Page 139 of Broken Blades

She tilted her head, studying me like I was a chess piece she'd miscalculated. "That can be arranged."

Something inside me snapped. Clean and final, like the last thread holding back years of rage and betrayal finally giving way.

My eyes turned lethal. I felt it happen—the shift from civilized to something darker, something I'd spent years keeping locked down.

"You might have betrayed me," I said quietly, my voice dropping into a register that made grown men back away on the ice, "but Barbara, I swear—if you do anything to my girl…" My jaw tightened, every word deliberate and weighted with absolute certainty. "I'll fucking kill you."

Barbara's eyes narrowed, but I saw it—that flash of recognition. She knew I wasn't bluffing. Knew that whatever lines I'd refused to cross before, Chastity had redrawn every boundary I'd ever maintained.

"Are you threatening me?"

I smiled. But it was all teeth. Nothing warm. Nothing human. "I'm making a goddamn promise."

I walked away before I did something I couldn't take back. Before my hands remembered how good it felt to break things. Before I proved her right about the violence she claimed ran in my blood.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Probably Chastity, wondering where I was. Waiting for me. And for the first time in years, someone was actually waiting for me to come home.

Barbara could arrange whatever the hell she wanted. But she'd learn the hard way: I protected what was mine.

And Chastity? She was mine now.

I drove home with Barbara's voice echoing in my skull like a curse I couldn't shake.

She's in love with you.

My knuckles went white against the steering wheel, fingers gripping hard enough to hurt. The pain helped. Grounded me. Kept me from spiraling into the dark truth I'd been avoiding since the moment Chastity had kissed me in the kitchen.

Hurting people is in your blood.

The words burrowed deeper with every mile. Every red light. Every breath I forced through my chest.

Because Barbara wasn't wrong. I'd built my career on controlled violence. On knowing exactly where to hit to make it count. On reading weaknesses and exploiting them without hesitation or remorse.

And Chastity? She was nothing but softness and trust and naïve belief that people could be good if given the chance. I'd weaponized that from day one. Used her innocence against her father. Manipulated her proximity. Orchestrated every touch, every moment, every carefully calculated move designed to destroy the man who'd destroyed me.

The revenge had been perfect. Surgical. Everything I'd planned.

Until it wasn't.

Until she'd defended me to Barbara. Until she'd kissed my cheek like I deserved tenderness. Until she'd looked at me this morning like I was worth keeping.

My chest tightened, something hot and acidic crawling up my throat.

If I ruined her—and God, I was already halfway there—I'd never forgive myself.

The house appeared ahead, warm lights glowing through the windows. She was in there. Waiting. Believing in a version of me that didn't exist.

I pulled into the driveway and sat in the darkness, engine ticking as it cooled.

I opened the door.

The house smelled like her now. Something floral and clean that had seeped into the furniture, the walls, the air itself. A month ago, this place had been sterile. Functional. A space I occupied but never lived in.

Now it felt like home.

And that terrified me more than anything Barbara had said.

I found her in the living room, curled on the couch with her legs tucked beneath her. Hair messy, falling loose around her shoulders in waves she hadn't bothered to tame. She wore one of my old practice shirts; the fabric swallowing her frame and sliding off one shoulder.