46. Delaney
DELANEY
Samson makes a call. I don’t know who he calls, but I know whoever it is will take care of these three still lying on the porch unconscious.
I told myself I came because I needed his protection. Because I was violated twice—once when they broke into my home and once a half block away from the club.
But the truth?
I came because I wanted to. I wanted to be with him.
And now I see both versions of him at once.
The man who held me.
The man who doesn’t hesitate.
The man who killed Halstead. My father.
He takes one step toward me. “Are you hurt?” he asks.
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
He nods once. “I told you to stay in the car.”
I should step back. Create space. Put distance between us.
I don’t.
Because I know I’ve seen all of it.
The moment he didn’t hesitate. The moment he chose. The moment he attacked a man who was holding a gun on us, a man who had two other guys backing him up.
Samson certainly wasn’t choosing himself. If that were the case, he’d have gotten back in the car and driven away with me.
He didn’t think.
Didn’t weigh it.
Didn’t question it.
He made sure I was protected and then he risked his life.
And that changes everything.