Page 42 of Ruger's Rage
An hour later, headlights cut through the dark.
Two cars—Ellie's ancient Buick, followed by a modest sedan I recognize as Tildie's.
My heart rate kicks up, watching her emerge from the car, scanning the compound like she's mapping escape routes.
She's beautiful in simple jeans and a green sweater that makes her eyes seem more amber than ever.
Hair loose around her shoulders, minimal makeup.
Nothing like the club women with their tight clothes and heavy eyeliner.
"She's here," Bloodhound observes unnecessarily, materializing beside me. "Nervous as hell."
"Wouldn't you be?"
His eyes track to where Venus is flirting with Krypto by the grill. "Different worlds."
I move to greet them, watching Tildie's shoulders relax slightly when she spots me.
Ellie hands me a covered dish.
"Potato salad, as promised. I need a drink."
"Maddox is playing bartender, give ‘em hell."
Her eyes gleam with excitement. "Don’t I always?"
She heads inside, leaving me with Tildie.
An awkward moment passes between us until I cut the tension with a knife. "You came."
"I said I would."
"Still. Thank you."
She glances around, taking in the chaos of a club dinner. "It's not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. More..." She trails off, clearly searching for a polite word.
"Debauchery? Strippers on poles? Knife fights?"
A smile tugs at her lips. "Something like that."
"That's Saturday," I deadpan, earning a genuine laugh from her.
The sound hits me in the chest, bright and honest.
"Who's that?" she asks, nodding toward Reed, who's talking with Ounce nearby.
"Reed. President of the Skulls Renegade MC from Tennessee. Ally. Here for business."
Her expression shifts. "The Grim Vultures."
"Yeah."
She absorbs this, connecting dots I wish she didn't have to. "Should I be worried?"
