Page 91 of Rampage

"I'll stop by next week to see the place," she promises, wrapping me in a floury hug. "And to give a hand if you need it."

I squeeze her tightly, grateful for everything—for the recipes she's shared, the unexpected opportunity she's given me, the belief that I'm capable of running my own bakery. "Thank you, Mrs. Winters. For everything."

The bell jingles as I push open the door, stepping into bright sunshine. My heart feels light, buoyant with possibility. The past week has been both exhausting and exhilarating—helping Peterson's victims, assembling a proposal for the bakery, planning for Eleanor's next visit.

Reid's bike waits at the curb, his imposing figure lounging casually against it. My pulse quickens at the sight, as it always does. He looks up, his expression softening from intense to utterly devoted as he takes me in.

"How'd it go?" he asks, pulling me against him the moment I reach the sidewalk.

"Even better than I hoped," I reply, unable to suppress my grin. "She gave me recipes she hadn't planned to share. And the money she offered, it's more than enough to start with what we talked about."

Reid's pride is palpable, his arms tightening around me. "My little entrepreneur. You're really doing this."

"This," I say, gesturing broadly to encompass the bakery, the sunny street, the whole bright world, "and everything else."

We've been making plans, both immediate and longer term. I'm seeing Dr. Levine twice a week, learning to manage the flashbacks and fears that still sometimes threaten to swallow me whole. Reid's running on limited sleep as he juggles his residency with the MC's expanded operations. They've taken over where Peterson left off, using the information he left behind to find more women in need, more predators to crush.

And once the trial is over, we're going to Seattle. To see Eleanor, to explore the life she tried so hard to give me, to consider the future.

“I do need to finish packing up my apartment.”

His thumb traces my bottom lip, his expression turning serious. "Any regrets?"

I shake my head without hesitation. "None."

Relief softens his features, and he pulls me closer, tucking me against his chest where I can hear the steady rhythm of his heart.

“I will call when I finish up and you can come get me.” I run my hand down his chest once more before I step back, not liking that I can’t just be attached to him twenty-four seven.

He tosses me the keys and watches with an affectionate grin as I blow him a kiss and walk toward the diner a few blocks away. The day is warm, the sky impossibly blue. It feels like another life since I first arrived in town, bruised and terrified and with nothing to my name.

The diner’s bell jingles as I push open the door. Inside, it’s bustling with the late lunch crowd, regulars chatting over coffee and pie. Deb spots me and waves me over, her eyes crinkling with delight.

“Lily, honey! Was just thinking about you,” she says, setting a pot of coffee on the table and pulling me in for a quick hug. “How’s that motorcycle man of yours? Treating you right?"

I laugh, warmth spreading through me at her motherly concern. “Reid treats me better than I deserve.”

Her expression turns mock stern. “That man better treat you good, or else send him to me for proper training.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’d be able to handle him, Deb,” I say, touching her arm. "It’s all going better than I ever imagined. The new sign is already up."

Deb’s face softens with a mixture of pride and something bittersweet. “We’ll miss having you around here, but it’s about time you struck out on your own. You're meant for bigger things."

The words stick with me as I head to the back, to the apartment above the diner where I’ve spent the past year hiding and healing. It seems small now, but it's been a refuge. As I climb the stairs, I take a moment to appreciate how far I've come.

Inside, it’s cool and quiet. Sunlight filters through the single window, casting a soft glow over the few pieces of furniture. I grab a box and begin packing, my movements quick and efficient. I've learned not to accumulate too much, because you never know when you might have to leave at a moment's notice.

A few items are all that’s left: my mother's locket, Reid's t-shirt, a battered paperback I've read too many times. I hold the book in my hands, smiling at the memory of Reid's incredulous expression when I confessed the extent of my Jane Austen obsession. The moment feels impossibly distant, belonging to someone else's life.

Suddenly the door flies open with a crash, the frame splintering as three men in ski masks burst into the apartment. My heart seizes, instinct taking over before I can fully process the danger.

"Get her!" one shouts, his voice urgent and breathless.

I spin away from the advancing figures, shoving the small kitchen table into their path. My pulse pounds in my ears, adrenaline sharp and bright. I grab the sharpest knife from the drying rack, brandishing it with both hands.

"Stay back!" I warn, my voice steady despite the terror screaming through my veins.

The first man lunges, and I dodge sideways, the movement so quick he slams into the wall behind me.

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