Chapter 29
Dahlia
The black fabric of Xander’s jacket shifts as he strides through the parting crowd, revealing the flex of muscle underneath. Anyone looking at me right now would know exactly what’s going through my head, but I can’t bring myself to look away.
I haven’t recovered from being in his arms. A man who sends others scattering out of fear and respect held me like I was something breakable. That’s not right. From the second I met him in that bar, he told me to take what I want. His touch wasn’t precious; it was reverent.
His touch was adoring. Devoted.
Heat pulls low in my stomach, and I press my thighs together, instantly regretting delaying us from leaving. The hesitance I’d felt before is gone. He wants to give me what I want, and I want to take it.
Impatience coils in me as I shift my weight, kicking myself for asking for that drink. Xander’s halfway across the room now. Too far to call back without looking ridiculous. A man stops him, and I bite back a groan, debating whether to go myself.
On one hand, I’ll have to face his smug grin again. On the other, we’ll finally get out of here.
Just as the scale tips toward chasing him, a younger man steps into view. My stomach drops. Elliot.
He holds out his hand, and Xander takes it. The shift in Xander’s body is instant. His shoulders set, jaw tight, polite smile nowhere to be found.
Elliot winces, and his eyes dart everywhere but at the man gripping his hand.
He looks nervous. Small.
Nothing like the monster who’s been haunting my dreams.
Then Elliot looks up.
My knees falter, and I take a step back when he finds me across the crowd. There’s a spark of recognition, and then his face hardens, a sneer pulling across his lips.
Fear lances through me, and I’m already turning to escape before my mind can catch up. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flash of Misty’s violet hair as she slips through the exit on the far side of the ballroom.
I want to run to her, but the crowd is too dense, a wall of glittering bodies between us. I don’t have time to think. I bolt for the nearest door, praying it connects to the same hallway.
The second I clear the threshold, I call her name.
Nothing.
The hall is empty.
My pulse stutters, breath coming too fast. Relax. He’s not going to grab you. He still has to get through the ballroom. Just find Damon and Misty, then wait for Xander.
Then explain… He’s going to be furious. Would explaining that I was planning on telling him everything tonight help? How was I supposed to know we’d run into Elliot?
My pace starts steady, but it quickens until I’m almost running. Every few seconds, I glance back. There’s still no sign of him.
The tightness in my chest doesn’t ease, not even a little. I push harder. The dress tangles around my legs, forcing shorter steps. I want to tear the hem, rip it clean through. Embarrassment doesn’t matter. Getting to Misty and Damon does.
A sound breaks the quiet behind me, and my heart catches in my throat. I twist to look back, then slam into something solid.
The impact knocks the air from my lungs, and I stagger, gasping for breath.
My apology dies as I look up.
“Gotcha.” A man towers over me, frame twice the size of mine, and his lips are pulled into a sneer.
I twist to run, but he catches my arm in a bruising grip and yanks me back. My shoulder blades slam into his chest as his hand clamps over my mouth. The sound that rips from me is muffled, swallowed by his palm.
I thrash, nails digging into his arm, kicking hard enough to send pain up my shins, but he doesn’t budge. His breath rasps against my ear when he laughs. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I shake my head, trying to bite, trying to scream, but it’s useless. He drags me backward, my heels scraping across the floor, and the harder I fight, the tighter his hold becomes. He lifts me like I weigh nothing and shoves me through a side door.
The lock clicks. Quiet. Final.
The dim overhead light reveals three men in front of me. Helplessness sinks into my bones until it’s all I can do to stay upright. My legs shake, my weight sagging against the arm locked around my stomach. His hand stays clamped over my mouth, cutting off air and sound until my lungs ache.
Nausea claws at my throat, but I force it back. I can’t fall apart. If there’s any chance of getting out of here, I need to stay alert. I need to think.
Shapes sharpen through the blur. Stainless steel tables crowd the narrow space. Stacks of plates, trays, and cutlery line the counters. The smell of bleach burns my nose. It’s a prep room for the waitstaff.
For a second, hope flickers. Maybe someone could walk in. If I break free of the palm that seals my mouth and scream, maybe they’ll hear me. But the thought dies as the door cracks open.
A sliver of light slices across the floor, stretching wide before it vanishes. The door shuts again. Another click.
Elliot stands there, calm as ever. He takes his time before stepping closer.
“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, Dahlia.” His tone is almost gentle as he pulls on leather gloves, one finger at a time.
My body trembles. I can’t look away. The calm in his voice is worse than shouting.
“I’ll give you credit. You hid well. That backwater town wasn’t easy to find.
” His voice drips with mock admiration. “Did you know only two buses left at that hour? Guess that’s what you get for running at dawn.
Still, it took months to track every stop.
Who’d have thought they’d spot you walking down the street? ”
He grips my jaw hard enough to bruise.
“But you’re full of surprises, aren’t you? Of all people, Xander Everette shows up to save you.”
His boot slams into my stomach. Air bursts against the hand covering my mouth in a strangled gasp. “I convinced him I wasn’t involved, but if he’d been one minute later, I’d be dead. You’d have preferred that, wouldn’t you?”
Another kick. White-hot pain bursts through my ribs.
“While you were safe behind his walls, did you think about me? About how I had to live, wondering if you’d hand him that photo? You’re so selfish, Dahlia. You only ever think about yourself.”
Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them.
“Don’t cry,” he says softly. “This is all your fault. If you’d just died in that alley like you were supposed to, none of this would have happened.
Because of you, the Everette brothers are crawling all over me.
What do you think they’d do if they found out I killed Calder to take his spot in the deal? ”
He tilts his head, eyes glinting with mock curiosity, pretending to wait for an answer he knows I can’t give. The hand over my mouth presses harder, sealing in my breath.
“You don’t know?” he says lightly, as if we’re having a conversation. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you exactly what they’d do to me. Then maybe you’ll understand.”
I shake my head, soundless against the pressure of his palm. My throat aches with the words I can’t get out. He watches me struggle, amused by the effort. He likes this. Likes the control.
Metal flashes in the dim light as he draws a knife, spinning it between his fingers. His smile stretches too wide.
“You’re prettier than I expected. You’d sell for a good price. Shame to waste it. Oh well. You’ll have to die. Normally, I go for a clean shot between the eyes, but your husband?” His grin twists. “He likes to take his time. You have no idea who you married.”
I try to speak, to tell him he’s wrong, but all that escapes is a choked sound swallowed by the hand covering my mouth. He leans close, breath hot against my cheek.
“But you will, Dahlia.”
The blade grazes my skin, a sharp sting.
Something shifts. It doesn’t break me the way he wants. It feeds something else.
Frustration curdles into rage, years of swallowed words and quiet submission pressing against me like restraints.
I can almost feel them, thick straps holding me in place, cutting into my skin each time I try to move.
I think of every time I smiled when things were unfair.
Every time I stayed small to survive. Every time I said thank you when someone handed me nothing.
But Xander’s been cutting through those bindings, one by one. Every word of encouragement, every time he looked at me like I mattered, another strap gave way. He’s been teaching me to stop shrinking. To stop apologizing for taking up space.
He’s been teaching me to burn.
And the graze of a knife is all it takes to ignite.
I bite down hard, teeth sinking into flesh, mouth filling with iron.
The grip around me jerks and falters. I twist free and slam my head into Elliot’s face.
The crack is sharp and satisfying. I’m done being quiet.
I claw and kick, nails tearing skin, arms flailing even as I’m lifted off the ground again.
I keep fighting. I keep screaming. Because I’ll never stop again.
The door bursts open, crashing against the wall. I hit the floor hard as the men scatter like startled rats, trapped in the very room they locked me in.
Xander stands tall, chest heaving, breath ragged, eyes wild and searching. There’s blood on his knuckles, and his suit jacket hangs open, one sleeve torn.
Every inch of him looks carved from fury.
His gaze sweeps across the room, sharp and fast, scanning for me. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t even look human. He looks like something pulled straight out of a nightmare.
A broken sound slips from my throat, half sob, half relief. The second it escapes, his head whips toward me, and the wildness in his eyes softens.
His gaze stays on me, checking every inch like he’s counting my breaths.
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
That’s all it takes.
Something in him fractures. The concern in his face freezes, hardening into something cold and merciless. The warmth I’d clung to is gone, and the air itself seems to drop ten degrees. His brows lower, shadowing his eyes, and the man I know vanishes beneath something far darker.
He steps forward, slow and deliberate, a predator closing in on its prey.
“Close your eyes, Dahlia.”
I want to obey, but I can’t. Not with Elliot dragging himself backward across the floor toward the men who helped him.
“Don’t bother.” Xander snatches a knife from the table. He tests the edge with his thumb, a bead of blood rising before he smiles without warmth. “They can’t protect you.”
The men’s voices collide in a rush of pleading, cut short one by one.
Elliot’s rage had been precise and cruel, sharpened by ego and wounded pride.
Xander’s is silent. Controlled. Inhuman.
There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s going to kill every man in this room.
I don’t move. Don’t look away. My heart should be racing, but it’s not. My pulse slows. My breathing evens. I watch him end them one after another, precise and efficient. The sound of steel sinking into flesh replaces the begging. Blood spreads across the tile, inching toward me.
Elliot is the last one left.
Xander grips his hair and jerks his head back. No words. No warnings. Just the smooth, quiet thrust of his arm as the blade sinks deep. The knife disappears into Elliot’s mouth and out the side of his neck.
Xander’s shoulders rise and fall with every ragged breath. The air still hums with violence, but then something shifts. The ice around him cracks.
He turns toward me, eyes no longer wild but desperate. Concern floods through the fury as he drops to his knees in front of me. His hands reach out, then stop midair.
“Fuck.” He pulls back like he’s been burned, fists clenching at his sides. His gaze drops to the floor between us. The muscle in his jaw ticks. His throat moves with a hard swallow.
“Please don’t be afraid of me.” His voice is rough and unsteady. “I don’t think I could take it.”
The sane part of me knows it should. I should be terrified.
What he did here is worse than anything I saw in that alley.
But that part of me is quiet. Because I know what this was.
He didn’t kill for power or revenge. He did it because I was the one they hurt.
Because to him, there was no other choice.
I reach for him, palms framing his face. His skin is hot under my hands, slick with sweat and blood. He tenses, but I pull him closer and run my thumb beneath the cut below his eye.
“You’re hurt.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, eyes locking on mine, searching for the fear he expects to see. There isn’t any. I let him see that. I let him feel it in the way I stay close, in the steadiness of my hands.
His gaze flicks over me then, quick and frantic, scanning for damage. His fingers hover near my arm but never touch. “Did they hurt you?” His voice cracks, barely above a whisper.
“I told you I’m okay,” I say softly. “Barely a scratch.”
He exhales shakily, but the tension doesn’t leave until I catch his wrist and press his hand flat against my side, letting him feel that I’m whole. His eyes close, relief shuddering through him.
I click my tongue and fuss over him, brushing his hair out of his face like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You kept your promise.”
He leans into my touch, the tightness in his shoulders easing. The wildness fades, replaced by exhaustion. “What’s that?”
“You kept me safe.”
He exhales against my palm, the fight draining from him. I don’t pull away. I stay there, close enough for him to feel my heartbeat, close enough to show him he doesn’t have to be afraid of what I see. I just hold him until the shaking stops.