Page 116 of Wade’s Wrath

Her breathing eased. “Hi.” Nobody came closer, tried to hug her, or gave her a sad look, and that helped.

Harlow walked over. “Want to see your room?”

Sarah nodded. “Yes.”

Ripper started toward the clubhouse, and Sarah hesitated. He stopped immediately and looked back. “You coming?” She looked at the open door, then at the motorcycles and the men standing by the building, and fear crawled through her, but it wasn’t enough to stop her.

Sarah stepped forward. “Yes.” Inside, the clubhouse smelled like beer, leather, coffee, and something frying in the kitchen. Voices filled the room and a television played somewhere while pool balls cracked together. Everything felt almost normal. Then a man laughed too loudly behind her, and Sarah jumped. Her body reacted before her brain did, and she turned and backed up. Her shoulder hit something solid—Ripper. She froze, but he kept his hands off of her.

“It's me,” he whispered.

Sarah breathed. “Ripper.”

“Yeah.” She hated the relief that flooded her. She hated it because relief meant trust, and trust had nearly destroyed her once. Still, she stayed where she was—close enough to feel his warmth behind her, but not touching him.

Harlow watched her carefully, and Sarah straightened. “I'm okay.”

Ripper's voice came low beside her. “You don't have to be.”

Sarah closed her eyes briefly. Damn him. When she opened them, she looked at Harlow. “Show me the room.”

Harlow smiled. “Come on.” They headed down the hallway, and Ripper followed, even though she didn't ask him to. Then again, she also didn't tell him not to, and him being with her felt important.

The room was simple, with a bed, dresser, a small television, a window, and a bathroom attached. There was only one door. Harlow opened it. “No one comes in unless you say so,” Ripper promised. Sarah looked at the lock on the door and then back at Ripper.

He reached into his pocket, held up a screwdriver, and Sarah blinked up at him. “You brought tools?”

“Told you I'd change the lock,” he reminded.

Harlow looked between them. “You did?” she asked.

Ripper shrugged. “It’s easy enough,” he admitted.

Sarah stared at him. “You were serious.”

“Usually am,” he said.

Harlow snorted. “No, he's not.”

“Traitor,” Ripper grumbled under his breath. Sarah laughed as Ripper crouched beside the door. Within minutes, he had the old lock removed. Sarah watched him. His hands were scarred, but strong and capable. Hands she'd seen holding a gun were the same hands that now carefully fitted a new lock onto her bedroom door so that she’d feel safe. Something inside her shifted.

When he finished, Ripper stood, and he held out two keys. “Both yours.”

Sarah took them. “No copy?”

“Nope,” Ripper said.

“Does Butcher have one?” she asked.

“No, he doesn't have one,” Ripper admitted.

“Do Harlow or Princess have a copy?” she asked.

“Hell no,” Ripper said.

From the hallway, Princess shouted, “I heard that!” Sarah laughed again, and Ripper smiled.

She closed her fingers around the keys—her keys. This was her room, her door, and her choice of who came and went. “Thank you,” she whispered.