His green eyes search mine, the anger gone as fast as it came. “Tinker?”
His hand comes up gently, brushing my cheek. “You okay?”
I nod, even though my heartbeat still hasn’t slowed, my chest still tight, like my body hasn’t caught up to the fact that it’s over.
His gaze drops to my wrist.
Red fingerprints bloom across my skin.
His jaw tightens.
“Motherfucker’s lucky there’s a full bar and too many witnesses.”
His thumb brushes lightly over the marks, careful, like he’s afraid he might hurt me too.
I should still be shaking. Still be panicking.
But his scent surrounds me again, and something inside me settles, the edges of the fear softening just enough that I can breathe again.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He studies me for one more second, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
Then he steps back. “Take a break,” he says quietly.
And just like that, he turns and walks away.
???
Dexter
I slam the door behind me and brace my hands on the desk, my head dropping forward as I try to steady my breathing, but it’s coming too fast, too sharp, like something inside me hasn’t caught up yet, like it’s still back there at the bar, still wrapped around that moment I can’t seem to shake.
I drag a hand over my face, exhaling hard, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to quiet what’s clawing its way up inside my chest.
I can’t do this.
I can’t go off like that every time someone even looks at her wrong, can’t let that part of me take over like it never left, like I didn’t spend years learning how to keep it locked down.
But when I saw his hand on her arm… when I saw the look in her eyes…
That panic.
That wasn’t about him.
That was something older, something buried deep enough that it came out before she could stop it, before she could even hide it, and the second I saw it, something in me snapped so fast I didn’t even think.
Didn’t hesitate.
All I knew was that I wanted to hurt him.
Bad.
Wanted to make sure he never touched her again.
Wanted to make sure no one ever did.
I push off the desk, pacing once across the room before dragging both hands through my hair, the tension sitting too tight under my skin, like I need to burn it out or it’s going to spill over again.
