Reaper's Legacy (Reapers MC, #2)(93)

He still wanted the f*cker dead, though.

They could always take him out later. If they did it right, the girls would never know.

SOPHIE

I didn’t know how to feel as I rode home with Ruger, exhausted and drained from the adrenaline. We’d separated from the rest of the club, which broke into different groups going different places. He’d wanted me to get checked out by a friend of the club who was an EMT, but I insisted I was fine.

Which I was. Physically.

But now that it was over, I was so furious with Ruger that I wanted to scream and hit and kick his big, dumb ass for getting me into this shit. I also wanted him to hold me and make me feel safe again, which was ridiculous.

I’d never be safe around him.

More than anything, though, I wanted to get back to Noah. I wanted to hold him tight and make sure we never, ever had to worry about something like this happening again. Different plans kept running through my head, including changing my name and moving to a different state entirely. But I had a good job now, one that might actually let us get ahead.

I just needed a wall between me and Ruger. I’d draw the line—him on his side and me on mine, with no crossover. If I did that, we’d be fine.

But even angry with him, it felt right and safe to lean against his back as we drove, arms wrapped tight around his stomach. Every inch of Ruger was strong and solid. The leather of his cut lay under my cheek, broken by the embroidered fabric of his Reapers patches. His stomach was made of hard muscle that rippled under my fingers every time he leaned to take a curve.

For now—just for the next twenty minutes—I’d let myself touch him, savor his presence.

Then we’d go our separate ways.

When we finally pulled around the back of Elle’s barn to the little gravel parking area in front of my new apartment, I dropped my arms and let him go. I didn’t let myself feel sad.

I tried not to let myself feel anything.

He swung off the bike and took my hand, leading me over to the door, which was a good thing. I felt like I was trapped in a dream, everything distant and surreal.

“Crap,” I muttered, looking at the lock. “I don’t have my keys. They’re in my purse, and I have no idea what happened to it, or my phone.”

“They might find your purse at the house,” Ruger said. “Your phone is gone. I’ll get you a new one tomorrow.”

He let me go and turned back to his bike, digging through one of the saddlebags to pull out a small black leather pouch. When he came back and opened it, I saw a collection of strange little tools.

“Lock picks,” he said shortly.

“So this is just another part of your life?” I asked, numb. “You just go around, ready and waiting to break into places?”

He glanced up at me and opened his mouth to speak. Something in my face must have caught his attention, because his expression softened.

“Babe, I’m a locksmith, used to be my job,” he said, his voice gentle. “Locksmith, gunsmith—if it’s made of metal and has tiny little parts, I like working with it. When I was a kid I built shit out of Legos; now I have big-boy toys. For a while I worked full-time doing lockout calls. Sometimes it’s not about scary stuff, okay?”

I nodded, but I wasn’t sure if I believed him.

“Whatever,” I murmured. The door clicked open and I walked in, looking around. Everything was just like I’d left it the day before. Normal. All normal. It could almost have been a dream.

“You need to get cleaned up,” he said. “I’ll call Kimber and tell her to bring Noah home in an hour or so. I don’t want him freaking out.”

“Was he worried about me?” I asked, walking over to get a drink of water. I considered offering him one, and then didn’t, because f*ck Ruger. The little surge of anger was good—made me feel less numb.

“I’m sure he was,” he replied. “Kimber’s been with him the whole time, though. They’ve been watching movies and shit. I talked to him for about five minutes this morning but I haven’t seen him. I was focused on getting you back.”

I turned to look at him, so big he seemed to fill my tiny living room.

“Soph, we need to talk,” he said slowly, looking almost nervous. “I need you to tell me everything that happened. Did they … hurt … you?”

I snorted.

“Um, yeah, they hurt me,” I said, reaching up to touch my bruised cheek. “They threw me in a van, tied me up, and held me prisoner while threatening to kill me because of some bullshit with your club that I don’t understand or care about. So yeah, that part kind of sucked. Thanks for asking.”

“Did they rape you?” he asked bluntly. I shook my head. His face softened with relief, and he walked toward me. I held my hand up flat, halting him.

Limits. Time to set them.

“Ruger, we’ve been playing around, and it’s over,” I said, focusing my eyes on his chest. His 1% patch taunted me, reminding me exactly why this had to happen. “I know I’ve said that before, but everything’s changed now. It doesn’t matter how you make me feel or how nice you are. Your club is dangerous, and I don’t want anything to do with any of you. Noah and I, we can’t afford that.”

He stilled.

“I can see why you might feel that way—” he started to say, but I cut him off.