The garage door lifted, slow as ever. Gracie pulled inside, got out of her car, and hurried back out into the driveway. Ingrid had followed her home from the bar.

"Thanks again." She stopped beside the open driver's window. "Tell Glen to share that pie with you."

She'd spent four hours at Vavoom's working on the backend of business, had lunch with the Notus women, and for the first time in a long time felt like she'd had a productive day. Because Ingrid stayed behind and offered to follow her home, the least she could do was send a pie from the bar home with her friend.

"Are you kidding? He'll have to ask me for a piece." Ingrid folded her arms and hung over the door, smiling. "Before I forget again, the other women and I are going to take out the rental bicycles during my lunch break at Pauly's tomorrow. We plan to ride along the trail that goes past Port Loaders. Hopefully, we'll be able to see the guys on their lunch break at work. Do you want to come?"

Her throat burned at the thought of being on the bike trail, with or without others. She shook her head. "Maybe next time."

"Absolutely." Ingrid glanced up at the house. "I wasn't sure if you'd want to since you've been staying home with Rich."

"Wayne said I could start going to the bar. He doesn't think Rich will leave...or he can't. He doesn't have enough gas in his motorcycle to ride away without saying goodbye." She wrinkled her nose and leaned closer. "It's driving me nuts though."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know." She glanced over her shoulder at the house. "I was fine at the bar and loved keeping busy with everything that has been neglected, but as soon as I pulled into the garage, my stomach turned to knots."

"Why?" asked Ingrid.

"Insanity." She snorted. "I have an urge to run in the house and make sure Rich is okay. He's probably fine. It's not like he can't take care of himself."

Ingrid raised her brows. "That's how Lena acts when she's away from Avi and uses a babysitter."

"Stop. I told I've lost my mind." She laughed, backing away from the car. "Call me tomorrow after your bike ride and let me know how it went."

Ingrid motioned her back to the car. "So, tell me. How are things going with Rich? Has he said what he's been doing for the last twenty-five years?"

"He's been working on repairing the damage in my guest bedroom all week." She shrugged and tugged on the purse at her hip.

Ingrid stuck out her bottom lip. "Glen mentioned Rich punched the walls. I can't imagine what causes him to be so...damaged. That's messed up. Not only because he ruined your guest room, but the pain he caused himself."

She agreed, but she felt funny talking about it. Rich was his own man. She had to respect that. "He doesn't say anything to Wayne or me. He owes Notus an explanation, at the least. I hope it happens before he decides to leave again."

"He's handsome..." Ingrid made a circle in front of her face with her finger. "Under all that beard and hair, don't you think?"

Rich was the most handsome man she'd ever met, beard and long hair, included. Her heart pounded. Clara was the only one she shared her feelings with because when Rich left her, and he would, she'd be full of regrets.

She couldn't explain why she felt drawn to Rich from the start or how she could see past his faults—and there were many. There was something there, hovering between them. She felt it. And, she'd swear on her life, he felt it, too.

"I'm going in." She stepped back and waved. "Drive safe."

Ingrid started her car, waved back, and drove out onto the street. Gracie hurried into the garage, closed the door, and walked into the house. She stopped by the back door and listened.

The house sat silent.

Her adrenaline spiked.

Would he have left while she was gone? He had hardly talked to her since the party on Sunday. If anything, he'd worked long hours in the room, even making noise into the night.

The idea of walking into an empty house pushed her back into imagining someone waiting for her around every corner or upstairs in her room. She slipped her hand into her purse and wrapped her fingers around the butt of her pistol.

I can do this.

Breathe.

Slow down.

I can do this.

She stepped forward, uncomfortable in her own home. Every little detail of her house imprinted in her head after Roy Jenkins had taken the photo of her and Clara as little girls with their mother the day he'd broken into her house. Then, after Clara had moved out, she'd made sure everything she owned had its place and stayed there. The vase. The wicker basket. The dishtowel.

If she returned home and found anything moved, she'd leave immediately and call the police as she drove away.

She checked the kitchen and living room, then walked up the stairs. Trepidation filled her, and she held on to the railing with her left hand, leaving her right hand free to hold the pistol. She had no idea what she'd do if Rich were gone.

At the top of the stairs, she held her breath and peeked into the guest bedroom. The relief at finding Rich inside almost made her giddy. She slipped the weapon back into her purse and studied him.

She could only see the back of his head and his bare shoulders over the bed. He appeared to be sitting on the floor. Walking into the room, she stepped over the pile of tools, squeezed between the dresser and the end of the bed sitting in the middle of the room, and got her first look at his face.

He slept.

Leaning against the bed, his legs stretched straight out in front of him and his arms crossed, he sat with his beard on his chest and his eyes closed. He seemed calm and non-threatening, almost gentle like a sleeping giant.

She'd never had a chance to see him sleep before. When they'd had sex, she'd been the one who closed her eyes first.

If she would've stayed awake, he wouldn't have been able to start drinking again. They could've used the last week to get to know each other better, even have more sex. Instead, a wedge developed between them.

Unable to not touch him, she reached out and hooked the hair falling on his face. Her chest warmed. She wanted to know the old Rich everyone else knew and be a part of his life. The more he fought to stay disconnected from everyone, the more she wanted to know the new Rich.

Such a complex man.

The bad boy.

The young man with a broken heart.

The damaged biker.

Maybe at the crux of their attraction, she recognized the pain dwelling inside of him, but she'd like to think they connected despite her own bad experiences. He made her feel like a woman who had a right to be sexual and free, and not someone who froze up at the mere thought of being with a man.

He'd gone out of his way to make sure she was comfortable having sex with him. And, he'd done all that with no regard to himself.

Despite his anger and unwillingness to reunite with Notus Motorcycle Club, he was still here. And, him not leaving was a big red flag that he nor the club could see. It wasn't his motorcycle keeping him in St. John's or the made-up job Wayne gave him fixing the bedroom. It was the people here. He just had to realize that himself.

"How long are you going to stare at me?" said Rich.

She startled, not even realizing she'd been looking into his eyes. "I didn't want to disturb your nap."

He pushed to his feet and stood in front of her. She hadn't moved, and his boot nudged the toe of her sneaker. God, she wished he'd hold her. She wanted that night back when it was only him and her.

Tired of constantly putting herself in his path in a house where they walked around each other, trying hard not to give any attention to their attraction, she couldn't do it any longer.

The muscles around his eyes flinched, narrowing his gaze, and for all the emotions she'd gone through dealing with him, she wasn't going to be the one who moved away first.

She tilted her chin. If he couldn't figure out that she wanted him, the recent alcohol abuse had really messed up his head.

He growled. His frustration caused her heart to soar and made her stronger. She wasn't alone in her feelings. She wasn't alone in the house. She wasn't alone.

She inhaled his musky scent no longer riddled with alcohol and said, "Rich?"

"Damn you, Gracie" he growled out. "Don't."

Unable to walk away and give him space. She held her place. That was enough.

His mouth moved forward and captured her lips, pressing hard against her. She wound her arms around his neck. He swallowed her gasp of surprise as her feet left the ground and her equilibrium whirled and tilted.

She found herself flat on her back with him pressing down on her.

The moment of panic she dreaded came and stayed. She couldn't. Not on her back.

Not on her back.

Not on her back.

He took his mouth off her and stared into her eyes. "Gracie?"

Not on her back.

"It's me, honey." His voice grew louder. "It's me. Rich."

She nodded, though she wasn't feeling okay. He pinned her legs down. His hands captured her wrists. The weight and width of his chest overwhelmed her.

His warm breath fanned her face. Her vision narrowed as darkness crept in the edges.

He held her down.

She couldn't escape.

"Gracie. You need to see me. Feel me. Listen to me."

"Please, let me go," she said through her throat closing.

Warm lips landed on her cheek. "You need to trust yourself."

A sob rocked her chest. "Please."

"I wish I could, honey. For both of us." His body expanded with his breath. "But, I can't. I won't let you go the way I went."

"No." She gulped for air. "Puh-puh-please."

His body shuddered, and he panted in her ear. "I'm not like him. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm holding you. Only holding you."

Her hands tingled, and her head pounded. She squeezed her eyes closed and waited for the pain to come.

"You're still here." He nuzzled her cheek. "You take that life, honey, and you run with it."

Run. Her adrenaline spiked, and she fought against his hold, bucking her body, kicking out.

She wanted to escape.

"That's it, Gracie." He let go of her hands. "Fight for me."

She grunted with a scream, pushing against his shoulders. "Get off."

"Not going to move, honey." He hooked his leg around her calf. "You need to see me. No one else is here. It's only me. Rich. I'm not going to hurt you."

Panicking, she grabbed his hair and pushed his head away from her face. Sheer energy exploded inside her, and she used all her strength to pull her lower body out from underneath him. Still off balance, she shook his head, keeping him away from touching her.

"That's it, honey." His hands landed on her waist, and he flung her away from him.

She toppled over on the mattress. Springing back onto her knees, she swung her fists wildly at him. "Get away from me."

Her throat burned. Her lungs seized, stealing her air. Her arms ached, and she continued hitting him. The loud skin on skin contact filled her ears.

He wouldn't touch her again.

He wouldn't hurt her again.

He wouldn't talk to her again.

He wouldn't kill her.

The name carved onto her chest burned and she screamed out in anger, grabbing for her purse. The cool metal of the pistol in the palm of her hand strengthened her.

"Gracie. Look at me, honey."

She shook her head, holding her arms straight out in front of her, aiming at his face.

"Gracie." The man moved closer. "It's Rich."

Rich? Her arm trembled.

"It's just you and me here." He paused. "Look at me. See me."

She blinked rapidly, the image in her head fading. Rich's voice spoke. She strained to see the wild, tangled hair. The beard. The serious, intense eyes.

"Rich?" she whispered, the darkness receding.

"That's it, honey." Rich's soft voice filled her. "Come back to me."

She gasped and dropped the pistol she pointed at Rich. Scrambling off the bed, she ran to the hallway and locked herself in her bedroom. She pressed her back against the closed door and lowered herself until she sat on her ass.

Cradling her face in her hands, she cried. She'd been so afraid of blacking out and feeling unsafe with her sister, with Wayne, with Chuck, with Glen, with Thad after her abduction, she'd totally shut down. She relied on her pistols, the extra locks, the security measures, and only going out during the day and always being with someone, so she wouldn't panic and blackout and hurt someone she loved when fear overrode reality.

She'd blacked out with Rich and almost shot him, thinking he was Roy Jenkins.

Her hands ached. She lowered them. There were half-moon indentions on her palms where her fingernails had dug into her skin. She turned her hands over, and more tears filled her vision.

She had blood on her hands. In her fight to get away from the only person she wanted close to her, she'd hurt Rich.