The back door opened with a metallic scrape. I tensed, hand moving instinctively toward the Beretta, hoping it was Gavriel or Harley, but something felt off. The rhythm was wrong—too measured, too careful.
I stepped into the shadows beside the door just as it opened. A man I didn't recognize entered, his hand reaching inside his jacket. My blood turned molten. Without hesitation, I grabbed his wrist, twisting it backward until I felt the resistance of bone and tendon then pushing farther, until something snapped witha wet pop. His scream died in his throat as I slammed my palm over his mouth and rammed his arm against the doorframe. The gun clattered to the floor, and I kicked it under the refrigerator.
"Who sent you?" I hissed, digging my thumbnail into the pressure point between his thumb and forefinger. My father's lessons burned through my muscles: make them hurt, make them talk, make them regret.
“Fucking bitch. Who do you think you are touching?” He snarled it in Spanish, spittle hitting my face as he tried to twist free. White-hot rage exploded behind my eyes. I drove my knee into his kidney with enough force to rupture something, then again into his groin. He doubled over with a strangled gasp, face purpling. Keeping his broken arm locked in my grip, I slammed his head against the wall, leaving a smear of crimson.
"I'll ask once more," I whispered, lips nearly touching his ear, tasting copper in the air. "Who. Sent. You?"
"Juarez sends his regards," he spat through bloodied teeth, his accent thick. "Says your boyfriend should choose more carefully who he fucks."
Rage flooded through me, hot and clarifying. I slammed his head against the wall, watching as he crumpled to the floor. Quickly, I secured his wrists with zip ties from my junk drawer and gagged him with a length of tea towel and rope.
I thought about dragging him toward the storage closet or over with his friend when the back door opened. This time, I recognized Gavriel's hurried, careful footsteps immediately.
My muscles sagged as I leaned on the counter. While I was obviously able to take care of myself, having him here made it so much easier. I took slow, calming breaths as he appeared in the doorway, gun already drawn, every inch the protector. His eyes widened as he saw me sitting there against the counter. "Elin! Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I snapped, nudging the unconscious man with my foot. "Another one of Juarez's men. Came in right before you did."
Gavriel holstered his weapon and moved quickly to my side, his eyes scanning me for injuries. His gaze softened when he realized I was uninjured, but worry still shone back at me. “I’ll be sore tomorrow, but that’s so a tomorrow problem.”
Kissing my forehead, Gavriel held me close pulling me up to stand. "Jesus Christ, Elin. You could have been killed."
"But I wasn't." Pulling back, I met his gaze steadily, the feel of his hands on me slowing my heartrate. "I told you before. Dad made sure I could deal. I've been handling myself long before you came along."
His expression softened slightly, but his touch was still tense as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from my face. "You're right."
"Don't forget again." I leaned into his touch briefly before stepping back. "Harley is on his way.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” His eyebrows pinched together in confusion.
“You were with your father. I figured Harley would be the only other person I could trust that wouldn’t turn me in for”—I waved my hand between the two asshats in my house—“this. Once Harley answered, I texted you. So don’t get butthurt. Now, you need to tell meexactlywhat happened with Juarez."
While Gavriel took the dead fucker out, I sat back down in my chair. Curling my knees up to my chest, I could hear my father’s voice.“Stay calm. Calm people make smart decisions. If you can push off the panic and fear, you’ll do so much better.”
Gods, I hadn’t been more than six when he’d first said that. All the training he’d put me through, the bruises, the broken bones, the stitches I’d had to give myself . . . it had all been for a day justlike this. When I leaned my head on the back of my chair, the last of the tension left my body.
“Thank you, Dad,” I whispered. Gavriel gave me a questioning look. “Was just thanking him all over again for his training.”
“Again?”
I nodded and let out a deep breath. “I’ve had to protect myself a few times in my life.” I lifted my chin to where blood was getting sticky on the floor. “Also, not the first time I didn’t hesitate to kill someone. I may not have a list as long as yours, but It’s longer than a lot of those on death row for multiple murders.”
Kneeling before me, he wrapped his hands around my calves, rubbing his thumbs back and forth. Sadness flashed for a moment as he said, “I’m sorry you’ve had to defend yourself. I—”
“If you dare to sit there and tell me that I’ll never have to do it again, you are a dumb ass.”
His mouth opened and closed before he tilted his head in agreement. “As long as I am by your side, I will do my best to protect you.” Then he smiled and huffed out a small laugh. “I do love that my Goddess is a kick ass bitch who can protect herself though.”
Moving my legs to wrap around his torso, I pulled him close and kissed him softly. Then I said smugly, “And don’t you fucking forget it, Pretty Boy.”
“Yes, Goddess.”
“Good, now, what happened at the meeting?”
With a heavy sigh, he ran his hand through his hair as he filled me in on the meeting with Juarez and his father's warnings. The more he spoke, the hotter my anger became, crystallizing into resolve.
"Your father wants you to break your habit of me?" I said when he finished. "What does that mean, exactly?"
