"You calculated your response radius and used it to set my movement parameters."
"Yes."
Emily looked at Savannah. Savannah looked back at her with an expression that saidI knowandI know, rightandisn't it somethingall at once.
"Okay," Emily said. "Twenty feet."
She spent the rest of breakfast thinking about the fact that he'd done the math on how close he had to be to keep her safe.
The urge started at two in the afternoon.
She'd been good. She'd been genuinely, actively good. She'd told him when she went to the back porch to call Madison, told him when she moved from the common room to the kitchen, had sent him a text that saidgoing upstairs to change, back in 10that she was at least sixty percent sure was not ridiculous given the circumstances. She felt ridiculous doing so but she also felt weirdly… good about it. Like it was his way of showing he cared.
He'd texted back:ok.
Justok.But he'd texted back in under thirty seconds.
She didn't think about that.
What she thought about, sitting on the back porch after her call with Madison, was the fact that her apartment was three hours away, she had approximately three days of borrowed clothes, and she needed her stuff.Herspecific stuff. Like her kindle, her good face wash, the particular blanket she slept with that Chloe called a security blanket.
She needed it.
She could get it herself. She was a twenty-six-year-old adult woman and the threat wasMarcus Delling specifically, and Marcus Delling had no reason to know where she lived because she'd only ever communicated with him through Facebook Marketplace and she'd been careful about?—
She stopped that thought.
She had also been careful about only meeting him in the afternoon, and only at his house, and only after checking his profile reviews. She had been very careful, and here she was. She opened her Facebook profile on her phone. Damn if her work location wasn’t very public. Of course it was, how else would she get people to attend her yoga classes? At least her apartment wasn’t mentioned ever. Even if Marcus knew where she worked, he wouldn’t know where she lived.
She went to find Rampage.
He was in the garage with Savage, both of them leaning over her CR-V. She stopped in the doorway and watched him for a second. He was large, almost larger than life and definitely worked out. She imagined his special forces training had something to do with the amount of discipline he asserted to those muscles in his arms. She’d been impressed with the large gym on property and had taken advantage of getting an early morning yoga session in. Apparently, keeping in shape was important to most of the MC members as they rotated in an out of the gym throughout the morning.
"Hey," she said.
Both of them looked up.
"I need to go to my apartment," she said. "I need clothes and my kindle and some other things. I know the rules. I'm not asking to go alone. I'm asking to go."
Savage looked at Rampage. A look that communicated something she didn't have the translation for.
Rampage straightened. Wiped his hands on a cloth. "When?"
She blinked. "That's it? You're not going to debate it?"
"You followed the rule. You came and asked and didn’t sneak off and try to go alone. I’m proud of you." He tossed the cloth on the workbench. "When would you like to go?"
"Whenever works. Now, if you want. We can be there and back by like nine, if it’s not too late. I can uh, pay for gas."
"You aren’t paying for a damn thing. Give me ten minutes to wash up. We’ll take my truck."
“Uh. Okay.” She was not expecting him to agree to go now, but who was she to argue?
“And Emily?”
“Yeah?”
“Good girl.” He winked at her. Flushed, she turned around to go back inside and grab her purse and keys, and nearly walked directly into Irish, who was standing approximately four inches behind her with Clover.
