Page 105 of No Good Fight

My hand is still on the deadbolt. “What?”

“Check it again. You’re going to think about it for the next ten minutes if you don’t.”

I look at her, trying to see if she’s teasing me, but I can’t see anything but her patience with my compulsion. “That doesn’t bother you?”

“It bothers me less than watching you pretend you’re not rebuilding the entire house from the ground up, adding in more security.”

I check the lock again.

Her mouth curves a little. “Better?”

“No.”

“Honest, at least.”

The hint of a smile fades as quickly as it came. She looks small standing here, and I hate that thought the second it appears. Alex isn’t small. She’s strong enough to survive things that should have broken her, stubborn enough to argue with me while shaking, brave enough to choose to trust me even when she’s afraid. But her body looks slight inside my sweatshirt, her bare legs pale beneath the hem, and there are marks on her arms because Preston fucking touched her without permission.

“I need a minute,” I say.

Her eyes lift to mine.

I point toward the hall because words are getting harder. “Shower. I need to get my head right.”

She doesn’t ask if I’m okay. I’m grateful for that. She only nods and steps aside, letting me pass without making me explain the violence still racing under my skin.

The upstairs bathroom fills with steam fast. I turn the water hotter than it needs to be and brace both hands on the tile while it runs over the back of my neck. Heat beats against my shoulders. My jaw aches from clenching it so hard. Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in the truck with the phone on the console and Alex’s voice breaking through the speaker.

My door’s open.

Back away.

The door swinging inward.

The impact of her phone hitting the floor.

Her fucking scream.

I press my forehead to the tile and drag in a breath that doesn’t go deep enough. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to really breathe again.

I have spent years telling myself that watching her meant I could prevent the worst things. I knew her routines. Her windows. Her coffee order. The way her apartment light looked from the street at two in the morning. I built a whole rotten comfort out of the idea that noticing enough could become a kind of protection.

Today, I listened while someone tried to take her and everything that I’ve justified over the last decade was left in a heaping pile of ash on the ground.

The bathroom door opens.

I don’t move, but every part of me knows it’s Alex before her bare feet touch the tile outside the shower.

“Ryder?”

My hands curl against the wall. “I’m not gonna be good company right now.”

“I know.”

The glass door slides open behind me.

I turn my head enough to see her through the steam. She’s naked, hair loose around her shoulders, bruises showing in faint shadows where his hands were. She steps into the shower before I can find a single useful thing to say because the sight of her makes me stupid with desire and lust and greed. Water hits her skin and runs down her body, and my brain tries to split itself in half between want and fury.

“Alex.”