Page 36 of Ruger's Rage
A shadow moves in the parking lot by the bar—a man, tall and lean, standing beside a car I don't recognize.
My heart hammers as I press against the wall, peering carefully around the curtain.
The figure looks up toward the trailer, and for a moment, I swear it's Marco.
Then a car passes, headlights illuminating the lot, and I see it's just a customer from earlier retrieving something from his vehicle.
The adrenaline crash leaves me shaky.
I drop onto my bed, breathing deeply to calm myself.
This is what I'm afraid of—not just Marco finding me, but Marco ruining my ability to trust myself.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Ruger:
Just checking you got home safe. Lock your doors.
Such a simple text.
Me:
I'm safe. Doors are locked.
Ruger:
Good. Sleep well, darlin'.
I stare at the screen, debating whether to tell him about the shadow, the moment of panic, about how easily fear still overtakes me.
Instead, I type:
Me:
About today...
The three dots appear immediately.
Ruger:
No regrets here. But if you have them, I understand.
Me:
No regrets. Just... things are complicated between us.
Ruger:
Life is. Sleep on it. I'll see you tomorrow.
He's not pushing, not demanding, just accepting whatever I'm able to give him, and that wins him some brownie points with me.
As I crawl under the covers, my lips still tingle with the memory of his kiss.
Getting involved with Ruger means entering his world.
A world that might overlap with Marco's in ways that could put us both in danger.
