. "Maybe not. But I'd rather have you alive and angry than—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.

"Than what?" I challenge.

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