Page 100 of Wade’s Wrath

“I figured,” she breathed. Smart-ass. Ripper kept walking even as he heard her laugh behind him. He just ignored it—mostly.

The paper bag swung beside his leg. Inside was a blueberry muffin, a cinnamon roll, and some weird-ass yogurt thing the woman at the coffee shop swore was healthy. Ripper didn't know what Sarah liked, and that bothered him. He knew she drank coffee, or she had before she'd disappeared. Harlow had told him that much.

Sarah had worked for Richard Kane's foundation. She was twenty-three years old, a college graduate who wanted to work in nonprofit management, and she liked coffee. Sarah apparently used to bring Harlow one every morning. That was about the sum total of everything Ripper knew about Sarah Mitchell.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. He knew she screamed when men touched her without warning. He knew she couldn't stand closed doors. He knew she slept with the bathroom light on because complete darkness sent her into a panic. He knew she had a scar around her left ankle from where those motherfuckers had chained her to a wall. He knew she'd lost almost twenty pounds during the eight months she'd been missing. He knew she'd been moved between three different locations before ending up at the warehouse outside Huntsville. And he knew when the Savage Bastards stormed that warehouse, Sarah had been the one who didn't run toward them.

The others had. Some screamed, some cried, and one woman had thrown herself into Butcher's arms. But Sarah had backed into a corner and grabbed a broken piece of wood off the floor. She'd held it like a weapon while blood ran down one side of her face. Her feet were bare, her clothes were dirty, her blue eyes were terrified, and she'd told Ripper she'd kill him if he came any closer. He'd believed her. He'd also thought she was the bravest fucking woman he'd ever seen.

Ripper stopped outside room 417. The door was open because it was always open. He knocked against the frame anyway. Sarah looked up from the book in her lap. Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy knot on top of her head. Color had started returning to her face over the last few days, but it wasn’t enough. She was still too pale, too thin, and the bruising along her cheek had faded from purple to yellow. The cut near her temple was almost healed. She wore an oversized gray sweatshirt and had the hospital blanket pulled over her legs. She looked fragile, but Ripper knew better.

“You’re here again?” she asked.

He leaned against the doorway. “Nice to see you too,” he said.

Sarah closed her book. “You were here yesterday.”

“Was I?” he asked.

“Yes, you were,” she breathed.

“You sure?” he asked. “I bet you have a lot of men visiting you. Maybe you’ve confused me with someone else.”

“I haven't suffered a head injury,” she insisted.

“Could've fooled me,” he said. “I mean, you’re getting me mixed up with other men and everything now, honey.”

Her eyes narrowed at him. There, that was what he came for, not that he would admit that to her or anyone—ever. He liked it when she got irritated, because angry Sarah didn't look scared. He fucking hated scared Sarah.

Ripper lifted the cup holder. “Brought coffee.”

Her eyes dropped to it. “You're bribing me.”

“Yep,” he breathed.

“For what?” she asked.

“How about five minutes without you telling me to go away,” he said.

“I've never told you to go away,” Sarah insisted.

“You think it's really loud,” he said. The corner of her mouth moved, barely, but Ripper caught it. He caught everything with her, and that was becoming a problem.

“Can I come in?” he asked. Sarah glanced toward the hallway and then at him. Her hesitation lasted only a second. Still, Ripper waited. He always waited for her permission.

Finally, she nodded. “Okay.” He entered slowly. He knew not to make any sudden movements. He didn’t reach for her or shut the door behind him. He set the coffee and bag on the rolling table beside her bed.

Sarah looked inside the bag. “You brought enough food for three people.”

“Didn't know what you liked,” he admitted.

“So you bought everything?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” he said.

She pulled out the cinnamon roll. “This. I like cinnamon rolls,” she said.

Ripper nodded. “Good to know.”