The two muscle men tried to regroup, but Knox and Bodean closed ranks, pushing me behind them like I was the only thing worth protecting in the world. The air was filled with the sound of bodies slamming into bodies, shoes scraping concrete, curses spat through broken teeth. I watched as Knox wrapped his arm around one man’s neck, squeezing until his face turned the color of wet cement.
But it was Quiad who brought the apocalypse. He emerged from the end of the alley, backlit and immense, his expression a cold, empty mask. He walked through the chaos like it didn’t even touch him. The man in the suit saw him coming and tried to run, but Ransom held him fast, forcing him to face the oncoming storm.
Quiad reached them in three strides. He looked at Ransom. “Let go.”
Ransom did.
Quiad grabbed the man by the lapels, lifting him off the ground like he was made of balsa wood. The man twisted, trying to claw free, but Quiad slammed him against the wall with enough force to crack the plaster. He leaned in, and for the first time I saw Quiad’s face contorted by something worse than anger. It was hate, pure and simple.
“You think you can touch my family?” he said, voice flat, barely above a whisper. “You think you can take what’s mine?”
The man tried to talk, but it came out as a wet gasp.
Quiad hit him. Once. Twice. Three times, each blow a meat-hook thud that sent blood spraying across the brick. The man sagged, and still Quiad didn’t stop. I watched, half-conscious, as my husband broke every bone in the man’s face, each impact echoing through my ribs like a gunshot.
Someone screamed—not the man, but maybe me, or maybe Bodean, who had gone pale and was trying to drag me away from the wall. I dug my heels in, transfixed, unable to look away as Quiad painted the alley with violence.
Finally, it was Knox who called out. “Quiad! Enough! You’re killing him!”
Quiad didn’t hear, or didn’t care. He just kept punching, his knuckles slick with blood, his jaw clenched tight enough to shatter teeth.
Ransom spun to me, grabbed my shoulders. “Levi,” he shouted. “You gotta call him off! He’ll go full psycho if you don’t!”
I tried to speak, but my mouth was a busted tire. All I could do was make a sound, low and desperate. But I saw Quiad’s arm rear back for another swing, and I knew what I had to do.
“Quiad,” I croaked. “I need you.”
The effect was instant. He froze, fist cocked, then turned his head in my direction. His eyes went wide, wild animal wild, and for a second I thought he might not even recognize me.
Then he dropped the man in the suit, who slumped to the ground with a gurgle, blood pouring from his nose and mouth.
Quiad was at my side in two steps. He dropped to his knees, hands trembling as he cupped my face, turning it side to side the way a man inspects a precious thing that’s been run over by a truck. The blood on his knuckles smeared across my cheek, and I could taste the salt and iron of it on my tongue.
He looked me dead in the eye. “Did they hurt you?” His voice was broken, soft. Nothing like the rage from a minute ago.
I nodded, or tried to. The pain in my jaw was intense, but nothing compared to the feeling of his hands on me—solid, real, anchoring me to the earth.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
I wasn’t sure, but I said yes. He helped me up, keeping one arm wrapped around my waist like a tourniquet. I staggered, nearly fell, but Bodean slipped under my other arm, propping me up.
Behind us, Knox and Ransom were dragging the other two men into the open, lining them up against the dumpster. The man in the suit didn’t get up; he just lay there, leaking blood into the cracks of the pavement.
I looked at Quiad’s face—bloodied, hands shaking, mouth twisted with worry. “Don’t let them get away,” I said. “They’ll just come back.”
He nodded once, then looked at Knox. “Call Floyd.”
Knox was already on it, his phone at his ear, eyes scanning the alley for more threats.
Quiad kept his arm tight around me, refusing to let go even when I tried to stand on my own. “Don’t you ever do that again,” he said, voice a raw scrape. “Don’t you ever leave my sight, you hear me?”
I nodded, then buried my face in his chest. He held me there, hands gentle, the violence gone but the strength still there, immutable.
The sirens started up in the distance, getting closer.
Bodean wiped at his face, eyes glassy. “Holy shit, man. You almost killed that guy.”
Quiad didn’t answer. He just pulled me closer, his lips pressed to the top of my head, whispering, “You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.”
