Page 47 of No Good Fight

Good.

My body finally remembers I have legs. I cling to my bag and slide toward the edge of the booth, but Preston moves faster. His hand closes around my wrist.

Hard.

Pain lights up my arm, immediate and familiar in the sickening way that only people who’ve suffered abuse would ever understand.

I stop breathing, the familiar terror racing through my veins.

His thumb presses into the inside of my wrist with exact, practiced pressure. Not enough to look violent from across the room, but more than enough that I’d be on my knees if I wasn’t already sitting.

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” he says, still smiling for the room and the people who don’t know that he’s a monster. “Not after I spent years making you into someone worth marrying.”

The words hit worse than his hand.

My vision blurs at the edges.

“I had you almost perfect,” he murmurs. “Quiet when I wanted you quiet. Pretty when I took you out. Apologetic when you made me angry. Do you know how hard that is to find? How much time and energy I spent on you that you didn’t deserve?”

“Let go of me.”

He leans closer, and his cologne crawls across the table, suffocating when I used to find it charming. “I won’t let him stand between us. Not him. Not your brother. No one. You can play scared for a little while if that makes you feel powerful, but we both know you’ll come back to what you understand.” He chuckles. “Or I’ll make you come home and take the cost of my trouble out of your skin. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being used like the whore you’re pretending to be.”

A hand grips the back of Preston’s coat.

The smile disappears.

“Let her go, now. Before I hurt you and smile while I do it.” Ryder’s voice is calm enough to empty every sound from my head.

Preston looks up slowly. “And there he is. Right on time.”

Ryder stands beside the booth in his black jacket and worn jeans, rain dark in his hair, face carved into something I barely recognize. He doesn’t look at me first. His eyes are fixed on Preston’s hand around my wrist, making sure that he’s focussed on the danger.

“Now,” Ryder says. “Let her go, or I’ll make a scene so big and loud that no one will question who the fuck you are or what you’re doing here. And I don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to me if I do it either, because nothing matters except Alex and her safety.”

Preston releases me.

Not because he wants to. I see that very clearly. He lets go because Ryder has one hand fisted in his coat and the other braced on the table, and there is nothing performative about the violence he’s letting fill the air around us.

I pull my wrist against my chest, cradling it to keep the ache from spreading.

Ryder’s gaze flicks to me then. It drops to my arm, my face, the bag half-fallen beside me, and his jaw tightens almost audibly. The whole thing takes less than a second, but I feel more exposed than I have since Preston’s voice interrupted my peace.

“Can you stand?” he asks me, voice lower now.

I nod.

I think I nod, at least. I’m not even sure my body is listening to my brain at this point. The overwhelm is real and I’m not sure how I’m going to survive the panic attack creeping in.

Ryder doesn’t touch me. He shifts back just enough to give me room, keeping his body between Preston and the rest of the booth.

Preston laughs softly as I slide out. “This is sweet. Really. The childhood crush finally getting his moment. But it won’t last. Alexandra knows her place, and eventually she won’t have a choice.”

Ryder doesn’t answer.

That seems to bother Preston more than anger would have.

“You can’t hide behind him forever, Alexandra,” Preston says as Ryder reaches for my laptop bag and hooks it over his shoulder. “He won’t always be there. Men like him get tired of damaged things once they realize how much work they are. And when he throws you away, I’ll make sure that I take great pride in reminding you of your poor choices.”