I don’t think. I act.
I grab Luke by the collar, twist, and drive my fist into his temple with everything I have. The impact travels up my arm, bone jarring bone.
He goes down hard, body folding and hitting the ground with a dull thud. He doesn’t get back up.
The door behind us flies open.
A woman, I assume has to be Amber, appears first. She has a slight resemblance to Jude, with the deep-set eyes and narrow nose. Her face streaked with tears, arms wrapped tight around a small, shaking body.
Her daughter peers over her shoulder, eyes wide and terrified. Behind them stands a woman I assume is Stella, one hand gripping the doorframe, the other holding the collar of a large dog with blood on its muzzle.
Sirens wail in the distance.
Too close.
Too fast.
“Stay back,” Jude calls, but it’s already too late.
Red and blue lights flood the street as the police cars skid to a stop. Officers spill out, shouting commands.
Hands go up. Ryker steps back slowly. I release Luke and raise my arms.
Norah is crying openly now, voice breaking as she tries to explain. “He was attacking them. It was self-defense.”
No one listens.
Cold metal bites into my wrists as I am cuffed. Jude and Ryker are treated the same. Luke groans on the ground, bloodied and still, and somehow he’s the one they kneel beside first.
As they lead us away, I catch Norah’s eyes.
I have never been more sure of anything in my life.
Whatever comes next, I would do it again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ryker
My hand throbsin a way that feels personal.
Someone wrapped it in gauze at some point. I don’t remember agreeing to that, but it’s tight and already stained through in places, so I let it be.
Dorian’s hand is wrapped, too. Thicker bandage. Cleaner. He keeps flexing his fingers like he’s testing the limits of it, jaw tight but expression otherwise calm.
Jude is the loud one.
“Fuck,” Jude mutters, again, voice nasal and wrecked. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
His nose is very clearly broken. Not subtle. Not debatable. It’s swollen and crooked in a way that makes my own face ache in sympathy.
He presses the heel of his palm beneath it and hisses.
“You’re going to make it worse,” Dorian says mildly.
“It’s already worse,” Jude snaps. “My face fucking hurts. My nose was definitely my best feature, and that fucking twat just broke it.”
I snort despite myself, then regret it immediately when the movement tugs at my hand.
