Page 56 of Rampage

"Mason will take you both," my father instructs. "The rest of us will follow, create a diversion if needed."

I guide Lily to Mason's truck, helping her into the back seat before sliding in beside her. Mason takes the driver's seat, Christopher riding shotgun. The lockbox sits heavy on my lap, its metal surface cool against my palms.

My dad will be riding my bike.

"What do you think is in there?" Mason asks, as he pulls onto the road.

"I’m almost scared to fucking find out," I reply flatly. "Enough to bury Frank and anyone who's helped him."

Lily's hand finds mine in the darkness, her fingers ice cold. I entwine them with my own, trying to transfer some warmth.

"I never thought I'd go back there," she says quietly, her voice barely audible over the truck's engine. "Never thought I'd face him again."

"You were incredible," I tell her, meaning every word. "The way you stood up to him… I've never seen anything braver."

She leans her head against my shoulder, exhaustion finally claiming her. "I couldn't have done it without you."

The simple statement hits me harder than expected. I've spent my life being strong for others—my sister, the club, my patients. But somehow, Lily's trust feels different. More significant.

I want to take care of her, to protect her and provide her with every single need.

If it were left up to me, I’d never have her work again. She can just rest and do as she pleases, because she deserves it.

Mason navigates the back roads expertly, avoiding the main highways where police might be watching. The night slides past outside the windows, dark trees and empty fields giving way to scattered houses as we approach town.

"Police scanner's quiet," Christopher reports, monitoring the club's radio. "Looks like we're clear."

Lily has fallen asleep against my shoulder, her breathing deep and even. I brush a strand of hair from her face, even in slumber her brow is furrowed.

I can't help but watch her, this woman who's faced hell and walked away stronger. There's something almost unbearably tender about her vulnerability in sleep, the way her body trusts mine enough to surrender to exhaustion. A fierce wave of protectiveness hits me so intensely it's almost painful. I'd kill for her. Die for her. Anything to keep her safe.

"We're five minutes out," Mason says quietly, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. He nods toward Lily. "She's tough."

"The toughest," I agree, my voice rough with emotion. "Too damn tough for what she's been through."

When we pull into the clubhouse parking lot, I don't have the heart to wake her. Instead, I slide my arms beneath her knees and shoulders, lifting her against my chest as I exit the truck. She stirs slightly, murmuring something unintelligible before nestling closer, her face pressed against my neck.

"I've got you," I whisper, carrying her toward the entrance where Lane waits, his expression grave.

"The evidence?" he asks, holding the door open.

"Mason has it," I reply, nodding toward my brother who follows with the lockbox tucked under his arm. "Lily needs rest."

Lane's eyes soften as he takes in the sleeping woman in my arms. "The back room's set up. Tiffany's waiting."

I hesitate, reluctant to disturb Lily's much-needed sleep. "She's exhausted, Lane."

"I'm awake," Lily murmurs against my neck, her voice thick with sleep. She lifts her head, blinking slowly. "I want to be there when you open it."

Her determination never ceases to amaze me. I set her gently on her feet but keep my arm around her waist as we follow Lane through the clubhouse. Several members nod respectfully as we pass, their expressions solemn.

The back room has been transformed into an impromptu evidence processing center. Tiffany stands at a table covered with document bags, gloves, and a camera. Her professional demeanor slips momentarily when she sees Lily's exhausted face.

"You should be resting," she says, concern evident in her voice.

"I need to see," Lily insists, straightening her spine with effort. "I need to know what's in there."

Mason places the lockbox on the table. It looks smaller in the bright light of the room, innocuous despite what we all know it contains.

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