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Of course not.

Because she’s impulsive. She leads with her heart and fights like it’s the only way she knows how to survive. And as much as I love her for it, I never want to feel the fucking fear I felt when Vic called earlier ever again.

“Get to Bangers. Now. Marie just walked through the door.”

That’s all he said. I hung up so fast my phone nearly cracked against the counter. Called Mama, told her to stay with Dallas. Thank God he was asleep, tucked safe in his bed while the woman who’s slowly becoming his whole world was tearing through a bar like a woman possessed.

By the time I got there, Mercy was trying—and failing—to wrangle the wild thing that was Louisiana Wright. And Marie? That walking pack of Virginia Slims had the audacity to scream about pressing charges.

I didn’t even blink. I stomped across that floor, backed her into the God damn wall, nose crooked and bleeding down her shirt. She flinched, and I leaned in slow, let her see the storm in my eyes.

“If she has one God damn scratch on her…” I said, voice low and lethal, “I’ll slit that dick chute you call a throat from ear to ear.”

She knew I meant every syllable.

Then I turned—spun on my heel, and headed toward the chaos that was Lou.

Fuck me, the moment I saw her—I didn’t even think.

Her pupils were blown wide, chest heaving like she couldn’t catch her breath. Wild and shaking, like her body had no idea if it was supposed to fight or fall apart.

She didn’t see me. Didn’t even register I was there.

She was a wildfire still burning.

So I did the only thing I could.

I marched over, wrapped my arms around her, and tossed her over my shoulder like the feral, beautiful problem she is. Took her straight into Crow and Crew’s office.

That’s where she finally let go.

Fought me the whole way in. Clawed at my back. Cursed me out. Destroyed everything she could get her hands on. Then passed out in my arms like her body had finally surrendered.

Now, here I am, driving with the most infuriating woman strapped in the backseat, handcuffed tight, thrashing like a storm that refuses to be tamed. Every curse, every threat she spits at me ricochets off the walls of my mind. I clamp down hard on the chaos she stirs inside me—her fight, her fire—it makes me wild, feral in ways I don’t want to admit.

“Big, pushy, controlling motherfucker. I hate you!” Her voice slices through the car like a razor.

That’s it.

I slam on the brakes, jerking the wheel hard enough to skid us onto the shoulder. The world blurs, tires whining against gravel.

My fingers fumble the buttons on my uniform, undoing the top two as if the tight collar’s choking me too. I inhale deep, trying to steady the storm raging inside.

The silence thickens.

Her eyes—hard, fierce—lock with mine in the rearview mirror. No apology. No regret. Just that damn fire.

“That’s right, get these cuffs off me. Now.”

Fuck. That.

I’m done playing nice.

I kill the engine and yank the door handle with a fierce snap. The door flies open.

I grab the chain between those cold metal cuffs, hauling her out like I’m dragging a wildcat from its den.

Her body slams against me, raw and untamed.