Page 20 of Ruger's Rage
"You let people help you. Starting with putting your phone back together so we can see exactly what that text said."
It takes fifteen minutes to get the phone working. The message is still there:I know where you are.
But there's no follow-up. No threats, no details. Just those four words, designed to destroy my peace of mind.
"We need to tell Ruger," Ellie decides.
"No." My response is immediate. "He's already dealing with club stuff. I won't be another problem."
"You're not a problem. You're family."
The word makes my chest ache. Family. I left mine behind to protect them from Marco. Haven't spoken to my parents or brothers in six months, terrified my ex would use them to find me.
"Please," I beg. "Just... let me think. Figure out what to do."
Ellie studies me for a long moment. "Forty-eight hours. If we don't have a plan by then, we tell Ruger. Deal?"
I nod, relief and dread warring inside me.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. I serve customers on autopilot, my mind racing through possibilities. Move again? Confront Marco? Involve the club?
Around seven, the evening crowd starts filtering in. I'm pulling a draft beer when the door opens, and Ruger walks in. One look at his face tells me he knows something.
He zeroes in on me immediately, bypassing his usual spot to approach the bar directly.
"We need to talk," he says.
"I'm working."
"Ellie," he calls over his shoulder, not breaking eye contact with me. "Tildie's taking a break."
To my surprise, Ellie nods. "Kitchen. Five minutes."
Part of me wants to argue, to maintain the illusion of normalcy. But a larger part—the part that's been terrified since that text—knows I need help. Even if it comes from a dangerous man who makes my heart race for entirely different reasons.
In the kitchen, Ruger closes the door. "You're more jumpy than usual. What happened?"
"Nothing. Just tired."
"Try again."
His intensity makes me want to step back, but I hold my ground. "Why do you care?"
"Because you work here. Because I told you last night you're under our protection."
"Protection from what?"
"From whatever has you checking exits every five minutes." He steps closer. "From whoever taught you to flinch when men move too fast."
"I don't flinch." But we both know it's a lie.
He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. "Look, I know we don't know each other well. But I can see you're scared. Let me help."
The offer tempts me. God, how it tempts me. To have someone strong on my side, someone who could actually stand against Marco's connections.
But opening up to Ruger feels dangerous for different reasons. There's attraction beneath my fear, desire mixed with self-preservation. Men like him pull you in, make you dependent. I've learned that lesson too well.
"I'm handling it," I say finally.
