Page 101 of Wade’s Wrath

“Why?” she asked.

“For next time,” he said.

Sarah looked at him. “There shouldn't be a next time.”

“Probably will be,” he insisted.

“Why?” she asked. That was the question he'd been avoiding for a week. Ripper grabbed the chair beside the window and turned it around before sitting. He sat back far enough from the bed that she had space, but close enough to catch her if she fell—not that she needed catching. He'd learned that too.

“Club's checking on everybody,” he lied.

“Bullshit,” she spat. His eyebrows rose, and Sarah took a drink of coffee. “Sorry.”

“Don't apologize,” he said.

“I shouldn't swear,” she breathed.

“Says who?” he asked.

“My mother,” she admitted.

“Is your mother here?” he asked.

“No,” she said.

“Then fuck it,” he teased. Sarah laughed, actually laughed. It wasn't loud, and it didn't last long, but Christ, Ripper felt that little sound straight through his chest.

He leaned back. “See? Better.”

“You're a bad influence,” she said.

“Definitely,” he agreed. She picked at the edge of the cinnamon roll, and her expression became serious again.

“The other women aren't getting daily visits from the Savage Bastards,” she said. Fuck. Sarah was too fucking smart. She saw right through him.

“No, they are not,” he admitted.

“So why am I?” she asked. Ripper rubbed his beard. He could lie and probably should. He could tell her Butcher sent him, or that Harlow asked him to check. He could tell her the club was worried because Sarah might know something useful. All of those would sound reasonable, but none were true.

“Don't know,” he said with a shrug.

Sarah stared at him. “You don't know why you keep coming here?”

“Nope,” he admitted. That was the truth too. He had no fucking idea why he showed up at the hospital every day, just to see her.

“That doesn't make sense,” she insisted.

“Most shit I do doesn't make any sense,” he admitted. She looked down. Ripper watched her thumb rub over the cardboard sleeve around her coffee. He could tell that she was nervous. He immediately wanted to take back every word that had put that look on her face.

Fuck. He wasn't built for this. Wade should've come to check on Sarah. He offered, but Ripper insisted that he be the one to check on her—again. Plus, Wade was currently so far up Harlow's ass Ripper doubted the man remembered other women existed. And Butcher was worse. Princess had that bastard completely domesticated. They were both so pussy whipped, they were practically useless, not that he was stupid enough to say it to their faces. Ripper was his own person with nobody pulling his damn strings, and he planned on keeping it that way.

“I remember you,” she breathed. Sarah's quiet words pulled him out of his thoughts.

He looked at her. “What?”

“From the warehouse,” she said. “I remember you.”

Every muscle in his body tightened. “Yeah.”