Axel moved.
His fist connected with Slash's jaw with a sound like a baseball bat hitting meat. Slash flew backward, crashed through my coffee table, wood splintering under his weight. The two flankers reached for weapons.
Tank's shotgun centered on one's forehead. "Don't."
Irish's pistol found the other. "Really don't want to redecorate Kai's apartment with your brains." He paused, glanced around. "Though honestly? The blood might be an improvement. What is this, beige? Who chooses beige?"
Despite everything—the shattered vase, the home invasion, the gun still trembling in my hands—I almost laughed.
Axel hauled Slash up by his collar, blood streaming from the man's nose. Definitely broken this time. Maybe permanently.
"Listen carefully." Each word was a promise of violence. "You come near him again, you die. Your boys come near him, they die. Viper wants to make this war?" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to something intimate and terrifying. "Then it's war. But Kai is off-limits. Non-negotiable."
"Viper won't let this?—"
"Viper can take it up with me personally." Axel released him, letting him drop. "Now get out. Take your trash with you."
Slash stumbled to his feet. His eyes found mine—promising pain, promising retribution, promising all the things men like him lived for. Then he gathered his men, including Jenkins limping from the bedroom, and they were gone.
Silence.
Then Axel was in front of me, hands cupping my face, grey eyes searching mine with desperate intensity.
"Are you hurt? Did they touch you? I swear to God, if they?—"
"I'm okay." My voice cracked on the words. "I'm okay. You got here in time."
His forehead met mine. I felt the tremor run through him—adrenaline and fear and something else, something that made his hands shake as they held me.
"When you stopped answering texts..." His voice was ragged. "I thought I was too late."
"I'm here." I gripped his wrists, anchoring us both. "I'm right here."
We stood like that for a long moment, breathing each other in. Then Tank's voice broke the silence.
"Hey, Irish. Come look at this."
I pulled back to see Tank on his knees near the window, carefully gathering pieces of blue and white porcelain.
"Don't—" I started.
"Might be fixable." He placed each shard in a box like they were precious. "Irish is good with puzzles."
"It's true," Irish confirmed, holstering his weapon. "Fixed Hawk's kid's favorite toy once. Took six hours, but I did it." He crouched beside Tank, examining the pieces. "Japanese, right? Meiji era, maybe? My grandmother had something similar."
I stared at these men—dangerous, violent men who'd just committed assault and breaking-and-entering—carefully saving broken pieces of my grandmother's legacy.
"Thank you." The words came out thick.
"Family." Tank said it simply, like it explained everything. "Phoenix takes care of family."
"I'm not?—"
"You are." Axel's arm came around my waist, solid and warm. "Whether you've accepted it yet or not."
We left through the garage, my Kawasaki flanked by Harleys. Riding in formation, protected on all sides. The city passed in a blur of streetlights and strangers, and I didn't look back.
Whatever my life had been, it was over.
