No hesitation.
I drive my knee into his ribs once, twice, fold him with a strike under the jaw, and wrench the gun free before he hits the floor.
I eject the magazine, pull back the slide, and let the bullets rain into my wine glass.
Silence hits the restaurant like a bomb.
And all I can think—breathing steady, hands loose, heart slow—is that I should’ve done this the moment he called herhis girl.
Lucky is behind me, hands over her mouth, eyes huge—not scaredofme. Scaredforme. And flickering with something else—collision of awe and disbelief and relief.
People scatter back. Chairs scrape. Someone shouts that the Sheriff’s coming. I nod to the owner in thanks.
Jett is still whining into his bloody hands.
“This isn’t over! You think—you think—”
“Shut up,” I say, grabbing his collar and hauling him toward the door.
Sheriff Dawson’s cruiser screeches in right as I drag the gobshite outside. Deputies spill out, efficient, cuffing the two groaning suits on the ground.
Jett starts ranting that he was attacked.
Dawson gives me one look—one—and says, “Funny. Owner called, saying three men in suits came in looking for trouble.”
Jett screeches, “Arrest him!”
Dawson shrugs. “If the owner wants to press charges, I’ll holdall three of youfor disturbing the peace.”
I take a breath, steady. “Give me a minute with him,” I murmur. “I won’t touch him.”
Dawson studies my face. He’s known me long enough to trust the line I’m drawing.
He nods once. “One minute.”
There are worse things than hitting a man. Letting him know what happens if he ever comes near my woman again.
I shove Jett against the side of the building, forearm to his chest, pinning him without effort. He grunts, more shocked than hurt. He expected rage. He gets something worse.
My voice drops to that place I don’t let many people hear.
“Listen carefully. You have no idea what line you crossed. And you don’t understand who’s standing between you and her. If you did, you’d already be running.”
He sneers through the blood clogging his teeth. “Is that a threat?”
“No.” I lean in until he has to meet my eyes. “It’s a certainty.”
His Adam’s apple jerks.
“You go near her again—call her, follow her, breathe in her direction—and I won’t bother with warnings. I won’t bother with the law. I’ll end the problem at the root, and no one will find what’s left of you.”
He tries to spit at me, but his broken nose ruins the angle. It dribbles back down his lip.
I step away, letting the cold air fill the space between us.
“Lucky doesn’t belong to you. She never did. But she’s under my protection now.” My stare hardens. “And I protect what’s mine.”
Dawson gestures his deputies over. They haul Jett off, his mouth still running, but the fear in his voice betrays him.
