Not physically.
Not yet.
But mentally? Emotionally? Spiritually?
I see every way I could end him without making a sound. A blade behind the ribs. A garrotte in the alley. A quiet shove under a passing car.
“Night, Raven,” he says, brushing her hand.
She walks away.
And I follow the bartender.
Two blocks.
Then three.
Until we’re alone.
He never sees my face. Only the fist.
One punch to his jaw, another to his ribs, and he’s down.
I kneel beside him, not out of mercy. Out of ritual.
“She’s not yours,” I whisper, low and calm. “You don’t get to look at her. You don’t get to breathe the same air.”
He chokes on blood and a broken tooth.
I leave him there, rain washing away the evidence, and disappear into the dark.
I exhale smoke slowly, watching it hit the glass where Vex sits motionless.
“He didn’t touch her again,” I murmur, dragging a scar down the desk with the tip of my knife. “Didn’t look at her. Quit the bar two weeks later. Funny how silence keeps people obedient.”
I lean forward, hands braced on the desk.
“She still doesn’t know I was there that night. She still thinks it was a coincidence. Or fate.”
I grin, teeth sharp behind the cigarette.
“But we know better, don’t we, girl?”
Vex shifts one leg, flexing slowly across her driftwood. Watching me. Still. Quiet.
Just like Raven will be.
Soon.
Because that bartender was the first.
But he won’t be the last.
And the next man who even thinks about putting his hands on her?
Won’t crawl away.
CHAPTER SIX
