Something snaps inside me. I grab my crushed wildflowers and my bag, fumbling with the door handle. "You're fucking dead to me."
"GET OUT!" he roars, shoving me so hard I nearly fall face-first onto the asphalt as the door swings open.
I tumble onto the pavement, scraping my palms as I catch myself. The car door slams behind me, and Justin's tires screech as he peels away, leaving me alone on some dark side street I don't even recognize.
"Fuck you!" I scream after his taillights, but he's already gone. My voice cracks, tears streaming down my face as I sit there on the cold ground, the crushed petals scattered around me.
My hands are shaking so badly I can barely pull my phone from my pocket. I don't think, don't hesitate. My thumb finds Ramsey's contact and I press call, sobbing as I wait for him to pick up.
He answers before the first ring even finishes. "What’s up, baby girl?"
"R-Ramsey," I choke out, barely able to form his name through my hiccups and tears.
"I'm already on the way, star baby," his voice is deadly calm. "Just stay on the line."
I'm still sobbing into the phone when I hear the roar of his motorcycle. I know he immediately pulled up my tracker as soon as I called. What should've taken fifteen minutes feels like it's been one minute, tops.
The headlight cuts through the darkness, and Ramsey screeches to a halt right in front of me. He's off the bike in seconds, helmet tossed aside as he drops to his knees and pulls me against his chest.
"Fuck, Reese, what happened?" His hands move over me, checking for injuries, tilting my face up to the streetlight. His thumb brushes over my cheek where Justin hit me, and his eyes go flat and dead. "Who. Fucking. Touched. You."
It's not even a question. It's a death sentence.
"Justin," I hiccup against his chest, clinging to his shirt. "He—he tried to force himself on me, then called me all these horrible things, and?—"
Ramsey's body goes rigid against mine. I can feel his heart hammering through his shirt, the muscles in his arms flexing as he holds me tighter.
"I've got you now," he says, his voice eerily calm. "You're safe."
He stands in one fluid motion, lifting me like I weigh nothing. I wrap my legs around his waist, burying my face in his neck as he carries me to his bike.
I feel his hands shift, and I know I need to slide down and get on the back of the bike. Ramsey just swings his leg over the bike, keeping me in front of him and I don’t let go. My butt sitting on the tank.
"Just keep holding on," his voice rumbles against my ear, low and steady. "We're going home."
He grabs my helmet from where it hangs on the bike and slides it over my head, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary as he secures the strap. I notice he doesn't bother with his own, but before I can protest, the engine roars to life beneath us.
The vibration of the motorcycle between my legs and Ramsey's solid warmth behind me grounds me as we speed through the empty streets. My sobs gradually slow, then stop altogether. All I can focus on is the steady beat of Ramsey's heart against my own, the wind whipping through my clothes, and the overwhelming sense of safety that washes over me.
Finally safe.
Time doesn’t matter to me, but eventually the bike slows and the engine cuts off and I know we’re home.
Ramsey doesn't let me go. He keeps me clamped to his front like I might vanish if he loosens his grip, swinging his leg over the bike while I cling to him like a fucking koala. I should feel embarrassed—I'm a grown-ass woman being carried like a child—but all I feel is safe. Protected.
"I got you," he murmurs against my hair as he carries me up the walkway to our house, somehow managing to fish his keys from his pocket without dropping me.
The door swings open, and Ramsey kicks it shut behind us. He doesn't hesitate, just carries me straight through the living room and up the stairs to my bathroom, his boots heavy on each step. My face stays buried against his neck,inhaling that scent that's just him—sandalwood and something metallic, like the aftermath of a thunderstorm.
He sets me on the counter, finally breaking contact, but stays close, his hands braced on either side of my hips. His eyes scan my face, lingering on my red cheek.
"I'm going to fucking kill him," he says, so quietly I almost don't hear it.
Chapter 12
Ramsey
Ican feel her eyes burning into my back as I kneel by the tub, my hand testing the water temperature. Too hot, and it'll hurt her already bruised skin. Too cold, and it won't do shit for her muscles. The bathroom fills with steam, fogging the mirror and making everything feel smaller, more intimate. More dangerous.
