Chapter Two

R uger closed the door. Rachel's chest pounded. The anxiety that remained after escaping her brother's enemies continued to beat her each day. The constant pain weakened her despite trying to make herself stronger.

Sometimes, it hurt to breathe.

There was a ball of fear sitting on her chest, making it impossible for her to expand her lungs all the way.

The stress made her lightheaded.

Physically, her body had healed, and even though the bruises changed colors daily, they were fading. Emotionally, she wanted to stay in the room and pretend the outside world had disappeared.

Beyond the door in the clubhouse, there was evil all around.

Her entire life was filled with danger.

That's what happened when you were born into the Silverstone family that stole, lied, and probably murdered. She wouldn't put any crime past her brother. Unfortunately, he was her only living relative.

Her mother died from a drug overdose when she was five years old. She barely remembered her. When she was fifteen, her father passed away quickly after finding out he had lung cancer. That left only her brother in her life. Shady was five years older than her and had taken her father's position in their crime-filled world at the young age of twenty.

Soon after she turned eighteen years old, Shady went to prison.

She'd survived four years by herself, working, living alone, taking care of the rundown house. Everything was fine until recently when the evil men broke into the house and kidnapped her.

With Ruger, she had experienced the worst part of her life. And yet, she felt safe with him.

"We're going for a ride." Ruger's gaze moved down her body and back up to her eyes. "Katrina's bringing you some clothes to wear."

She shook her head. It was safe in the room. If he wanted to leave for a while, he could go. But she was staying here.

"You don't have a choice. You're going with me." Ruger tossed the tools scattered on the floor into a metal box.

She swallowed. "But I don't want to go out."

It was hard enough to walk into the clubhouse with the others around, looking at her. She couldn't go outside. What if there were more men Shady screwed over and were looking for her?

"Don't argue—"

A knock interrupted him, and he walked to the door without finishing the discussion. She stayed back, uninterested in the people Ruger claimed were his MC brothers. She could tell he had no one close to him except Katrina.

The men stayed away from him. She found that strange, considering he belonged to the club. It was almost as if they were afraid of him. When he walked, people moved out of his way.

Ruger shifted, allowing her to see Katrina standing in the hallway holding a sack. Unable to stop her curiosity, she stepped to the side to get a better view of Ruger's daughter. The way he'd talked about her when they were both held hostage, she assumed Katrina was a young girl. To her surprise, Katrina was around her age, maybe a little older. She guessed about twenty-two to twenty-five.

Now, she was pregnant. There was a definite bump going on behind her tight shirt.

"I have no idea what size she is." Katrina glanced at Rachel. "So I threw a pair of joggers in there in case the jeans were too big. She's smaller than me."

"That'll work." Ruger caressed Katrina's face. "Appreciate it, baby."

"So, she's leaving?" whispered Katrina.

Rachel turned around to hide her shock. Ruger wasn't only taking her outside. He planned to get rid of her.

Her heart raced. She had to convince him to let her stay with him. It wasn't safe out there.

"Yeah. It's time."

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut at the pain that stabbed her chest. Going home was the last place she wanted to go. The bad men had already broken into her home once and taken her. There was nothing to stop them from doing it again. She'd rather die than go back home.

The door clicked .

She rushed to Ruger, grabbing his vest. "Please. Please. Please, don't make me leave."

"Your brother wants you."

"He's in prison."

"Well, he's set it up, so you're taken care of." He lowered his voice. "It's time."

"Shady doesn't have any say over me." She shook him, but all she managed to do was yank his vest. His body never budged. "I live by myself."

"If Shady says you're safe to go home, then you're going home." He peeled her hands off him. "You can't stay here. The clubhouse isn't any place for a woman."

"Katrina stays here." She wrapped her arms around her waist.

He came off a hardass, but she knew there was a soft side to him. She'd listened to him talk about his daughter as if the sun rose and set with Katrina. That had to mean something. He had to care if he was breaking her heart.

"Not anymore," he muttered. "She moved out."

Her one bargaining chip was no longer available. The only person Ruger cared about was his daughter. Now Katrina was gone, living life with the president of Havlin and having a kid.

Ruger dumped the sack on the sofa. "Change into these clothes."

"I don't want to go," she mumbled.

She hated the way she sounded like a whining child. In her head, she knew she couldn't stay forever or inconvenience Ruger's life anymore. She was scared. She had nobody to help her once Ruger took her home.

She watched him, hoping he'd change his mind, but he moved his tools around, ignoring her.

There was nothing more for her to do but get out of his t-shirt. He would force her to go outside, and she couldn't ride his motorcycle without clothes.

She went through the bag, picking out a pair of jeans and a shirt. It was the most feminine thing she'd had on since the night of the kidnapping.

The men who'd kidnapped her quickly stripped her down to nothing and made her stay that way the entire time. Only after Ruger killed the men had he found clothes in the house for her to wear. She'd taken them off the moment she could and refused to put them back on again.

She'd rather wear Ruger's big shirts than anything that belonged to the men who'd hurt her.

Glancing over at him, she muffled her sigh. He always sensed when she changed because he'd turn his back, giving her privacy while she redressed. Despite her sleeping in the same bed with him and all the times he'd held her to stop the nightmares, he'd never tried to take advantage of her.

Maybe if he had, he'd feel responsible for ensuring she stayed safe. Because he'd kept his distance, he now believed he could dump her off at home and ride into the sunset.

She paused before putting on the jeans. Maybe it wasn't too late.

"Stop finding excuses not to go home." He kept his back to her. "If your brother says it's safe, you'll be fine."

Her brother had told her she was safe before she was kidnapped. Look what happened? As long as Shady lived up to his name, someone would always be after her.

Shady ran the streets, just like her parents. That's all they knew, and never tried to better their lives. It was easier to earn money selling something, stealing something, or doing something illegal than getting an honest job.

She had no choice but to hold down a real job—even if she got paid under the table. But she couldn't go back home and expect Bruce, the restaurant owner, to let her wait tables after dropping out of sight for weeks without notice.

Even if she returned to the restaurant, she'd end up talking about her kidnapping, and Bruce would get law enforcement involved. That was the last thing she wanted to happen. Her kidnappers warned and threatened her about what would happen if she tried to escape or if she refused to give them the location of her brother.

They told her that on July 27 th , they'd find and kill Shady if she refused to cooperate.

Every time they walked into the basement, they kicked her, trying to get information out of her about her brother. But she would never turn on him, even if he was safe in prison.

Shady was all the family she had left. She wasn't going to lose him.

She learned long ago, when she was five, that what happened at home wasn't supposed to leave the family. It was after she tried to get other kids on the playground to stick pencils in their arms because she thought that was what her mom was doing at home.

But it wasn't pencils her mom used. It was syringes.

Because she played at school like her mom acted at home, the school brought children's services to the house. Her dad was angry at her. The second the door shut, he put her in her room and told her never to do what she saw at home, in public, or around her friends.

Ruger remained with his back to her. Giving up on changing his mind, she slipped on the pair of jeans. They were too big by a size, but they'd stay up on her hips. She took off Ruger's old shirt she'd slept in and set it on the couch before picking out the Blink-182 concert tee.

To her surprise, a pair of sneakers was in the bottom of the bag. Having not had shoes on for weeks, she quickly slipped her feet into them. They were too big, so she laced them tighter.

For the first time in a long time, she almost felt normal.

Ruger turned around, eyed her up and down, and nodded. "That'll do."

Any good feelings that came from the clothes evaporated. He remained indifferent to her after everything they'd survived together.

"Put this on, too. Inside out so the patches don't show." He handed her a leather jacket. "I took the sleeves off."

She held up the leather, noticing the Havlin patch on the back. Slipping her arms through the holes, she pulled the leather around her, overlapping the edges in front of her. It was way too big.

Ruger took the zipper and worked it together. Using his hand inside the jacket, he pulled it closed. The leather hung on her, covering her clear to her thighs.

"That'll keep the wind off you, and you'll still be able to hold on with your arms."

"I don't want to go."

She lost control of her emotions. They were choking her.

He palmed the back of her head and looked into her eyes. "It's for the best."

Uncomfortable, struggling to walk in clothes and shoes that were too big, she kept her head down and followed Ruger through the clubhouse. The people here had kept their distance. They were neither welcoming nor combative.

They fed her. She had a roof over her head. And Ruger to protect her. That was more than she had at home.

At his motorcycle, her stomach churned. She covered her mouth, afraid she'd throw up. The last time she rode on his Harley, she went out of the need to escape. She wasn't afraid because going anywhere was safer than being held captive in that house.

"You'll do fine. You rode behind me before," said Ruger.

She wasn't sure, but she believed the first time she rode behind him, he'd tied her to his back. She swallowed the fear, which stopped her from getting on behind him.

"C-can you tie me—"

"No." He put a helmet on her head and then held out his hand. "Get on behind me and hold on."

Her vision blurred, but the tears never flowed. She no longer cried. No matter how often it felt like she would drown from the unshed tears, she refused to let them fall.

She climbed on behind him and hurriedly wrapped her arms around him. He was too big. She couldn't latch her hands.

He grabbed her wrists and moved her hands to the side of his vest, where the leather strips were braided into the material.

"Hold on here." He let go of her hands and leaned to the side, placing her foot on a peg. Then he repeated it with her other foot. "Don't let go."

Ruger put on a helmet and started the motorcycle. He wasn't messing around. He wanted her gone.

She closed her eyes the moment the motorcycle started moving and slipped into the void she'd made when the men were beating her, where nothing could hurt her. Not even Ruger.

With the wind in her face and the vibrations coming from the motorcycle, she couldn't ignore what was happening. She opened her eyes and stared at the road, watching the yellow stripes down the middle of the road blur past her.

She had no idea how much time had passed when Ruger stopped the motorcycle and shut off the engine. Her ass was numb and continued vibrating.

In the distance, boats bobbed in the water next to a pier. People walked up and down the boardwalk, unaware of the war inside Rachel. She knew better than to cause a scene.

A car pulled up in the parking lot, several spots away from them. Ruger patted her leg.

"Stay here." He got off the motorcycle and walked over to the vehicle.

A man stepped out. She blinked against the glare from the water, recognizing Corbin, her brother's friend.

Her stomach cramped. There was nothing wrong with Corbin. He was one of the guys who ran around with her brother. He wouldn't harm her. But danger followed everyone she knew.

Ruger returned to her. "He told me you were friends. You're going to go with him."

She pushed his hands away. "I want to stay with you."

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm no better than the men who hurt you." He picked her up as if she weighed nothing and set her on her feet. "He'll take you home."

"No." She snapped her gaze to Corbin. "I'm not going home."

Corbin opened the back door of the car. "It'll be okay, Rachel. You're not going to your house. Shady worked a deal and got an apartment in Offshore, away from the house for you."

Her thoughts sped up. How far away from the house? What if she knew nobody there? How was she supposed to pay rent without a job?

"Go on now," urged Ruger.

She walked to the car, looking over her shoulder at Ruger, begging him silently to let her stay with him. They'd gone through so much together. Why couldn't he understand why she wanted to stay?

Corbin stepped out of the way. She slid into the backseat. The door shut before she could beg Ruger to change his mind and let her return to the clubhouse with him.

He remained standing by his bike, gazing through the window at her. The heaviness in her chest grew.

He was going to let her leave. She'd never see him again. She had no one.

When she was handcuffed to the pipe in the basement of a house and held hostage for weeks, she had Ruger. And he was all she needed.

She trusted him instantly. He'd taken many beatings so the men wouldn't touch her. He never asked anything in return.

She watched Ruger until Corbin drove away, and she could no longer see him.

If he'd wanted her, he would've done something to keep her. He wouldn't have let her slip away.

The truth hurt her more than she was willing to admit.