Sarah #3
“I'd rather not be around his customers drinking and being loud,” she said.
“I can take you to visit Princess,” he said.
“Butcher lives there,” she mumbled.
Ripper snorted. “Unfortunately.”
“What about your house?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, and Sarah froze. Why the hell had she said that? Ripper's expression went unreadable, and Sarah immediately looked away. “Forget I said that.”
“Sarah,” he breathed.
“I didn't mean—” she started.
“You could come back to my house,” he offered.
She looked over at him. “What?”
“You could come to my house,” he said again. Her heart hammered in her chest, and Ripper's jaw tightened. “But I'm not suggesting it.”
That confused her. “Why not?”
“Because you barely know me,” he said.
“I know you,” she insisted.
“You know my name,” he countered.
“I know more than that,” she assured. He looked at her, and Sarah continued before she lost her nerve.
“I know you put your gun down back at the warehouse because I was scared,” Ripper said nothing.
“I know you ask before touching me.” His hand tightened around the steering wheel.
“I know you came to the hospital every day even though you pretended it was nothing.”
His eyes narrowed. “I didn't pretend.”
“You absolutely did,” she challenged. “And I know you bought four different breakfasts because you were trying to figure out which one I’d like.”
“Coffee doesn't count,” he insisted.
“It counts,” she said. His mouth twitched, and Sarah's chest loosened a little. “I know you're dangerous.”
His smile disappeared. “Yeah, I am.”
“And I know I should probably care more about that than I do,” she breathed.
Ripper looked at her for a long moment. “That's something you should probably work on,” he teased. “The problem with my place is that I only have one bedroom, and one bed. I could take the sofa, though,” he offered. The last thing she wanted was for him to sleep on his sofa because she was too scared to take the room that the Savage Bastards had offered her. She couldn’t do that to Ripper after all the kindness he had shown her.
She looked at the clubhouse again. “I think I can do this.” She didn’t want to push him about staying at his place. The last thing Sarah wanted to be was a burden.
“You don't have to prove shit,” he growled.
“I know.” That was why she could do it. Sarah reached for the door handle, and Ripper climbed out. By the time she slid down from the truck, he was standing nearby. Not touching her, just there.
The clubhouse door opened, and a woman stepped outside—Harlow. Sarah's breath caught as Harlow smiled at her. Not the huge emotional smile everyone had been giving Sarah lately, but a normal one.
“Hey,” Harlow said.
Sarah smiled back. “Hey.”
Princess came out behind her. “Butcher's inside pretending he isn't worried about whether you like the room or not.”
Ripper snorted. “Bullshit.”
Princess grinned. “He changed the sheets twice.” Sarah laughed. Then three men stepped through the doorway behind them, and her body went rigid.
Ripper moved, not in front of her, but beside her. He was standing so close that she could feel the heat of his body, and it somehow comforted her.
“Brothers,” he said quietly.
Sarah stared as one of the men lifted his hands. “I'm Grimm.”
Another nodded. “Draven.”
The third smiled. “Lynch.”
“I’m Mitch. I made you the cheeseburgers that Harlow brought over. Sarah remembered Harlow telling her all about Mitch from Wade's bar. He worked in the kitchen and made a mean cheeseburger.
Her breathing eased. “Hi.” Nobody came closer, tried to hug her, or gave her a sad look, and that helped.
Harlow walked over. “Want to see your room?”
Sarah nodded. “Yes.”
Ripper started toward the clubhouse, and Sarah hesitated. He stopped immediately and looked back. “You coming?” She looked at the open door, then at the motorcycles and the men standing by the building, and fear crawled through her, but it wasn’t enough to stop her.
Sarah stepped forward. “Yes.” Inside, the clubhouse smelled like beer, leather, coffee, and something frying in the kitchen.
Voices filled the room and a television played somewhere while pool balls cracked together.
Everything felt almost normal. Then a man laughed too loudly behind her, and Sarah jumped.
Her body reacted before her brain did, and she turned and backed up.
Her shoulder hit something solid—Ripper.
She froze, but he kept his hands off of her.
“It's me,” he whispered.
Sarah breathed. “Ripper.”
“Yeah.” She hated the relief that flooded her. She hated it because relief meant trust, and trust had nearly destroyed her once. Still, she stayed where she was—close enough to feel his warmth behind her, but not touching him.
Harlow watched her carefully, and Sarah straightened. “I'm okay.”
Ripper's voice came low beside her. “You don't have to be.”
Sarah closed her eyes briefly. Damn him. When she opened them, she looked at Harlow. “Show me the room.”
Harlow smiled. “Come on.” They headed down the hallway, and Ripper followed, even though she didn't ask him to. Then again, she also didn't tell him not to, and him being with her felt important.