One plants himself in front of me.
“Sir, you can’t—”
I don’t slow down.
He reaches for my shoulder.
I twist his wrist until something pops and shove him aside.
A second one grabs for my cut.
Big mistake.
I catch him by the throat and slam him into the railing hard enough to make him rethink his job.
He drops.
I keep moving.
The room gasps.
Good.
My eyes stay on Violet.
The man holding her looks up.
Old money.
Entitled. Untouched.
Used to getting what he reaches for. The kind who thinks consequences are for other people.
He tightens his grip on Violet like she’s leverage.
Like she’s property.
Like he’s about to find out what happens when you touch what’s mine.
I stop in front of him, close enough to feel Violet’s shaking.
Close enough to see the way her dress rides up slightly where his hand forced her against the railing. Close enough to see her trying to make herself smaller inside her own skin.
She looks up at me like she’s afraid to hope.
I don’t give her softness yet. Not here. Not in front of predators.
I speak, voice low, rough, final.
“Get your hands off my woman.”
His mouth curls. “Your woman?”
I don’t blink.
“Now,” I say.
He stands, smugness trying to hold. “You don’t know who you’re—”
