Samantha and I fall into the rhythm we perfected years ago back-to-back, covering each other’s blind spots.She kicks out, catching Bethany’s boyfriend in the knee.He howls, stumbling backward.
“Nice one, sis,” I call over my shoulder, ducking as a bottle sails past my head and shatters against the brick wall.
The parking lot becomes a battlefield.Tiana has a man in a headlock, her face a mask of cold fury.Meadow’s knuckles are already bloody as she drives another punch into Bethany’s stomach.The woman crumples, mascara running down her cheeks.
I catch glimpses of Zach through the chaos.Methodical, efficient, terrifying.He doesn’t waste movement, doesn’t showboat.Each strike is calculated to inflict maximum damage with minimum effort.It’s like watching a predator among prey.
A fist grazes my cheek, snapping my attention back.I taste copper in my mouth, feel the sting of split skin.
“Not so helpless now, am I?”I shout, driving my elbow into my attacker’s sternum.The impact sends shock waves up my arm, but the satisfaction of watching him stagger backward is worth the pain.
The man spits at my feet.“Fucking faggot.”
Something in me snaps, a dam breaking after years of pressure.I launch forward, tackling him to the ground.We hit the pavement hard, my knee driving into his chest.I grab his collar, yanking him up until our faces are inches apart.
“Say it again,” I hiss, blood from my split lip dripping onto his face.“I fucking dare you.”
Terror flashes in his eyes.He sees it then, what I’ve spent years hiding beneath scrubs and polite smiles.The rage.The violence I’m capable of.
Someone grabs my shoulder.I whirl, fist cocked, only to find Zach there.His knuckles are raw, eyes blazing with something that makes my stomach clench.
“Cops,” he says, voice low and rough.“Two minutes out.”
I release my grip, letting the man’s head thud against the pavement.My heart hammers against my ribs, blood roaring in my ears.The MC women are already regrouping, straightening clothes, wiping blood from split knuckles.
Samantha appears at my side, hair wild and lipstick smeared.There’s a bruise forming on her cheekbone, but her eyes are alive with the same savage satisfaction I feel pulsing through my veins.
“You okay?”I ask, reaching to examine her face.
She bats my hand away.“I’m fine, Dr.Hover-Hands.Worry about your own pretty face.”
Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder.The remaining men scramble to their feet, dragging their semiconscious friends toward their cars.Bethany limps after them, mascara streaked down her face like war paint gone wrong.
“This isn’t over,” she spits, voice trembling with humiliation and rage.
Zach steps forward, and something in his posture makes her flinch backward.
“It is if you’re smart,” he says, voice deadly quiet.“Next time we won’t be so gentle.”
The parking lot empties quickly after that, leaving just our group standing among scattered glass and droplets of blood.The adrenaline begins to ebb, and I become aware of the throbbing in my knuckles, the sting of my split lip.
Zach’s eyes find mine across the parking lot.Something electric passes between us.Recognition, understanding, hunger.My pulse jumps, and for a moment, I forget about the approaching sirens, the years of distance, the careful walls I’ve built.
I stand in the middle of it all, breathing hard, trying to process what just happened.My hands shake, not from fear, but from the sudden, overwhelming realization that these people… defended me.Without hesitation.
Zach approaches slowly, like he’s not sure how close he’s allowed to get.
“You good, Doc?”he asks, voice low, rough, still vibrating with leftover fury.
I nod, though my throat feels tight.“I… Yes.Thank you.All of you.”
Samantha throws her arms around me.“Nobody talks about our family like that.”
Family.
The word hits me harder than any punch tonight.
As the group starts cleaning up in the aftermath, the noise fades.The adrenaline dwindles.The world narrows.
