Page 19 of Ruger's Rage
The phone slips from my hands, clattering to the floor. My vision tunnels, and suddenly I'm back in Pittsburgh, pressed against the refrigerator as Marco reads texts on my phone, his face darkening with each message.
"Tildie? Honey, what's wrong?"
Ellie's voice brings me back. I'm on my knees on the kitchen floor, phone in pieces around me.
"I... I dropped my phone."
She kneels beside me, gathering the parts. "This is more than a dropped phone. You're white as a sheet."
My mouth opens to lie—something about low blood sugar, not enough sleep. But exhaustion wins. The constant vigilance, the fear, the pretending everything's fine when my world could shatter any moment.
"He found me," I whisper.
"Who did?"
"My ex. I got a text..." I gesture helplessly at the broken phone.
Ellie sits fully on the floor, not caring about dirt or discomfort. "Start from the beginning."
And maybe because she shared this morning, or maybe because I'm so tired of carrying this alone, I do.
I tell her about Marco Santini. About how he seemed perfect at first—charming, attentive, protective. How he paid off my father's gambling debts, making himself my salvation when I was drowning in grief and financial ruin.
I don't tell her everything. Can't tell her about the baby, about the stairs, about how something inside me died along with our child. But I tell her enough.
"He used me to cover his drug dealing," I explain. "Made me think I owed him for saving me from my father's debts. But I found out later—he was the one who bought the debts. Set the whole thing up to get close to me."
"Jesus," Ellie breathes.
"When I finally tried to leave, he..." I trail off, unable to finish. "Let's just say he made it clear running wasn't an option."
"How did you get out?"
"Carefully. Slowly. Saved money in cash, hidden away. Changed my name to my middle name, my mother's maiden name. One day, I just... ran. Took a bus to Charleston, then Morgantown. Thought I covered my tracks."
"And now he's found you."
Fear grips my throat. "He has connections. The Grim Vultures—that's part of his family's network. They help with distribution."
Ellie's face sharpens. "The Grim Vultures?"
"Yeah, why? You know them?"
"They're enemies of the Saint's Outlaws. Always have been."
The information should comfort me—my ex's associates are enemies of the club that's become my protection. But it only adds another layer of complication to an already twisted situation.
"I can't bring this trouble here," I say, standing abruptly. "To you, to Ruger's club. I should leave."
"Like hell you will." Ellie's voice has steel in it. "You think running away again will solve anything?"
"It worked for six months."
"Did it? Because you still jump at shadows. Still look over your shoulder. That's not living, Tildie. That's surviving. Barely."
She's right. I know she's right. But fear is a powerful motivator.
"What do I do?" The question comes out small, defeated.
