A few days after the basement fiasco, she’d gone downstairs to find half of it had been cleared of vehicles. In their places were the contents of the workshop from her house. Rathe—or all three, for all she knew—brought everything, from the weapons she hadn’t been able to part with down to her sketchbook and favorite pencil. But he hadn’t stopped there. Mixed in among her old tools and equipment was top-of-the-line machinery she’d only dreamed of, knowing it would take years of work to afford a single piece.
need me a man to buy me new stuff just because mine is old
