Then he snarls, taking a step closer, “You motherfucker—”
Alex’s fist slams into his jaw cutting him off, and the sound is something I’ll never forget.
A second hit comes just as fast, this time to the ribs, and Oliver crumbles like a building giving out from the foundation. He crashes to the ground, groaning, blood pouring from his mouth and nose, curling in on himself like a kicked dog.
Alex stands over him, shoulders rising and falling. He exhales, tilting his head back as if silently begging the ceiling for patience. Then he lowers his gaze, and it’s like the air in the trailer goes still.
“Get up,” Alex says, his voice low, jagged, like it’s dragging over broken glass. There’s no scream, no threat in his tone. Just deadly certainty.
Then he moves.
From beneath his jacket, he draws a matte black pistol, smooth and heavy in his hand. then he pulls something else from the inside pocket—a long, narrow tube of metal. It takes me a second to realize what it is.
A silencer.
He threads it onto the barrel with mechanical ease, each turn of his wrist measured and calm. Click. Click. A soft lock as the suppressor slides into place.
My mother gasps and wraps her arms tightly around me, a small whimper escaping her lips. I go stiff beneath her touch. Part of me wants to shove her away, but another part, the broken part of me I rarely acknowledge, clings to the comfort. I let her hold me, just for now.
“You’ve got five seconds to get up,” Alex says, raising the now-silenced gun and pointing it straight at Oliver’s head. “Or I’ll feed your brains to this floor.”
Oliver’s eyes widen in panic. He tries to move, legs fumbling beneath him like they’ve forgotten how to work.
Alex lets out a disappointed exhale.
Then he steps forward, grabs Oliver by the hair, and yanks him up with a brutal twist of his hand. Oliver grunts, his legs scrambling as Alex shoves him forward until he’s on his knees right in front of me, the wooden coffee table the only thing separating us.
“On your knees,” Alex growls again, pressing the pistol to the back of Oliver’s skull. “Right in front of him. Let’s see how brave you are now.”
Oliver shoots me a hateful glare across the table. That familiar sneer still clings to his bloodied face—but his shoulders are tight with fear. He’s not in control anymore. And he knows it.
“You know what I’m capable of,” Alex says, his voice like thunder rumbling beneath a storm. “And still, you thought you could mess with what’s mine?”
Oliver swallows hard. “I didn’t know he meant that much to you.”
“Then you’re dumber than you look.”
Alex leans in just slightly.
“He’s not a boy toy,” he says, the words coming through gritted teeth. “And he never was. He’s mine. And I sure as fuck don’t forgive whoever it is that messes with him.”
My heart stutters, making the heat behind my eyes almost burn. I can’t explain the feeling flooding through me—it’s not just relief, or safety. It’s not even pride. It’s something deeper. Something raw. Something I never thought I’d ever feel.
Wanted. Protected. Chosen.
“Tell me what you want, Lucas.”
Alex’s voice cuts through the thick silence, and my eyes lift to meet his.
There’s fire in his stare, an undeniable consuming rage, but beneath that, I see it. That softness. That quiet tenderness that only ever surfaces when it’s about me. Something that says I will destroy the world if it means keeping you safe.
“I could finish him off right here,” he adds, voice almost too casual, like he’s offering to take out the trash. “If that’s what it takes to make you feel safe.”
My breath catches.
I glance back at Oliver, still kneeling on the floor, the gun muzzle kissing the back of his skull. His expression has shifted—no longer cocky. His jaw is tight, and I see it in his eyes: fear… but also something pitifully human—a flicker of pride clashing with the urge to beg.
My mother’s grip on me tightens. She’s shaking now, her arms coiled around me like she’s trying to keep me together.
