But I’m not that person anymore. I’m not here to make myself smaller for him. He can’t treat people like this and expect to get away with it. I gave him a fair chance to walk away with his business and reputation intact, and he threw it away to salvage his ego.
I shift my weight like Nicole drilled into me when she gave me a self-defense crash course.Fight hard, fight dirty.I bring my knee up fast and tight between us, foot snapping forward in a short, brutal arc.
It’s not pretty or controlled, but it works. My instep connects, solid and sickening, with his groin, and the sound that tears out of him is nothing like the powerful man who was shouting in my face a second ago. His grip collapses instantly. I wrench one wrist free, twist hard, and shove him away as he folds in on himself, hands dropping too late to protect anything. I don’t wait to see if he recovers. I’m already moving away from him as I press the button under my sleeve.
For three seconds, nothing happens. Richard howls on the floor, but my heart is pounding so hard I can barely hear what he’s saying.
Then the front door crashes open.
Ian enters the room first, ears flat against his skull and teeth bared, his massive form filling the doorway of the study. I stumble toward him, so relieved that I almost fall, but Ian’s already there to catch me. And right behind him are his brothers, Ben, Sean, Will, and Marc, all in black tactical gear with PACK DYNAMICS emblazoned across their chests.
Richard’s face goes white when he sees them. “Who the hell are you? You can’t just break into my house! I’ll have you arrested for—”
“Richard Norman, this is a citizen’s arrest,” Ben says coolly. “You’re being detained for assault. Please don’t resist.”
“She came intomyhouse! She assaultedme!”
But Ian’s brothers are already moving, surrounding us. Ben and Will catch Richard’s flailing arms and pin them behind his back with zero apparent effort. Marc and Sean help zip-tie his hands and prepare to march him out.
“This is illegal! I’ll sue every single one of you into the ground!” Richard screeches.
“You have the right to remain silent,” Marc says dryly. “I suggest you exercise it.”
Ian hasn’t moved from his position between me and Richard, a low growl rumbling in his chest as his gaze remains locked on the potential threat. I reach out and touch his arm.
“He’s not worth it,” I whisper. “Ian, I’m okay. Really.”
His growl fades, and I let myself sag against his side.
The brothers haul Richard out of the study. He’s still shouting threats about lawsuits, about connections, about how we’ll all regret this. But his voice is getting farther away, and then the front door closes behind them and there’s silence.
Ian’s arms wrap around me, pulling me close, one hand cradling the back of my head.
“That went way worse than I thought it would,” I admit.
“You did so good,” he murmurs into my hair. “You were so brave. It’s over now. Ben will give them the evidence file he compiled when he drops Richard off at the police station. You should press charges for assault, but he’ll go to jail for a long time based on the file alone.”
I’m shaking. I didn’t realize it until just now, but my whole body is trembling, adrenaline crashing through me like waves. I press my face against his chest and breathe him in. Cedar and the gingerbread he baked this morning before I got up. I let the tears come.
“Let me see.” He pulls back just enough to examine my wrist, turning it gently in his hands. Finger-shaped marks are already blooming purple.Ian’s jaw tightens, but his touch stays careful. “Does anything else hurt?”
“I hit my hip on the bookshelf.”
He checks that too, lifting the edge of my shirt just enough to see the angry red mark that will probably become a bruise by tomorrow.
“No broken skin,” he says finally. “But we’ll take pictures and ice both of these when we get home.”
Home. Not here. The cabin.Ourcabin. The word wraps around me like a blanket.
I let out a breath that feels like it’s been trapped in my chest for the last two decades. “Is it really over?”
“It’s really over.”
Chapter 37
Ian
On Christmas Eve, Julia sits cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by wrapping paper and ribbon, her belly so round now that she has a hard time reaching the gifts in front of her. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, a few silver strands catching the light from the fire. She’s wearing one of my flannel shirts over her leggings because none of her own clothes fit anymore, and she’s never looked more beautiful.
