Page 112 of Wade’s Wrath

“Too much?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” she agreed.

“You're still laughing,” he pointed out.

“That doesn't make it okay,” she insisted.

“Kinda does,” he said. By the time they reached the elevator, Sarah's chest didn't feel as tight. The doors opened, and she saw three men standing inside. Sarah froze. They were just two visitors and one orderly, but it didn’t matter. Three men in a small space were a hard no for her. Her hand tightened around Ripper's arm. He looked at the elevator and then at her.

“You want to take the stairs?” he asked.

Sarah blinked up at him. “We're on the fourth floor.”

“Yep,” he agreed. “We are.”

“That's insane,” she insisted. “We can’t take the stairs.”

“It’s probably insane, but it’s doable,” he said.

“You're carrying my bag,” she insisted.

“Unfortunately.” She glanced toward the elevator again and saw the men inside waiting for them to decide to get on or off. One looked annoyed, and Sarah's breathing changed. Ripper stepped between her and the elevator. He wasn’t blocking her, but he was blocking them.

“Stairs, sweetheart,” Ripper said.

She nodded. “Okay.” They slowly took the stairs. It took forever. By the second floor, Sarah was breathing hard, and by the first, her legs felt like jelly. Ripper never rushed her. He never complained or suggested that he carry her. He just stayed one step below her—close enough to catch her if he needed to, but not too close.

When they reached the lobby, Sarah wanted to cry from relief. Instead, she smiled. “I did it.”

Ripper looked at her. “Yeah.” Something in his expression made the moment feel bigger, and Sarah had to look away. Outside, the afternoon sun hit her face, and she stopped to breathe in the fresh air. There were no bars, no locked doors, and no man telling her when she could go outside.

Her eyes burned. “Sarah?”

She closed them. “Give me a second.”

“Take ten,” he said. She breathed as cars passed, a helicopter moved somewhere in the distance, and people crossed the parking lot. Everyone was going about their normal lives. It had continued while hers disappeared, and that realization hurt more than it should have.

“I used to complain about parking here.”

Ripper stayed beside her. “What?”

“Before.” She opened her eyes. “I had to come here once when Harlow's mother⁠—”

She stopped and shook her head. “It doesn't matter.” Ripper didn't push. “I used to hate this parking lot.”

He looked around. “Still shitty.”

Sarah laughed softly. “Yeah.” His truck was parked near the curb. It was black and big enough to intimidate every normal-sized vehicle around it. “You overcompensating for something?” she teased. Ripper stopped, and Sarah immediately regretted it. Then he slowly looked at her.

“Feeling brave today?” he asked.

Her face heated. “I walked down four flights of stairs.”

“That’s fair.” He opened the passenger door, and Sarah stared at it. It was high—very high. Ripper followed her gaze. “Need help?”

“I can do it,” she insisted.

“Okay,” he breathed. She grabbed the handle and put one foot on the running board and pulled, but nothing happened. Her muscles were pathetic. Sarah tried again, and Ripper said nothing, which somehow made it worse.