The weight in his gaze pins me harder than any rope, any cage. There’s no room left for me to breathe.
I realise then—I’m not just terrified of Rafe.
I’m terrified of what Dean will become now that Rafe has touched me without laying a hand on me at all.
Dean crosses the space in three steps, and the stool I’m perched on suddenly feels like the edge of a cliff.
His hand comes down on the counter beside me, palm flat, the veins in his wrist standing out like cords. He leans in, close enough that I can smell the leather on his jacket and the faint trace of smoke clinging to him from Club Z.
“You don’t go near him again.” His voice isn’t raised, but it’s thunder wrapped in steel. “Do you understand me, Brooklyn? Idon’t care if he corners you in a fucking church—you run, you call me, you never let him breathe the same air as you again.”
Tears prick, hot, unwanted. My throat works around the words that finally tumble out, jagged and too soft.
“I didn’t… I didn’t choose it, Dean. He was just there, waiting, like he knew I’d be alone.”
His jaw tightens, and for a second, I think he’ll explode, but instead he exhales through his nose, steady but furious, like a man choking back the urge to destroy something.
“I told you he plays games.” His finger presses under my chin, forcing my eyes up. “But you’re not his game piece. You’re mine.”
The word mine lands like a brand, hot and unyielding.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper, the confession slipping out before I can cage it. “I can’t live in a world where men like him exist—and you—” My breath shatters. “And you terrify me almost as much as he does.”
Dean doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t soften. He lowers himself until his mouth is a breath from mine, voice a razor-slice in the silence.
“Good. Fear keeps you alive. Fear keeps you sharp. And as long as you’re afraid, you’ll never forget whose arms you belong in at the end of it.”
Something in me cracks then—half fury, half need. My fists pound weakly against his chest, but his hand closes around my wrists, pinning them to the counter.
“Stop running from it,” he snarls, forehead pressing to mine. “Stop pretending you don’t know exactly what this is.”
My vision blurs with tears. “And what is it, Dean? Tell me, because I can’t keep guessing while Rafe is out there waiting to finish me off.”
His grip tightens, and the silence between us burns hotter than any scream. Then finally his voice drops, rough and low, a vow more than an answer:
“It’s the only thing keeping you alive. Me.”
Illusion Of Safety
The house feels too quiet.
After everything that’s happened—after the alley, the breaking point, the fire in his eyes when he forced me to say I belonged to him—the silence feels unnatural, like the world is holding its breath.
Dean’s shadow fills the kitchen doorway, broad shoulders blocking out the morning light. His shirt is half-buttoned, hair still damp from the shower, but his eyes… his eyes are softer than they should be.
“You didn’t sleep,” he says, voice low, not a question.
I wrap my hands around the coffee mug like it’s armour, shrugging. “Neither did you.”
He doesn’t deny it. Just crosses the room, moving with that quiet predator’s grace that always makes me feel both hunted and sheltered at once. His hand brushes over the small of my back as he passes, so casual it almost feels normal.
Almost.
“Kate’s gone,” he murmurs, pulling a pan from the cupboard. “It’s just us now.”
The words should terrify me. Instead, they slip into me like a drug. Just us. No witnesses. No more pretending. No moreswallowing words every time Kate’s eyes flicked between us like she was piecing something together.
It feels too easy. Too safe.
