Page 98 of Rampage

As soon as my hands are free, I throw my arms around his neck, burying my face against his chest. His heart thunders beneath my ear, his arms encircling me with protective ferocity.

"I knew you'd come," I whisper against his shirt. "I knew you'd find me."

Behind us, Lane and Mason secure Walter, who continues to writhe on the floor, making sounds of agony. Christopher crouches beside the camera equipment, dismantling it while checking for stored footage.

"Lily," Reid says, pulling back just enough to examine my injuries. His fingers ghost over the cut on my collarbone, the bruises forming on my throat. Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "Did they?—"

"No," I interrupt, understanding his unspoken question. "You got here in time."

Relief slides over his features before hardening into resolve. "Let's get you out of here."

He lifts me effortlessly, cradling me against his chest.

Greyson steps forward, his eyes never leaving Walter and the camera operator who cowers in the corner. "We should take these pieces of shit back to the clubhouse," he suggests, his voice deceptively casual despite the deadly intent in his eyes. "Give Reid some privacy to deal with them properly. Away from prying eyes."

Reid's arms tighten around me for a moment before he nods, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. "Good idea. My father can supervise their transport." He glances at Walter, who has gone pale with understanding of what awaits him. "Make sure they arrive… intact. For now."

The promise of future retribution hangs heavy in the air as Reid turns his full attention back to me, his hand gently tilting my face up to examine the bruises forming along my cheekbone, the split in my lip.

Outside, the night air is cool against my flushed skin. The area around the house has been secured, with MC members stationed at strategic points throughout the property. Their faces soften with relief as Reid leads me past them, their eyes quickly averting from my disheveled state out of respect.

Reid's motorcycle waits at the end of the clearing, but he bypasses it for a black SUV idling nearby. He opens the passenger door, helping me inside before sliding behind the wheel.

"Hospital first," he says, his voice brooking no argument as he pulls away from the house.

I shake my head, another tremor running through me. "No hospital. Just take me home. Please."

His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as he processes my request. "Lily, you need medical attention. Those bruises, your wrists?—"

"I need you more," I whisper, reaching for his hand. "Please, Reid. I can't face strangers right now."

His expression softens as he glances at me, conflict evident in his eyes. "At least let Meadow look you over at the clubhouse, and Konrad. He's back from vacation."

I nod, relief washing through me. "Okay."

We drive in silence, his hand gripping mine so tightly it almost hurts, as if he's afraid I'll disappear if he loosens his hold. The tremors gradually subside, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that makes my eyelids heavy.

"I fought them," I say suddenly, needing him to know. "At the apartment, in the woods. I didn't give up."

Pride flashes across Reid's face, momentarily displacing the fury and worry etched there. "I know you did. The apartment looked like a war zone." His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. "You're the strongest person I've ever known."

"I just wanted to come back home to you, that’s all I wanted."

Reid's jaw clenches, emotion tightening his features. "When I found your apartment empty, when I saw the blood…" He trails off, swallowing hard. "I've never been so terrified in my life."

"I knew you'd find me," I say with absolute certainty. "I just needed to stay alive until you did."

His hand tightens on mine, and we lapse into silence again as the clubhouse comes into view. The lot is filled with motorcycles, not just the Grim Sinners' but others bearing the Devil Souls insignia, evidence of the alliance that mobilized to find me.

Reid parks near the entrance, coming around to my side before I can open the door. His arms slide under my knees and around my back, lifting me easily against his chest despite my weak protests.

"I can walk?—"

"Let me take care of you," he interrupts, his voice rough with emotion. "Please."

I relax into him, letting the warmth of his body chase away the numbness. We are on the stairs before I realize it, Reid's boots heavy on the wooden steps as he carries me inside.

The clubhouse falls silent at our entrance, conversations and laughter dying mid-sentence as concerned faces turn toward us, eyes widening at the sight. I catch murmured words—my name, Reid's name, fragments of what happened—but they feel distant, blunted by exhaustion. I bury my face against his shoulder, unwilling to meet their pitying stares.

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