Trigger finally looked at me—just a glance, fast and intense.
It wasn’t a promise to be gentle.
It was a promise to be smart.
Then he looked back at Thomas.
“You should leave,” Trigger said calmly. “Before you make a mistake.”
Thomas laughed. “A mistake? Do you have any idea who I am?”
Trigger’s voice didn’t change. “No.”
Thomas’s smile tightened.
“Rylie is mine,” he said. “And you’re standing in my way.”
Trigger’s eyes went dead-cold.
“Rylie isn’t anyone’s property,” he said. “And you just threatened the Sheriff.”
Thomas blinked. “I didn’t threaten anyone.”
Trigger nodded slowly, like he was agreeing.
Then he said, “Saint.”
Saint stepped into view behind Trigger, holding up his phone.
On the screen, the recording timer was still running.
Thomas’s face shifted.
One second of panic.
One second was all it took.
Trigger’s voice dropped. “You want to say that again? Louder?”
Thomas’s nostrils flared. He recovered quickly, smoothing his expression.
He smiled at me like we were alone.
“Rylie,” he said, soft as silk. “Come downstairs. Let’s talk privately.”
I forced my voice to work. “No.”
Thomas’s eyes hardened.
“Then I’ll come up,” he said simply.
Havoc moved behind Thomas, appearing on the stairs like a wall of muscle. Thomas’s bodyguard turned—but Havoc’s gaze locked on him, and the man stopped.
Thomas’s smile didn’t reach his eyes now.
He looked at Trigger again, measuring.
Then he nodded once, slow.
