Page 42 of Rampage

four

Lily

While waiting for Reid, I decide to text Jeremy.

Me: Hey, some things have been happening here and it’s insane. Did anyone come around asking where I was or moved to? I hate to tell you, but I won’t be able to come to the wedding.

"Ready to go?" Reid's deep voice breaks through my conversation with Leah. He stands behind me, close enough that I can feel his warmth.

"Yes," I answer, suddenly nervous about what comes next. This morning, I woke up in his bed, but now I'm officially staying with him, not just for a night, but indefinitely.

The drive to Reid's cabin is quiet, the setting sun casting long shadows through the trees. I watch his profile as he drives, his jaw set in determination, one hand on the wheel while the other rests on my thigh. The casual possessiveness of the gesture makes my heart race.

I wish we were on his bike, but there is no way to carry my things in the saddle bags.

When we arrive, Reid carries all the bags inside in one trip, his strength making the task look effortless. I follow him through the house, past the living room where I slept in his arms last night, and down the hallway to his bedroom.

Without hesitation, he sets the bags on his bed and begins unpacking them, making space in his dresser drawers.

"Top two drawers are yours now," he says, pulling them open to reveal he's already emptied them for me. "And I cleared half the closet." He slides open the closet door, showing a row of empty hangers on one side, his clothes neatly arranged on the other.

I stand frozen in the doorway, the reality of what's happening washing over me. He's not setting me up in a guest room or making temporary accommodations. He's moving me into his space, his private sanctuary.

"Reid," I start, unsure of what I want to say.

He looks up, something vulnerable flickering across his face. "Is this okay? I can set up the spare room, if you'd prefer, but I thought…" He trails off, running a hand through his hair. "I want you with me. Where I can keep you safe."

The sincerity in his voice melts any hesitation I might have felt. "It's okay," I assure him, stepping fully into the room—into his space. "It's more than okay."

Relief crosses his features, followed by something warmer, more intense. He crosses to me in two long strides, cupping my face in his hands.

"I need you to understand something," he says, his voice low and serious. "This isn't just about protection or convenience. Having you here, in my home, in my bed…" His thumb traces my cheekbone. "It means something to me, Lily."

I swallow hard, overwhelmed by the conviction in his eyes. "It means something to me too."

His kiss is gentle but thorough, a claiming that leaves me breathless. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker, filled with promise and restrained desire.

"Let's get you settled," he says, his voice rougher than before. "I will run you a warm bath, you need to relax.” He smooths my hair over my shoulder.

His tenderness is a stark contrast to his fierce protectiveness, and I find myself leaning into his touch. "Thank you," I whisper, not just for the offer of a bath, but for everything—the protection, the care, the way he's upended his life for me.

"You don't need to thank me," he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead before stepping back. "Make yourself at home. I'll get the bath started."

As he disappears into the adjoining bathroom, I take a moment to truly look at his bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it's neat and masculine. A large bed with dark blue bedding dominates the space, flanked by simple wooden nightstands. One wall is lined with bookshelves, filled with medical texts and fiction paperbacks, many with creased spines that speak of multiple readings.

I run my fingers along the spines, smiling at the eclectic mix—thrillers next to pediatric care manuals, classic literature beside motorcycle maintenance guides. This room, these books, they tell me more about Reid than any conversation could.

The sound of running water draws me toward the bathroom. Reid kneels beside a large tub, testing the temperature with his hand. He's rolled up his sleeves, revealing muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. The domesticity of the scene makes my heart flutter.

"Almost ready," he says, glancing up at me with a smile that transforms his usually serious face. "There's bubble bath if you want it. My mom left it here last time she visited."

I lean against the doorframe, watching him. "The big, bad biker has bubble bath in his bathroom?"

He laughs, the sound warm and rich. "The big, bad biker's mother thinks everyone needs bubble bath. Grace believes strongly in small luxuries."

"I like her," I say honestly.

"She likes you too." He stands, drying his hands on a towel. "Everyone does. The club, my family… they all see what I see in you."

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