Gracie shut the door of her bedroom and opened the purse at her side. Finding the prescription bottle she'd carried with her for four years, she opened the child-lock cap and removed one pill. She swallowed the tablet without water and closed her eyes, wishing there was a magical component that would stop the anxiety instantly.

She opened her eyes and read the bottle. The Xanax expired three years ago.

Her heart accelerated, and she put the pills back in her purse. After the first six months of being medicated to help her anxiety after the abduction, she'd gone cold turkey, believing that she could only get stronger if she faced her fears head on.

Knowing she couldn't always deal with life on her own, she'd leaned on Chuck to get her over the hard bumps that emotionally and physically crippled her. While there were days she struggled and even failed, she could clearly see progress in gaining enjoyment of her life back. A different enjoyment. One that was more hesitant.

She stayed aware of the dangers surrounding her. There were good people and bad people everywhere. Maybe there was something about her, in her genes, that made a serial killer go after her mom and then come after her. She worried about Clara and was thankful every day that her sister had Wayne. Someone big, strong, and intimidating to protect the only member of her family left.

She held on to her sanity knowing she had to keep Clara protected, see Chuck healed from his past, know Glen, Wayne, Thad received answers from Rich, and Notus Motorcycle club reunited.

She owed them all because they'd saved her.

She inhaled deeper, forcing herself to relax. There was someone after Rich. Everything made more sense now. That was why he spent all his time at the windows. The threat was real.

Rich had her pistol.

Her head pounded, and she walked over to her nightstand and removed her other pistol, putting it in her purse at her side. She would not let anything happen to Rich or herself, and if it took popping a pill to relax her enough she could breathe and stop the tunnel vision from happening, she'd do it.

An hour later, she remembered that with the threat of someone outside earlier and the arrival of Notus, she hadn't cooked dinner for Rich.

She rubbed the chill out of her arms. Her breathing came easier, and the pressure in her head had eased. On the edge of her conscious, the guilt she should've had over-relying on medication to give her strength failed to bother her. The Xanax suppressed the emotion.

Walking out of her bedroom, she straightened the purse at her hip and slid her thumb under the strap that went from her neck, between her breasts, and to her side. Aware of Rich carrying her other pistol, she approved of the added protection.

He hadn't posed any threat to her.

He'd stepped forward and dealt with the mouse in the garage and went outside to make sure the man lurking behind her house never came near her. She walked into the kitchen and pulled out a package of pre-formed hamburger patties and a bag of frozen French fries. A meal any of the Notus members would enjoy and something she knew Rich would also eat.

She pre-heated the oven, put the skillet on the stove, and checked the screw on the window above the sink. All she had to do was concentrate on the task at hand. She was safe.

The meat sizzled. She opened the cupboard and proceeded to dress the buns while the hamburger cooked and the fries baked. The silence coming from the rest of the house concerned her. What if Rich had left while she pulled herself together?

Opening the oven, she flipped the fries, let them cook for a few more minutes, and then dished up the food. Instead of leaving it on the counter for Rich to find when he grew hungry, she carried his plate into the living room, checked to see if he was standing by the window, and then walked upstairs to search for him.

Unable to knock with both hands full, she said, "Rich?"

When no answer came after a few seconds, she looked toward the stairs. Maybe he'd disappeared into the garage and not his bedroom.

The door opened, and Rich stood in front of her, shirtless, disheveled, and sweating. She had to get him talking. That was her purpose. Once Wayne and the others understood Rich better, they could go on with their lives. Whoever was outside would leave, and she'd go back to her normal life—whatever kind of normal that would be.

"I brought you dinner." She thrust out her hand holding his plate.

He stepped forward, closing the door behind him, blocking her view of his room. She moved back, giving him space.

Rich frowned, ignoring the food. "What's wrong?"

She looked down at the plates she held. Her hands no longer shook. Obviously, the Xanax still worked after the expiration date.

"Nothing." She handed his late dinner to him. "You better eat."

She left him standing in the hallway and walked into her bedroom, flipping the lock. She'd made two steps when Rich knocked on the door. Turning around, she unlocked the door to him.

"Leave your room unlocked." His gaze lowered to her waist.

She pushed her purse behind her. "No."

He reached behind his back and stepped toward her. Before she could move away, he grabbed the purse strap between her breasts and slipped the pistol she'd given him earlier back in her purse. "If you're scared of me, go ahead and shoot me if I step into your room. But, I want your door left unlocked."

"I can't." She could explain to him why keeping her door unlocked was impossible and yet the panic that would normally come at the thought of dropping one of her security measures never happened.

Her difficulty in breathing came from him touching her.

An excitement that she recognized from the time when she used to flirt, date, and have sex. She couldn't wrap her head around why she reacted that way now. With Rich.

He kept ahold of her purse. She gazed up at him. He was close. Too close.

His black pupils dilated, covering his gray irises, and intensified his gaze. From a distance, his eyes looked black but up close, they were rather dangerous looking. She swallowed hard. Dangerously sexy.

"Gracie." He wiggled her purse, caressing her hip. "If you don't keep the door unlocked, I'll take the pistol back."

She moistened her lips, unable to back away from him. He held her immobile without touching her body.

Her hand bumped his arm as she reached into her purse and took out the pistol. "You can have it."

His head cocked to the side and his gaze narrowed on her. He wrapped his fingers around the weapon and her hand. As the rest of his features hardened, he slipped the gun out of her hand and walked out of the bedroom.

He had no idea she had another weapon.

She stared out into the empty hallway. Warmth continued to heat her hand where he'd touched her. She had no connection to him. He wasn't her friend that she'd grown up with and lost during a monumental moment. She had no emotional investment to care about him.

But, she recognized his pain.

When she chose to lock the door rather than leave herself vulnerable to him, there was a flash of aching she understood before he shut himself off and left.