Page 62 of Ravage
She didn’t respond. She just sat there with a hopeful smile.
“Okay.” I offered her one of the smaller bottles of glitter. “You drive a hard bargain, kid.”
“I know.”
She reached for the glue and went back to creating her little world exactly the way she wanted it: bright, colorful, and safe. I hoped one day she’d know in her heart that she deserved all of it and wouldn’t accept anything less. Once she was done with her picture, I hung it up by the window, and I hung mine right next to it.
Our session had come to an end, and I was helping her clean up the mess she’d made with the glitter when there was a knock at the door. I thought it was Clara coming to pick her up, so I called out, “You can come on in. We’re just finishing…”
My words trailed off when the door opened, and Ravage stepped inside. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. Of course it did. The man had me tangled up in ways I couldn’t begin to explain, and he just stepped into my studio looking hot as ever in his leather cut and dark T-shirt. His worn jeans were sitting low on his hips, and he was sporting that same intense expression he seemed to have every time he came to see me.
He started over to me, but the second he spotted Poppy, he stopped dead in his tracks. Poppy stilled and gave him a good, hard look before turning her attention to me. “Who’s that?”
“This is Ravage.” I smiled. “He’s a friend of mine.”
“Ravage isn’t a real name.”
“No, it’s not.” I watched as Ravage’s eyebrow lifted. “It’s a nickname.”
She studied him for another second before asking, “Do you have a real name?”
I had to hold back my giggle when Ravage’s eyes skirted back to mine. He didn’t know what to make of Poppy, and I found it undeniably amusing. It wasn’t a first for Poppy. She caught a lot of people off guard, but Ravage usually figured people out fast. He had to.
He was in charge of running the club’s garage. He had to know who he could trust and who he couldn’t, because people coming in and out of that garage could make or break them.
It was one of the many reasons he was so cautious. I assumed he was being cautious with Poppy because he didn’t know her situation and didn’t want to overstep or make her uneasy. He stayed where he was, kept his voice even, and let her decide how much attention she wanted from him. But she clearly didn’t feel threatened by him, nor should she. Hoping to ease his mind, I shrugged and said, “It’s a legitimate question.”
Ravage looked back over to Poppy and answered, “Cole.”
“Umm.” She crinkled her nose. “I like Ravage better.”
“Pfft,” he muttered, grinning slightly. “Me too.”
Poppy nodded like she’d realized something important before asking. “Do you ride a motorcycle?”
“Yeah.”
“Is it loud?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty loud.”
“I don’t like loud.”
“Good to know.”
“Is it black?”
“Yeah.”
“Does your bike have a red seat?”
“Yeah.” Ravage’s brows furrowed. “How’d you know that?”
“It’s in Ms. Emery’s picture.”
“Oh?” Ravage turned to me. “What picture?”
“The one we drew today.” My stomach dropped when Poppy pointed to our pictures I’d just hung on the wall. I hadn’t even realized that I’d drawn a motorcycle, much less that I’d drawn one that resembled Ravage’s. I felt a mix of dread and embarrassment when Poppy told him, “It’s what we think our houses will be ten years from now.”
