Page 38 of Rampage

"I have names," I say quietly. "Not all of them, but some. Girls who were there before me."

Reid looks at me with surprise. "You never mentioned that."

"I didn't think it mattered," I admit. "I assumed they'd scattered, like me. Trying to forget."

"Names are a start," Tiffany says, pulling out a notepad. "We have resources to find people who don't want to be found."

As I list the names I remember—Sarah, Kimberly, Jasmine, Monica, Amber—the room grows quiet. Each name represents another girl who suffered in that hellhole. Each name I speak feels like releasing a ghost—Sarah with her quiet voice and talent for drawing, Kimberly who taught me how to apply makeup to cover bruises, Jasmine who disappeared one night without warning, Monica who cried herself to sleep for weeks.

"That's a good start," Tiffany says, finishing her notes. "We'll begin tracking them down immediately."

Elle glances at her watch. "We should get going if we want to beat the lunch rush at Mabel's."

Meadow nods in agreement, gathering her purse. "Their grilled chicken salad is worth fighting for."

I start to rise, feeling a strange mix of nervousness and excitement at the prospect of spending time with these women who seem so comfortable in this world I'm just discovering.

"Ready?" Elle asks me with a warm smile, looping her arm through mine as if we've been friends for years.

"We're taking my truck," Reid announces, his free hand digging in his pocket for his keys. "I'll drive."

Elle rolls her eyes at Meadow, but there's something knowing in their exchange. "Whatever you say, Dr. Overprotective."

The drive to Mabel's Bistro is tense. Reid insists I sit in the front passenger seat of his black pickup, his eyes constantly checking the rearview mirror despite the peaceful afternoon traffic. Elle and Meadow chat easily in the back seat, seemingly unfazed by Reid's hypervigilance.

Inside the bistro, Reid selects a table with a clear view of both the entrance and the kitchen door. He guides me to the seat against the wall, positioning himself beside me where he can watch the room. His large frame seems to take up more space than physically possible, his presence a shield between me and the rest of the world.

"So," Elle says after we've ordered, "how are you handling all this?" She gestures vaguely, referring to everything from the club to the situation with Frank.

I consider the question, feeling Reid's attention on me even as he pretends to study the menu. "It's… a lot. Yesterday morning I was just a waitress with a quiet life. Now I'm under motorcycle club protection with a fake warrant hanging over my head."

"And a very intense biker watching your every move," Meadow adds with a small smile.

Reid doesn't react to her teasing, his focus shifting to a man who's just entered the bistro. His body tenses beside me until the newcomer greets another table, clearly a local meeting friends.

"Is he always like this?" I ask the women quietly.

Elle and Meadow exchange glances. "Reid's always been intense," Elle admits. "But this is different."

"Mason says he's never seen Reid so focused on someone," Meadow adds. "Not in all the years they've known each other."

Reid's hand finds mine beneath the table, his thumb tracing circles on my palm as if he needs the contact. The gesture is possessive, his calloused fingers a contradiction against my softer skin.

"He's never brought a woman to club meetings before," Elle continues, her voice low enough that only our table can hear. "Never asked for club protection for anyone outside the family."

"What does that mean?" I ask, unable to help myself.

Reid's grip tightens slightly, though he pretends not to be listening, his eyes still scanning the restaurant.

Meadow smiles. "It means you're special, Lily. To him and now to the club."

Our food arrives, momentarily pausing the conversation. Reid waits until I've taken my first bite before touching his own meal, as if ensuring I'm taken care of is his first priority.

"The club's women are tight-knit," Elle explains between bites of her salad. "We look out for each other, support each other. It's a different kind of family."

"I've never really had that," I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them. "Family, I mean. Not a real one."

Reid's hand returns to mine beneath the table, a silent comfort.

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