“Well,” Emma said after hanging up and staring down at the unconscious man with satisfaction. “He got what he deserved. What a meanie.”
Sloane’s gaze found Jamie's across the store, concern replacing the earlier fury. “You okay?”
Okay was relative. Jamie's hands shook slightly, adrenaline still coursing through his system. But underneath that was something else. Safety. Security. The bone-deep knowledge that Sloane would always stand between him and danger.
“Yeah,” Jamie said, meaning it. “I'm good.”
Better than good. He crossed to Sloane without conscious thought, drawn by that invisible tether between them. Up close, he could see the tension still thrumming through Sloane’s frame, the wolf not quite settled.
“Thank you,” Jamie murmured, low enough that only Sloane would hear.
“More than welcome.” Sloane’s hand found the small of Jamie's back, his touch grounding them both. “No one threatens you. Ever.”
The possessiveness should have been concerning. Instead, warmth bloomed in Jamie's stomach, spreading outward until his whole body felt flushed. This gorgeous, dangerous, protective man was his. Had chosen him. Would fight for him without hesitation.
“My hero,” Jamie said, only half-joking.
Some of the tension bled from Sloane’s frame. “He threatened you. Hurt you before. That's not happening again.”
Sloane’s hand found his hip, his thumb rubbing small circles through Jamie’s jeans.
Emma ended her call, bouncing on her toes with excess energy. “Sheriff's on his way. Should be here in ten.” She nudged the unconscious guy with her sneaker. “He got what he deserved. What a meanie.”
“Mean's one word for it,” Jamie agreed, though he was thinking several others.
The guy groaned, starting to stir. Sloane stepped forward, placing one boot firmly on his back. Not pressing down, just a reminder to stay put.
“Don't move,” Sloane advised. “The sheriff's coming to collect you.”
“Fuck…you…” the guy wheezed.
“Eloquent.” Emma crouched near his head, safely out of grabbing range. “You know what your problem is? You're a walking example of toxic masculinity. All that anger because Jamie wouldn’t let you manhandle a snake. It's really quite sad.”
Jamie bit back a laugh. Trust Emma to deliver a sociology lecture to a semiconscious criminal.
Minutes crawled by. The guy stayed down, apparently deciding that challenging the man who'd dropped him in two hits wasn't worth it. Sloane kept his boot in place, a silent threat that promised worse if he tried anything.
Finally, the bell chimed again, and Sheriff Owen filled the doorway. He took in the scene—unconscious troublemaker, Sloane standing guard, Emma still lecturing about emotional intelligence—and sighed.
“Same guy from last week?”
“Same guy,” Jamie confirmed.
“Came back looking for trouble?”
“Demanded to see the snakes again,” Emma piped up. “Called me a bitch. Took a swing at Sloane.”
Owen produced handcuffs. “Self-defense, then. I’ll need statements, but given his history and multiple witnesses...” He hauled the guy to his feet, slapping the cuffs on with practiced efficiency. “You're under arrest for assault, trespassing, and criminal threatening. You have the right to remain silent...”
The guy's protests faded as Owen marched him outside. Through the window, Jamie watched him get stuffed into the back of the patrol car, still running his mouth, even though no one was listening.
“Well,” Emma said brightly, “that was exciting. Anyone want coffee? I need coffee. Or maybe something stronger. Is it too early for tequila?”
“It's ten in the morning,” Jamie pointed out.
“Right. Coffee it is.” She headed for the break room, still chattering. “Though, honestly, after all that adrenaline, tequila sounds really good...”
Her voice faded as she disappeared into the back. Jamie turned to find Sloane watching him, his expression soft in a way that made his knees weak.
