Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
Deliver Us From Evil
It’s been three days since those boys in the bar tried to make me small. Three days since Cain worshiped me like a prayer he refused to stop saying.
Quiet days. Good ones.
The kind where I wake up tangled in Cain’s arms and fall asleep to the sound of him breathing beside me like it’s the only lullaby I’ve ever needed. The kind where the bar smells like citrus cleaner and cheap whiskey, and Hank hums old country songs while wiping down the tables.
The kind where I almost believe peace could be permanent.
I pour a drink, slide it down the bar, and flash a smile at a regular who tips his hat at me. Cain’s behind me somewhere, fixing something with those steady hands and that always-watching gaze. I feel safe. Settled.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t flinch when the door opens.
Which is exactly why the chill that creeps up my spine now feels like betrayal.
Because when I turn to see who walked in—
It isn’t a regular.
It’s a lawyer.
And two cops.
And just like that, the stillness shatters.
They walk in like they own the place.
Three of them—
One slicked-back bastard in a suit so shiny it probably squeaks when he walks.
Two cops flanking him like this is some kind of goddamn ambush.
Cain stills behind the bar. Hank’s head lifts like a bloodhound catching the scent of something foul. And me? I just stare.
Because the lawyer—he’s familiar. Warren’s pit viper in a three-piece.
He steps forward, smug and oily. “Magdalena Holloway?”
I don’t answer. My spine locks. My jaw does too.
“We’re here to escort you to a facility for a mandatory mental health evaluation,” he says, like he’s asking if I want fries with that. “As per Mr. Ellison’s legal concerns for your… state of mind.”
My stomach drops.
“What?” It comes out small. Shaky. But furious underneath. “You’re assessing me? For a sound mind?”
The lawyer gives a tight, polite smile. “Just a routine wellness check, Miss Holloway. Considering your recent behavior and accusations, it’s within Mr. Ellison’s rights to request a psychological evaluation, given your former employment relationship.”
Cain doesn’t move.
Not an inch. Not a word.
Which is somehow more terrifying than if he had flipped the bar over.
Hank, though—he lets out a sound like a growl caught in his throat. “You’ve got some goddamn nerve.”
I feel exposed. Violated. My hands are shaking, and I curl them into fists to hide it. Every ounce of calm I built these past few days crumbles like paper in a storm.
I’m not crazy. I’m not.
But Warren—he’s playing the long game. And this? This is his next move. And it’s working.
Cain moves.
Not fast. Not sharp. Just… controlled. That lethal kind of calm that says he’s already done the math and the body count.
He leans forward against the bar, slow as a sermon, and tilts his head. “You want her evaluated for mental stability?” His voice is pure velvet over broken glass. “Sure. Let’s go to the hospital.”
Hank crosses his arms next to him, mirroring that same terrifying ease. “Yep. Great idea.”
My heart is thundering like it wants out of my ribs, but they’re both too damn relaxed. Cain even shrugs, as if this is just another Wednesday afternoon.
The lawyer—Warren Ellison’s smug little pawn—blinks, caught off guard. “We’ll need her to ride with either myself or the officers—”
“Absolutely not,” Hank says, stepping forward with a half-smile. “She’s not going anywhere without someone she trusts. And it sure as shit isn’t either of you.”
Cain’s gaze is still locked on the lawyer. “We’ll drive her. You can follow. Keep your flashing lights off unless you want a full house of angry drunks thinking there’s a raid.”
The cops exchange a look. The lawyer hesitates.
Cain doesn’t blink. “Or we can call the press. Tell them Warren Ellison sent two cops to drag a woman into a van under the guise of ‘mental stability.’ Your move.”
The suit adjusts his collar. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Didn’t think so,” Cain murmurs, already turning toward me.
Then, soft as a prayer meant only for me, “C’mon, my little saint. Let’s go make them regret every breath they wasted.”
Cain opens the passenger door for me like we’re headed to brunch and not a state-sanctioned humiliation. I slide in on autopilot, trying not to hyperventilate. My hands are trembling. My stomach’s in knots. I feel like I’m being marched to the gallows in leggings and combat boots.
He closes the door gently, then walks around and gets in the driver’s seat. Starts the car like nothing’s wrong.
“Cain,” I whisper, my voice cracking, “what if this isn’t okay? What if they… What if they say I’m not fit? What if they try to keep me? What if they make it worse?”
He pulls out of the lot, smooth and unbothered. “They won’t.”
“How do you know?”
He glances at me, then reaches over and takes my hand—threading his fingers through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like I’m not unraveling beside him.
“I just do,” he says softly. “Trust me, little rabbit.”
A cop car follows behind us, lights off but presence loud. In the rearview, Hank’s truck rumbles in behind them. And then… the lawyer’s sleek black vehicle. A holy trinity of fuckery.
Cain squeezes my hand.
“Breathe.”
I do. Barely.
He keeps his eyes on the road, voice low and deadly calm. “You are the brightest thing in this godless town. And they hate that. They want to snuff you out so they don’t have to feel small. That’s all this is.”
My lip trembles. “But what if I’m not—what if I’m not strong enough?”
Cain turns slightly, just enough for me to feel the weight of his conviction when he speaks.
“Oh, you are,” he says. “You’re divine. You’re steel in silk. You walked through hell in heels and still held your head up. They don’t get to question that.”
His tone dips darker, silk laced with ash. “They should be questioning me. Wondering how long they have before I burn down their courtrooms, their offices, their entire bloodline for what they’re doing to you.”
I blink fast, swallowing back a wave of panic and… something else.
“Cain—”
“I’m not a saint, Mags. You know that. I’m wrath incarnate when it comes to you. But even in my darkest moments, I look at you and see holiness.”
I suck in a breath.
“You’re my altar,” he murmurs. “My little sinner. My revelation in flesh. And I will damn every soul who tries to break you.”
The car falls silent except for my thudding heart and the low hum of the engine.
He raises our entwined hands and kisses my knuckles. “Let them come,” he says. “Let them try.”
Cain pulls into the parking lot and pulls into the first spot he sees. We get out and walk toward the doors, the mismatched entourage behind us.
The fluorescent lights inside the ER buzz like a warning bell in my skull.
The scent of antiseptic and burnt coffee hits my nose as the sliding doors whoosh shut behind us.
Cain stays close, his hand resting low on my back like a shield.
The cop steps in behind us. Hank follows.
The lawyer—Warren Ellison’s smug little mouthpiece—is last, like a damn parade of dread.
A nurse looks up from the triage desk. She’s older, probably mid-fifties, and built like she’s seen a war or ten in this place. Tight gray bun. Reading glasses halfway down her nose. Eyes like a hawk.
She frowns as we approach. “Can I help you?”
The cop steps forward. “We’re here for a psychiatric evaluation. Temporary mental health assessment for the female party, per legal request.”
He gestures toward me like I’m a package, not a person.
The nurse’s expression doesn’t shift much—but her nostrils flare, just slightly. “Legal request?” she repeats. “For her?” She looks me over, then turns her gaze—slowly, pointedly—back to the wall of testosterone behind me. “I see.”
The cop opens his mouth again, but she holds up a hand. “Save it.”
Then her eyes land on me. Her voice softens, but it’s still edged with steel. “Honey, I’m going to speak to you. Alone.”
She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow, then turns her laser sights on the rest of them. “All of you”—she waves a dismissive hand like she’s shooing flies—“can sit your butts down out here.”
Cain’s jaw ticks, but he nods once, eyes on me.
“You’ll be okay,” he says quietly.
I nod. I don’t feel okay. Not even close.
But I follow the nurse. Because something about the way she just took control of this chaos makes me feel—just a little—less like prey.
And a hell of a lot like maybe… I’m not as alone as they want me to believe.
The nurse leads me down a too-bright hallway and into a small exam room with pale yellow walls and a vinyl chair that squeaks when I sit. She shuts the door behind us and pulls up a rolling stool, sitting across from me.
She doesn’t open a chart. Doesn’t touch a keyboard.
She just looks at me. Kind eyes, steady voice.
“Are you safe?” she asks.
It’s not a complicated question. Four little words. But something about the way she says it—like she actually means it—undoes the last thread holding me together.
My lip trembles. My chest caves in.
“I—” I try to say yes. To nod. To breathe.
But the tears hit faster than the words. I break, right there in the chair, shoulders shaking as I cover my face with my hands.
She doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t try to fix it.
Just waits.
When I can finally speak, it comes out in gasps.
“I thought I was going crazy,” I whisper. “He made me feel like I was losing my mind. My ex. My boss. Warren. All of them. They said I was unstable. That I was nothing without them. That no one would ever believe me.”
Her jaw tightens. I keep going. The flood is too strong now.
“He stalked me. Showed up at my apartment. At my job. Left notes. Broke in once. And when I went to the cops, they said I was emotional. That I couldn’t prove anything. That maybe I was overreacting.”
I laugh. Bitter and cracked.
“Then he broke the temporary stalking order. Twice! And it was all dismissed! Gone! Like I was just… just… nothing!”
I take a deep breath and wipe away my tears, the snot running from my nose.
“Then I ran into Cain. Literally, ran right into him. He gave me safety. A place to stay. A job. And Warren couldn’t touch me. So he sent that man—his lawyer—to drag me out in handcuffs for a psych eval.”
Her eyes soften. She puts a hand on my knee.
“And Cain?” she asks gently.
I nod. Swallow hard. “Cain found me. He helped me. He sees me. And Hank—they both took care of me when I couldn’t stand up on my own.”
“And do you feel safe with them?”
The answer is immediate.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes. Cain… he’d burn the world down to keep me safe.”
The nurse smiles, just a little. “That’s all I needed to hear, sweetheart.” She stands and grabs a cup of water. “Drink this. Lay back for a bit. Let’s make ‘em sweat it out while I get our psych team.”
I do as she says, still trembling, but lighter somehow. Like maybe I am okay. And maybe, just maybe, I’m not crazy at all.
It hits me like a hymn struck off-key. I love him.
Cain Devlin, hellhound of a man, sinner with a mouth like blasphemy and hands like sanctuary—I love him.
I clutch the cup of water she hands me, fingers shaking as the truth settles like thunder in my chest. Not just want, not just need. Love. Full and raw and terrifying.
The nurse watches me, head tilted, a knowing smirk playing at her lips like she’s seen it all before. Maybe she has.
I look up at her, wide-eyed and wrecked. “I think I’m in love with him.”
She hums, pleased. “Well, that explains a lot.”
I blink.
She pats my arm. “Lay down, sweetheart. Let those big scary men stew in their own nonsense while I get our psych doc up here. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”
I nod, eyes burning again—but this time, not from fear.
From hope. From love. From the quiet, steady knowing that I’m not alone anymore.
***
The doctor comes in like a storm dressed in scrubs.
She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t sit. Just takes one look at me—red-rimmed eyes, trembling hands clutching a half-empty water cup—and then turns to the nurse.
“What happened?”
The nurse doesn’t mince words. She lays it all out—Warren Ellison, the cops, the bullshit “sound mind” assessment, the fear. Me.
And the moment the nurse says my name, something shifts behind the doctor’s eyes. Her mouth goes tight. Her shoulders square.
“Oh, hell no,” she mutters, snatching a clipboard from the wall like it just personally offended her.
Pen flying across paper. Checkmarks. Circles. Underlines that might as well be battle lines.
“Bringing in armed escorts to intimidate a trauma patient—” She’s not even talking to us anymore. She’s talking to the paperwork. Or God. Or maybe Cain through the walls.
My heart pounds. She’s furious. On my side.
She finishes with a flourish, tosses the pen into the tray like a dagger, and says, “I’ll be right back.”
She doesn’t walk—she charges down the hallway with me on her heels, white coat flaring like angel wings dipped in gasoline.
We burst into the waiting room, and it’s like every man in the place forgets how to breathe.
The doctor’s voice slices through the air like a divine blade.
“Which one of you is responsible for this circus?”
The lawyer opens his mouth.
“Don’t.” She lifts a hand like she might smite him on the spot. “You bring armed officers into my hospital—into my trauma patient’s safe space—for some weak-ass, misogynistic legal stunt? You’re lucky I don’t file a report of my own.”
She whirls on the cops. “And you—is this what your badge stands for now? Scaring victims into compliance while their abusers pull puppet strings in the background?”
They both look at the floor like schoolboys caught passing notes in Sunday school.
Then she turns—sharp, sudden—toward Cain and Hank.
“But you two.” Her expression softens, eyes sweeping over Cain’s clenched jaw and Hank’s barely concealed wrath. “Thank you. For being the kind of men she can trust. For protecting her when the people in uniform wouldn’t.”
Cain nods once, deadly calm. Hank just mutters, “Always.”
And then she turns back to the cowards in question and drops the final blow: “Now get the hell out of my ED before I file you under waste of oxygen.”
I laugh. A real one. Loud and full and unshaken.
Cain’s arm slips around my shoulders. I feel him kiss the top of my head, slow and soft.
“Let’s go home, little rabbit.”