Ilean over him slow, like a shadow stretching at dusk.
He’s gasping, fingers twitching near his throat, eyes wide with disbelief and pain. That punch didn’t just land—it spoke. Said everything I’ve been holding back since the second I saw him looking at her like she was something he had the right to want.
I consider stubbing my cigarette on his face but don’t. I flick it off to one side as I crouch beside him with my knee pressing hard into his chest. I’m close enough for him to feel my breath on his face. Close enough to remind him I could end him right here in the dirt if I wanted.
“You feel that?” I murmur. “That’s the air trying to crawl its way back into your lungs. Next time, it won’t get the chance.”
His mouth opens, trying to talk. To fight. But all that comes out is a ragged wheeze.
I smile. Real slow. Real cruel.
“You think this was about you and her?” I ask, tilting my head like I’m genuinely curious. “You think this is some pissing contest over who gets the girl? She’s always been mine.” I shake my head. “No. This is about knowing your place. And you?” I drag my gaze down his body—sprawled, broken, humiliated. “You don’t have onehere anymore.”
Behind me, I hear movement. Summer’s breath catches. Good. I’m glad she got to watch. Let her see what happens when men come sniffing around her.
The kid’s still choking when I shift my weight, calm as Sunday service. I can feel the rattle in his lungs under me, like there’s gravel inside him.
I draw my gun slowly. Let him hear the scrape of metal clearing the holster. Let them all hear it.
Summers’ voice cuts through the air. “Jacob—no!” She sounds wrecked. Pleading. But she doesn’t move. She won’t. Not when I’ve got him under me like this.
I level the barrel at his head. Dead center. His wide eyes blink against the glare of the moon overhead, but the fucker still tries to glare up at me, coughing blood into his own teeth. He wants to look brave. All I see is a boy who doesn’t understand what he’s picked a fight with.
“You think I need fists to end you?” I rasp, finger resting easy on the trigger. “One squeeze, and I’ll paint this lot with your brains.”
Silence falls. A restaurant full of eyes behind glass. Her friends frozen—white as chalk, shaking, wanting to run but knowing better. But Summer—she’s still staring. Her breaths running faster, her lips parted. I catch the way her thighs press together, the way her breath hitches. She hates this side of me. Loves this side of me. Both in equal measure.
And that’s what makes me grin.
I thumb the hammer back, clean and slow, just to watch Benny’s face drain. Then I tilt my head, like I’m weighing something that ain’t worth weighing.
“I should fucking kill you,” I whisper. “But I’m feeling generous tonight.”
I press my hand to his chest, right above the heart. Firm. Pinning. Reminding him that even without this gun, he’s nothing under me. Then I look back at her. Only her. Because this isn’t about him. Never was. It’s about showing her what I am. And what’s hers.
She’s hungry and I’m the only meal she wants.
Me.
The fucking devil she’s learning to crave.
I head back toward Summer, but Adelaide comes running to me like a stray that doesn’t know where home is, eyes wide, voice soft with pretend civility. She’s shaking, but she tries anyway.
“Jacob, please… just—be kind to her. Summer, she’s going through enough right now, don’t you think?”
Kind. That word feels foul after the rage that’s flooding my body.
I stop walking. Let the silence choke her. Let her feel the pressure shift in the air, like the ground itself is warning her to shut her mouth. Then I turn. Slowly, purposely.
I nod my head, not able to manage a single word to the slut who dared barge into our dinner with that fucker and her other lousy friend.
Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She gets it. She’s staring at me like she just realized the wolf never pretended to be a man. Tonight wasn’t about peace. It wasn’t about keeping up appearances. It was about marking territory. Reminding Summer of what I am. I wanted to try to be a gentleman, to have a moment of real life with her. But then those cunts walked in and turned it into a fucking circus. Trying to call me out on my actions. Hell, he even went so far as to call me a coward.
A protector? Indeed. A monster? Definitely. But a monster who keeps her alive.
And now she’s seen it. What I can do with one half-hearted punch. How quick I can put a man twice my size in the dirt without breaking a sweat. How easy it would be to destroy anyone stupid enough to reach for her.
She wants safe? Then she better remember what safe looks like when I stop playing sheriff. Because the badge means nothing. Never did. And now—now maybe she’ll stop dreaming about soft fucking hands and guitar boys who wouldn’t survive five minutes in my world. Because all it takes is one second of seeing me unleashed—unclipped—for her to remember exactly who took her. And why she’ll never leave.
