Chapter 2
RAMPAGE
The call with Chloe and Tyler wrapped up fast.
Rampage didn't do long goodbyes or lingering phone conversations. He wasn’t much of a phone person at all, truth be told.
Didn’t enjoy texting and sure as hell didn’t have any social media presence.
He handed Emily's phone back through the cracked window, watched her tuck it into her purse with hands that were still trembling, and stood up.
Turned back to where Irish and Savage had the two men pinned in the headlight wash near the truck.
Irish had his phone out, photographing the plates. Savage stood with his arms crossed and said absolutely nothing, which was, in Rampage's experience, significantly more threatening than anything he could have said out loud. Savage was his brother, if not by blood, then by combat.
The men had the look of bottom-feeders who'd just realized the water they were in was a lot deeper than they'd thought. Younger than he expected. Nervous in a way that was almost satisfying. They lacked the confidence that came from experience. He’d get to the bottom of why they were intimidating his girl and make sure they knew the consequences of ever acting this way in or around Grand Ridge again.
"You're going to want to start explaining," Rampage said, walking toward them. Calm. Even. "And you're going to want to do it quickly, because my patience runs out fast and it's already been a long night."
"We were just checking on her." The bigger one. Ball cap, thick neck, and mouth that didn't know when to stop. "Lady alone with a broken-down car. We were being neighborly."
"Neighborly." Rampage looked at him for a long moment. "You followed her off the highway, circled her car, and tried the door handles. That's not neighborly. That’s predatory.”
"We didn't do—"
"Irish's got your plates and your photos.
" He interrupted the man without raising his voice. He didn’t need to.
"By morning our good buddy at the sheriff's department is going to have a real interesting report to look at.
You want to be somewhere else when that happens, I'd suggest you get in your truck and drive.
Now. And you don't come back through Grand Ridge. Ever. I can’t guarantee your safety if you return. "
The men exchanged a look. The ball cap one started to say something else.
Savage took one step forward before he could get a sentence out.
They got in the truck.
Rampage watched the taillights disappear onto the highway, memorized the plate anyway, years of combat and practiced observation training made it routine. He then stood there in the empty lot for a moment in the sudden quiet.
His jaw was tight. Had been since Tyler's call came through. He didn’t want to scare Emily, so he took a deep breath, held it for a beat and released it. He repeated this three times before he intentionally dropped his shoulders, rolled his head a couple times and turned back to her car.
She'd gotten out while he wasn't looking.
Standing next to the CR-V, her arms were wrapped around herself, and she was trying very hard to hold it together.
He could see the effort it was having on her.
Her shoulders were set and she was taking deep, deliberate breaths, as if she was counting.
One of her yoga techniques, maybe. She had blonde hair that the parking lot's single working light caught in a way that made her look younger than she was, and curves that her oversized hoodie did nothing to hide, and eyes that were still wet from crying but watching him with an expression he recognized.
Not fear. Not anymore.
Something else. Something she probably didn't have a name for yet. He did.
She didn’t know it yet, but he suspected she was his.
She was his from the moment she slid into the booth across from him last week at The Rusty Crab.
He couldn’t get her out of his mind. He was planning on making a trip to the Springs soon to visit Tyler and meet his new little girl Chloe…
and track down Emily and demand to know why she hadn’t returned his calls or texts.
He didn’t like being ghosted. But, that was a conversation for another day.
She looked exhausted and all he wanted to do was get her back to the compound where she would be safe, make her a nice warm cup of chocolate milk and tuck her into bed.
He walked over. Stopped in front of her.
She tipped her chin up to look at him and didn't back away, which told him something. She wasn’t scared of him.
Good. He didn’t want her afraid of him, not ever.
He wanted her to know she was safe with him.
Even when he took her over his knee and laid down the law.
Which his palm was itching to do. Traveling alone, without telling anyone?
Going to a stranger’s house? Not answering his calls?
Oh yeah, there were a lot of things he was itching to hold her accountable for.
Instead, he focused on comforting her and getting her to safety.
"You doing okay?" he asked.
"Mostly." Her voice was steadier now. "I think my legs might be broken."
"They're not broken."
"They feel like it."
"Adrenaline." He glanced at her car. "We're going to tow your car back to our mechanic shop."
"What's wrong with it?"
"Don't know yet. Need to look at it in daylight." He paused. "I don't think it broke down on its own."
She stared at him. Processing that. "What does that mean?"
"It means, I don't want you worrying about it tonight." He watched her face. She wanted to push, he could see it, that independent streak working behind her eyes, and he let the silence sit there until she let it go.
"Okay," she said, quietly.
"You're coming back to the compound with me. Chloe knows. Tyler knows. You'll have your own space. You’ll stay in my officer apartment. It’s private and the door locks. There are other women there, I think you’ll like them.
They are good girls, a bit naughty, but good.
Nobody's going to push you into anything you don’t want to do, but you’ll be safe there Emily. "
She was quiet for a moment. "On a motorcycle."
"Yes."
"I've never been on one."
"I know." She’d told him last week. Their conversation had been long and thorough. He knew enough to know she was his. There were many firsts he planned on being for her.
"That's not — I mean, I'm not afraid of them, I just—" She stopped. "You'll go slow?"
Rampage looked at her. Really looked at her, the way he'd done the moment he crouched outside her window, and she'd asked is it really you in that small, wrecked voice that had done something unexpected to the inside of his chest.
"I'll go slow," he said. “And we have a helmet for you.” He held out his hand and Irish stuck a bright pink helmet in his hand.
She tried not to giggle at the sight of the large man in front of her holding a bright pink helmet with a Hello Kitty sticker on it and instead nodded. Tugged the front of her hoodie straight, like she was pulling herself. "Okay. Yeah. Okay."
After helping her with the helmet, he got on the bike and walked her through what to do.
He showed her where to put her feet, where to hold on, how to keep her weight centered, lean when he leaned, and don't fight it.
She listened carefully. Asked one clarifying question about the foot pegs. He answered it.
She climbed on behind him.
There was a moment, just after she settled, where she sat stiffly with her hands hovering somewhere near his waist, not quite committing.
"Hold on," he said.
"I am holding on."
"You're hovering. Hold on."
A short pause. “Yes, Sir.” She muttered.
He wondered if she was even aware of saying the words. He smiled to himself and then her arms came around him, really around him, locked at the front of his cut, her face pressing in against his back, and he felt her exhale. Long and shaky and relieved, like she'd been holding her breath for hours.
He gave Irish a look. Follow us. Keep it tight.
Irish nodded.
Rampage pulled out of the lot.
He'd told her he'd go slow, and he always kept his word. As he drove, he kept it steady, well under the limit, nothing to jar or alarm. The night was cold and clear, the highway emptying out as they got further from town, and the only sounds were the engine and the wind.
She held on like she was afraid she’d fall off and become road kill.
Hands locked together just below his sternum, her body pressed flat against his back. After the first mile, her grip changed. It felt less desperate almost like she'd decided she trusted the bike, trusted him, and was allowing herself to actually breathe. He felt her cheek against his back.
His hands stayed steady on the bars.
He'd seen plenty of fear in his life. Had watched people come out the other side of it in every possible way. From hard, angry, and closed off, to shattered and numb. Emily Carter was none of those things. She was soft under the fear. Not weak, but soft. There was a difference, and it was a difference he understood. He’d deployed numerous times all across the globe.
Quick trips to remove a tyrant in power to yearlong battles filled in middle east combat zones.
He’d learned how to read people and Emily was easy to read.
She was the kind of woman who needed something she'd never let herself ask for.
He'd known it when she asked is it really you through a one-inch gap in a window. He'd suspected it when they were at the diner. She was a little. It was in the way she’d ordered her food, the stickers on her phone case, and the stuffy seat belted into the front seat of her car, the one he’d motioned for Irish to grab.
She’d noticed a kid across the street playing and her expression looked like longing.
Now, with her arms around his waist and her forehead against his back, and every mile that passed making her hold him just slightly less like she was drowning and slightly more like she was choosing to be there, he knew by the way she fit into him. He’d already suspected, but now?
He knew.
She was his.
He didn't make a thing of it, the way he didn't make a thing of most things he was certain about. It wasn't a feeling he needed to examine or argue with. It just was. It was solid and simple and true the same way the road under the tires was true, the way the stars above the highway were true.
His little girl, whether she knew it yet or not.
His job now was to keep her safe, keep her steady, and wait.
The compound lights appeared ahead.
He felt her lift her head, taking it in.
"Almost there," he said, loud enough to carry over the engine.
Her arms tightened for just a second. Just one.
He let himself feel the full weight of that, and then he filed it away where it would keep, and he pulled through the gate.