Chapter Eighteen

R achel peered out of the corner of the window. She couldn't tell which Havlin member sat on his motorcycle in the driveway after Ruger came inside and told her he was riding out and would return later.

She let the curtain fall back in place. Since moving into the cottage, Ruger had kept a schedule that only took him away from the house during the daylight hours, never at night.

Her arms itched. She rubbed her skin, wishing time would hurry.

Time balanced between nervousness without having Ruger beside her and dread. Before he left, he'd pulled away from her again after having sex with her.

She would've sworn that he left to get away from her. Still, because a biker was outside, protecting the house, she wanted to believe whatever took him away from her had to do with the club.

But they would need to talk about what happened when he returned. He'd had sex with her in the gentlest way possible. It had to mean something. She needed it to mean something because she was falling in love with him.

How could she not fall in love? He was everything she'd dreamed about—a fact that blew her mind because she had no idea men like Ruger existed in her world full of lies, greed, and disappointment.

Unable to stand at the window and drive herself crazy, speculating about what was going on, she returned to the bedroom and straightened up the room. She gathered all their dirty clothes and started a load of laundry. If she stayed up and waited for Ruger, keeping busy would make the time go faster.

She grabbed a load of clothes from the dryer, went to the bedroom, and started folding them. Washing her clothes with Ruger's shirts and boxers no longer seemed strange.

Her stomach fluttered. They'd had sex.

Wonderful sex.

He was more than she imagined. The tenderness from him surprised her. She could sense the struggle for him to go slow. It was apparent that he'd done that for her. And it thrilled her that he enjoyed having her.

So why wouldn't he admit it?

A low hum filled the house. She dropped the shirt and cocked her head. The noise became a rumble, thrumming her heart. Ruger was back.

She hurried through the cottage to the front window. A lone headlight lit up the curtain. She pulled back the curtain, cupped her hand against the glass to shield the reflection of the light, and peered into the darkness. It was a biker.

Her stomach fluttered. It had to be Ruger.

Another set of headlights turned into the driveway. She let go of the curtain and entered the kitchen as if she wasn't on pins and needles waiting for him. She pulled the pot out of the coffee maker and changed her mind. He'd prefer a drink to unwind.

Knowing he enjoyed whiskey and water, she poured him a glass. She finished when the door opened. She hurried into the living room and came to a dead stop.

Her brother stood inside the house.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" She gawked at him. "Why aren't you in prison?"

"Nice to see you, too, sis." Shady grinned. "Grab your stuff. You're going home."

"I'm not going back to the house." She shook. "Your enemies know where you live. Where I live."

Shady stepped toward her. She thought he approached for a hug. Instead, he grabbed the drink she held in her shaking hand and tipped it back in one gulp.

Her brother harshly blew his breath out and wiped the back of his forearm across his mouth. "Did you start drinking while I was gone?"

The drink was for Ruger. She snapped her gaze at him, pleading for him to make her brother go home without her. She wanted to stay here.

She hadn't seen her brother in close to five years. There was a reason why her dad refused to let her visit during the short stays he was in jail.

"Don't stand there doing nothing." Shady turned her around and pushed her to get her moving.

"Back off." Ruger stepped between her and Shady. "She'll get her things without you touching her."

"Man, brah, you're still a hard-ass, even out of prison." Shady walked around the room and then plopped onto the couch. "Your debt is paid. My sister is no longer your responsibility."

Ruger turned away from her. A million arrows pierced her chest. Was she only his responsibility until her brother returned? Now that her brother was out of prison, was she no longer important to Ruger?

What about everything they'd lived through together? He was the only one who was there, who experienced the beatings—who took the beatings for her. Her brother would never understand what she'd gone through because of him.

"Sweet place." Shady pointed at the television on the wall. "Have you watched the Lakers play ball yet?"

Rachel walked away. Ruger wasn't even going to say anything to her. He was going to let Shady take her home.

She walked into the bedroom and looked around. Her things were everywhere. Her clothes were in the dresser, her bathroom supplies were in the other room, and there were clothes in the wash.

Her brother wouldn't wait for her to wash and dry her clothes. She clenched her teeth, grabbed the black garbage sack she'd folded, and put it in the drawer with her clothes. Not taking the time to neatly stack the clothes, she threw them in the bag without care.

Even though she feared returning to the house, she needed to get away from everyone before she broke down in front of Ruger or her brother.

"Hurry up, Rach," yelled Shady.

Her resolve to hold on strengthened. Two minutes back with Shady, and he was already irritating her. He hadn't even asked how she was doing or if she was okay after being held captive by his enemies.

Nothing had changed. Shady was the same arrogant asshole he was before he was arrested.

She went into the bathroom and tossed her things into the sack. There wasn't much here that belonged to her. Most of the things Ruger had bought were for the both of them. He'd made a home for her.

Now, she was leaving, and he wasn't even going to mention what happened earlier tonight.

Acid burned her throat. She tied a knot in the plastic and returned to the living room, where she found her sneakers and slipped them on her feet.

"Ready?" asked Shady.

She glanced at Ruger, silently begging him to say something. But he fiddled with a pack of cigarettes and wouldn't look at her.

She nodded, lugging the bag up into her arms. Her brother walked out of the cottage without helping her. She waited for Ruger to acknowledge her leaving, but he put a cigarette in his mouth and lit the end, even though he never smoked inside the cottage.

She walked to the door and paused. Looking over her shoulder, she swallowed the lump of emotions choking her. The last thing she wanted to do was leave, but she needed some sign that she was wanted.

Please, Ruger. Please, look at me.

He walked into the kitchen out of sight. From her position at the door, she could hear the fridge open, the air hissing out of the bottle of beer he opened, and then silence. He was going to let her walk away without saying a word.

She blinked frantically and walked out of the cottage with her chin up. Her brother would spot any weakness in her and want to know what was going on. She wasn't ready to discuss Ruger with him or anyone.

Maybe she'd imagined everything, and it was time to go back to her real life—a life filled with danger, where she didn't know what would happen tomorrow.