Page 56 of No Good Fight

“Looks that way.”

“What would have happened if I had come home right after? If we didn’t go to the harbor? Ryder, he would have hurt me.” Her entire body is trembling with the truth of what tonight could have become for her.

My answer is dark and demented and extremely dangerous, because I know that if something happens to this woman, I will unleash every hidden part of myself to get revenge for her.

Every lie I could use to make this feel less than it actually is dies before it reaches my mouth.

“I’m not letting you sleep here tonight,” I say.

She doesn’t snap at me or tell me that I can’t make that decision for her.

My girl is broken. This? This bullshit is causing her to withdraw back into a shell of the woman that she is. All because that piece of shit tried to hurt her.

9

ALEX

Ryder barely turns out of my apartment complex onto the road when I say, “Can we stop at McDonald’s?”

His hands tighten around the steering wheel, the movement brief enough that I might have missed it if I hadn’t spent the last several hours watching every inch of him like my life depends on reading men correctly.

Rain slides down the windshield in thick, uneven lines, and the wipers shove it aside with a tired squeak that makes the inside of the truck feel smaller but not in a bad way. Ryder glances over once, taking in the duffel clutched to my chest, the sleeve of his jacket pulled down over my bruised wrist, and whatever expression my face is making.

“McDonald’s?” he asks, careful in a way that tells me he was braced for crying, yelling, or a request to turn around. Not for salty deliciousness.

“Yes,” I say, shifting the duffel higher on my lap. “Nuggets and fries. Maybe a Sprite if the machine is working, though I realize that’s a lot to ask from the fast-food gods at this hour.”

His mouth curves a little, and the sight of it does an unfair amount of damage to my ability to breathe. “How many nuggets?”

“That feels judgmental.” I cock an eyebrow at him.

“I’m trying to figure out so I can order your food.” He shakes his head slightly. “Unless you want to unbuckle and lean over me to get your order in.”

“Twenty,” I decide, then immediately look out the window because asking for twenty nuggets after fleeing my apartment with a smashed motion light and a threatening photograph taped to my door feels like the kind of choice that might concern a medical professional. “And sweet and sour sauce.”

“I know,” he says.

The words come out before he can stop them. I see the moment he realizes it, because his jaw flexes and his eyes stay fixed on the road with too much concentration for this time of night. I turn my head slowly and stare at his profile while the truck passes beneath a streetlamp, light sliding over the hard line of his cheek and the dark stubble he hasn’t had time to shave.

“You know my nugget sauce,” I say.

He takes the next right toward the only McDonald’s open this late. “You’re loyal to condiments.”

“That is a very strange thing to know about a person.”

“I’ve known stranger things about Josh.”

“Please don’t bring my brother into your condiment surveillance.”

This time, Ryder laughs. It’s low, rough, and almost gone before it starts, but I hold on to the sound anyway because the rest of the night has been made of Preston’s voice, broken plastic, and my own heart trying to punch its way out of my body.

The drive-through is empty except for us. Ryder orders my food without taking his eyes off the mirrors for more than a second at a time, adding a bottle of water and a second large fry before I can object. When we reach the window, the teenage cashier leans out with the bored, glassy expression of someone who has seen enough weird late-night customers to stop asking questions.

Ryder hands over his card. “Thanks.”

The cashier glances from Ryder to me, then to the duffel on my lap. “You guys having a night?”

I lean forward far enough to see him around Ryder’s shoulder. “We are not criminals. I feel like the bag gives off a fleeing-the-police vibe, and I want to be clear.” I’m stammering and I know it. “I’m not a criminal. Just… hungry.”