Page 6 of Rampage

I shoot him a sideways glance. "Are you saying I'm not safe in Sinner territory?"

A smile tugs at his lips. "Touché. But there are always exceptions to the rule."

"Like who?" I ask, genuinely curious. For all the stories I've heard about the Sinners protecting their territory, I've never heard much about the threats they protect this town against.

"Rivals. Outsiders. People who don't respect boundaries." His voice hardens slightly, then softens again as he looks at me. "How's your ankle these days?"

I'm startled by the question. My limp is barely noticeable now, but it was pronounced when I first arrived in town. I didn't think anyone had paid attention.

"Better," I say cautiously. "How did you?—"

"I notice things." He shrugs, those intense blue eyes fixed on mine. "Especially about people who interest me."

My stomach does that strange flip again. "I'm not very interesting."

"I disagree." He revs the engine lightly. "Let me give you a ride home."

Every instinct honed from years of survival screams at me to decline. Getting on a motorcycle with a man I barely know—a member of an MC, no less—breaks every rule I've set for myself.

"It's only a few blocks," I say.

"Humor me." He extends a helmet toward me. "I promise to drive slowly."

Something in his expression—open, patient, without a hint of the aggression I've come to expect from men—makes me hesitate. For a year, I've been careful. Kept to myself. Built walls. But I'm tired of being afraid.

"Just to the diner," I say finally, taking the helmet.

His smile is genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Just to the diner."

The helmet is heavy in my hands. I've never been on a motorcycle before. Awkwardly, I try to figure out how the strap works.

"Here," Reid says, taking it back and placing it on my head, his fingers brushing my cheeks as he fastens the strap. "Not too tight?"

I shake my head, my voice suddenly gone. He's close enough that I can smell leather and something spicy, his cologne, maybe. It's not unpleasant.

"Climb on behind me and hold tight," he instructs, swinging his leg back over the bike.

I hesitate only a moment before following suit, settling onto the seat behind him. There's nowhere to put my hands except around his waist. Tentatively, I place them on his sides.

He glances back. "You'll fall off that way. Arms around me, Lily."

Swallowing hard, I slide my arms around his solid torso. The leather of his vest is cool against my forearms, a contrast to the warmth I can feel radiating from his body.

"Ready?" he asks.

"I think so."

True to his word, Reid drives slowly, but even at this slow pace, the wind whips at my clothes and the world blurs in my vision. I understand immediately why people love this—the freedom, the speed, the vulnerability that somehow feels like strength.

The few blocks to the diner pass far too quickly. When Reid pulls up in front of the familiar building, I'm almost disappointed.

"Thank you," I say, reluctantly unwrapping my arms from around him and climbing off the bike. My legs feel wobbly, though whether from the ride or from his proximity, I'm not sure.

"Anytime," he says, taking the helmet as I hand it back. Our fingers brush again, and this time, I don't pull away quite so quickly. "I mean that, Lily. Anytime you need a ride."

I tuck a windblown strand of hair behind my ear. "I've managed on my own this long."

"You have," he agrees, his expression serious. "And that's impressive. But everyone needs help sometimes."