Page 4 of Rampage

"Loving it," I reply honestly. "Mrs. Winters is teaching me how to make her famous cinnamon rolls."

"Save us some next time." He winks, already digging into his eggs.

The door jingles again, and I turn to see a group of Grim Sinners entering. Over the past year, I've gotten used to their presence. They come in regularly, always respectful, always generous tippers. They're nothing like what I expected a motorcycle gang to be.

"I've got them," Deb says, appearing beside me. She always handles the Sinners personally.

By noon, the rush dies down, and Deb gestures for me to join her for a quick break.

"You've been quiet today," she observes, lighting a cigarette once we're outside. "Everything okay?"

I shrug, leaning against the wall. "Just thinking about Jeremy's wedding. I want to go, but…"

"But you're scared of running into your foster father," she finishes for me. Deb doesn't know the full story, but she knows enough.

"It's stupid. I'm legally an adult now. He can't force me to go back."

Deb takes a long drag of her cigarette. "Fear isn't stupid, Lily. It's kept you alive."

I watch a group of motorcyclists rumble past on the highway. "I just hate that he still has this power over me, you know? That I'm still running."

She gives me a sympathetic look. “I understand and Jeremy will also.”

It doesn’t help me feel better, quite the opposite because disappointing him is not what I want to do.

When my shift at the diner ends, I hurry home to change before heading to Sweet Surrender, Mrs. Winters's bakery. The afternoon sun is warm against my skin as I walk the six blocks, nodding to familiar faces along the way. This town isn't as small as where I came from, but it's still tight-knit enough that most people recognize each other.

The bell chimes softly as I push open the bakery door, releasing the heavenly scent of butter and sugar into the air.

"There you are, dear!" Mrs. Winters calls from behind the counter. Her silver hair is dusted with flour, and her round cheeks are flushed from the heat of the ovens. "I've just pulled out the sourdough. Can you start on the display case while I rest these old bones?"

"Of course," I say, hanging my jacket on the hook and tying an apron around my waist.

The afternoon passes in a comforting rhythm of kneading dough, frosting cupcakes, and helping customers. I lose myself in my work, appreciating how different this is from my previous life. Here, my biggest worry is whether the buttercream is too stiff.

Around four, the door opens, and the soft chime makes me look up from the cinnamon roll dough I'm rolling out. My hands freeze mid-motion.

It's him. One of the Grim Sinners who comes to the diner almost every day. The one who always sits in my section when I'm working. The one whose eyes follow me when he thinks I'm not looking.

He's tall, taller than he seems when seated at the diner. The patch on his chest reads REID with Next Generation stitched underneath it. His dark hair is pushed back from his forehead, revealing intense eyes that find mine immediately.

"Afternoon," he says, his deep voice carrying across the empty bakery.

"Hi," I manage, suddenly aware of the flour dusting my cheeks and the wisps of hair that have escaped my ponytail. "What can I get you?"

He approaches the counter slowly, his boots heavy against the wooden floor. "Mrs. Winters mentioned you make the apple turnovers now."

"You know Mrs. Winters?" I ask, surprised.

A slight smile touches his lips. "The Sinners look after everyone in our territory. Especially sweet old ladies who make the best pastries in three counties."

I feel heat rise to my cheeks as he continues to look at me, his gaze unwavering. It's not threatening, not like Frank's leering stares, but it's intense in a way that makes my pulse quicken.

"We have three apple turnovers left," I say, moving to the display case to give myself something to do besides stand there blushing.

"I'll take them all," he says.

As I wrap the turnovers carefully in wax paper, I can feel his eyes on me. Not in the predatory way I've learned to fear, but with a curious intensity that makes me simultaneously nervous and intrigued.