He stalked into my kitchen, yanked open the freezer, and rooted around until he found a bag of frozen peas. The domestic normalcy of it was almost comical. Almost. If you ignored the way his shoulders bunched with barely leashed violence, the way his jaw worked like he was grinding glass between his teeth.
“How bad did you hurt him?”
“Got any Tylenol?” He pressed the peas against his knuckles. The skin had split in three places, dried blood settling in the gaps.
“Rainbow.” I squatted down and scratched her head until she finally shut up. “Is he okay?”
“Ibuprofen works too.” His voice was casual, like we were discussing the weather instead of assault charges. “And he’s fine-ish.”
I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Fine-ish. Which meant alive but damaged. “You shouldn’t have confronted him. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can.”
I rose to my feet. “Then why did you do it?” My voice betrayed me, coming out smaller, softer. Cracking on the last word like I was thirteen again, wondering why no one ever stayed. Dammit.
Ryker closed the distance between us, and suddenly, the kitchen felt microscopic. He towered over me, fury and something else coiled in every line of his body. The split in his lip had started to bruise, purple swelling the skin. His knuckles were raw hamburger meat, red and angry. And, God help me, he’d never looked more beautiful. Notdespitethe violence written across his skin, but because of what it meant. Someone had finally fought for me. Not to control me, not to own me, but simply because I mattered enough to defend.
“He disrespected you.” His voice was gravel and danger. “And I know he laid his hands on you.”
“What? How do you?—”
“Your shirt’s ripped.”
I glanced down. Well, shit. He was right. “Because I fought back.”
“That’s not the point.” He stepped closer, his eyes darkening with something primal. “He laid his hands on you. That is the only point. If he ever contacts you again, you tell me right away. You hear me?”
I swallowed, wondering what Ryker would do if Brett ever did contact me again. The lawyer who lived by rules and precedent had just thrown those same rules through a window for me. My chest felt too tight, like my ribs had shrunk two sizes.
An arsenal of questions flipped through my mind:What if Brett called the cops? What if Ryker got in trouble?Less importantly at the moment, what if Brett tried to sabotage any other job application I ever had?
“He won’t be bothering you anymore,” Ryker said, his voice carrying a finality that made me shiver. “I made sure he understood the consequences.”
My throat closed up. This man—this brilliant, controlled man who defended the law for a living—had just broken it. For me. The girl who’d spent most of her life believing she wasn’t worth keeping, let alone fighting for.
My eyes stung, which was ridiculous. The appropriate emotion here was anger. Maybe horror at the violence. Definitely not this warm, melting feeling spreading through my chest like honey.
“You did that for me?” The whisper escaped before I could stop it.
His shoulders dropped, tension bleeding out as he exhaled deeply, shaking his head in a mixture of frustration and shock. “Sometimes, I forget you’re not used to someone protecting you.”
His hand came up, impossibly gentle for someone who’d just rearranged another man’s face, and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. The contrast made my heart stutter.
“Faith, I would tear apart anyone who tried to hurt you. Not because you need me to, but because the thought of someone causing you pain makes me see red.”
My lower lip trembled. I would not cry. I would absolutely not ruin this moment with tears. But my eyes had other plans.
“You’re looking at me like you’re surprised.” His voice roughened with emotion. “Like you can’t believe someone wouldfight for you. But, Faith, you’re worth fighting for. You’re worth everything.”
Something cracked open inside me then.
I had never felt closer to another human being. He hadn’t just defended my body; he’d defended my worth. And by showing me his own capacity for darkness, he’d somehow made mine feel less like a curse and more like just another shade of human.
So, I did the only thing that made sense: I crashed my lips against his.
The surprise froze him for a heartbeat. Just one. Then he made a sound that was part groan, part surrender, and the bag of peas hit the floor with a wet thud. His fingers threaded through my hair, gripping the back of my head as he leaned into the kiss like it was oxygen and he’d been floundering beneath the water. His mouth moved against mine with desperate precision, like he’d been imagining this moment and the reality was somehow both better and more devastating than he’d prepared for.
His tongue swept through my mouth, hot and demanding. I tasted copper from his split lip and something darker, hungrier. A need that matched my own. My fingers dug into the muscles of his back because I needed more. More of him. All of him. Needed to crawl inside his skin and live there, safe and wanted and his.
