Page 103 of Wade’s Wrath

“The fuckers who hurt you,” he said. His voice came out rough. “They don't get to represent the rest of us.”

She studied him. “You're as violent as they were.” He guessed that seeing him kill a man was enough for her to make that assessment of him. She was right, too.

Ripper almost laughed. “Yeah.”

“You're in a motorcycle club,” she said.

He looked down at his cut and nodded back at her. “Also true,” he agreed.

“I saw you kill a man,” she reminded.

“Yep,” he said.

“You're not exactly the poster boy for safe choices.”

That one made him smile. “No, sweetheart. I'm probably the fucking warning label.”

Her cheeks tinted the cutest shade of pink, and Ripper noticed. He wished he hadn't called her sweetheart. Fuck. He needed to watch doing that kind of shit. She already had enough shit to deal with without some biker flirting with her because his brain stopped functioning every time she looked at him.

“I should probably be afraid of you,” she assessed.

“Probably,” he agreed.

“But I'm not.” Ripper's smile disappeared. Sarah seemed surprised by her own admission. “So that's weird to admit aloud, right?”

“Yeah, it is,” he said.

“You agree?” she asked.

“I'm scary as fuck,” he admitted. That earned him another laugh, which worked better for him. He could deal with her laughter. Ripper sat back. “Don't force anything with me,” he warned.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“You should feel whatever is real, Sarah—fear, trust, whatever.”

Sarah's expression became guarded. “I'm not forcing anything with you, Ripper.”

“Good.” He nodded toward the cinnamon roll. “Eat.”

Her brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“You've had three bites, and you’ve got to be hungry,” he said.

“You've been counting how many bites I’ve taken?” she asked.

Shit. “No,” he lied. He wasn’t about to tell her that he noticed her untouched breakfast tray as he walked into her room.

“You just said that I’ve only taken three bites of my cinnamon roll,” she reminded.

“Lucky guess,” he said.

“Liar,” she challenged.

Ripper grinned. “Eat the damn cinnamon roll.”

“You're bossy,” she whispered.

“It’s a club requirement,” he teased.