The little girl's face falls, her wide eyes filling with disappointment, her little chin starting to tremble. Jade places a gentle hand on my arm, the touch burning through my shirtsleeve.
"It's okay, Declan," she says softly. Then, to the man and child: "I'd be happy to take a photo. What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Lily," the girl whispers, suddenly shy in the presence of her idol.
Jade crouches down to the child's level, her smile genuine and warm. "That's a beautiful name, Lily. Should we take that picture?"
The father beams, already raising his phone with one hand. Jade stands, positioning herself beside them, that professional smile in place.
I watch closely, years of training keeping my attention on the man's free hand, the one not holding the phone. It moves behind Jade as they pose, and I see the exact moment his fingers make contact. The slight widening of Jade's eyes, the flinch she can't quite suppress as he touches her inappropriately.
Red fills my vision.
Three steps and I have him by the collar, yanking him away from Jade and the little girl. His phone clatters to the ground as I slam him against the nearest tree trunk, my forearm across his throat.
"What the fu—" he starts, but I press harder, cutting off his words.
"If you ever touch a woman without her consent again," I growl, my voice low enough that only he can hear, "I willfind you, and I will break every finger on your hands one by one. Starting with the ones you just used."
His face pales, eyes bulging with fear.
"Declan." Jade's voice penetrates the red haze of my rage. Her hand touches my arm, gentle but firm. "Let him go. His daughter is watching."
I glance over to see the little girl frozen in place, eyes wide with confusion and the beginnings of fear. The sight douses my anger like cold water. I've scared a child. Become the monster again.
I release the man, who stumbles away, grabbing his daughter's hand.
"You're crazy, man," he spits, though he keeps a safe distance. "We were just taking a picture."
"And you were just sexually assaulting my client," I counter, still keeping my voice low. "Leave. Now. Before I change my mind about letting you walk away."
He hesitates for just a moment, then tugs his daughter away, hurrying toward the exit. The little girl glances back once, her innocent face troubled.
Shame washes over me, followed by a renewed surge of anger. At him, at myself, at the world that makes predators of men and victims of women.
"Declan." Jade's voice again, softer now. "It's okay.I'm fine."
I can't look at her. Can't bear to see disappointment or, worse, fear in her eyes. "He touched you."
"Yes," she acknowledges quietly. "And while I appreciate your protection, that little girl didn't need to see violence. She didn't need to learn yet what kind of man her father is."
She's right, of course. But the rage still burns in my chest, needing somewhere to go, something to do. My hands clench and unclench at my sides.
"Come with me," she says suddenly, taking my hand. The unexpected contact startles me enough that I don't resist as she leads me away from the main garden, down a winding path toward a large glass structure.
I should protest. Should tell her we need to rejoin Mateo, return to the secured vehicle, and maintain protocol. But the feel of her small hand in mine silences these objections.
The butterfly house is warm and humid, a tropical microclimate filled with lush foliage and vibrant flowers. True to its name, delicate winged creatures float through the air around us. As Jade predicted, it's empty of other visitors this late in the day. A sign near the entrance indicates the facility closes in fifteen minutes.
Jade releases my hand once we're inside, moving further into the glass-enclosed space. I follow, my senses automatically registering exits, potential hiding places, threat vectors, even as my mind remains fixated on the lingering warmth of her touch.
Butterflies flutter around us, wings of blue and orange and yellow catching the late afternoon light. They seem drawn to Jade, one even landing briefly on her copper hair before fluttering away.
"Declan, I need you to breathe with me."
The request catches me off-guard. "What?"
"Your breathing is too shallow. You're still angry." She steps closer, close enough that I can smell her perfume, something light and floral that suits her. "Close your eyes."
