Chapter 20 #2
They were watching her.
Something primitive and vicious uncoiled in my chest, sharp enough to make my breath catch. The kind of instinct that had nothing to do with contracts or control and everything to do with territorial fucking rage.
Belle reached the door, her shoulders hunched against the morning cold. She didn't look around. Didn't notice them. Just slipped inside, the glass door swinging shut behind her.
The driver's gaze stayed locked on the entrance.
My pulse hammered against my ribs, hot and violent. I should've driven away. Let her have her space. Let her hate me in peace while I went to practice and pretended everything was fine.
I didn't move.
The passenger turned his head slightly, just enough that I caught the edge of a smirk—not directed at me, but at the door she'd just walked through. Like they knew something. Like they were already three steps ahead.
My vision tunneled, the world narrowing to that sedan and the predators inside it.
Someone was hunting my woman.
The thought slammed into me with brutal clarity. Not a woman. Not Belle Reiss, bookstore owner, pain in my ass.
Mine.
And someone had their eyes on her.
I reached for my phone, my other hand still gripping the wheel hard enough to make my knuckles ache.
One text. That was all it would take. I had people who could make problems disappear.
People who owed me favors. People who understood what happened when you looked at something that belonged to Gideon Jones.
The sedan's engine revved once—a low, deliberate sound—and then it pulled away from the curb, slow and unhurried.
Not leaving.
Circling.
My jaw locked, teeth grinding together as I watched them disappear around the corner.
They'd be back. And when they came for her again, I'd be fucking ready.
I pulled my hood up, tugging it low over my forehead, and sank deeper into the seat until the dashboard cut my line of sight to just above the steering wheel. The tint on my windshield was dark enough to hide me, but I wasn't taking chances.
The plan had been simple. Drive her to work. Go home. Shower off the guilt clinging to my skin like sweat. Maybe sleep. Maybe drag her back to bed tonight and finish what her defiance had started.
Now?
Everything had shifted.
The world narrowed to the bookstore entrance, the street corner where the sedan had disappeared, and the cold, sharp certainty settling in my chest like a blade.
This wasn't about punishment anymore.
This wasn't about making her submit.
This was something older. Something that bypassed my brain entirely and lit up every nerve ending with a single, brutal imperative:
Protect.
I watched a pedestrian cross in front of my car, coffee in hand, oblivious. A delivery truck rumbled past. The town moved around me like nothing was wrong, like Belle wasn't inside that building with predators circling.
My fingers drummed once against the wheel, then stilled.
Discipline.
I'd learned it young. Learned to ignore hunger, ignore pain, ignore the screaming voice in my head that said run. My father had beaten patience into me with fists and silence, and hockey had honed it into something sharper.
But sitting here—watching, waiting—felt different.
This wasn't patience.
This was stalking.
The sedan reappeared at the far end of the block, crawling past the bookstore at a pace that made my jaw ache. They slowed near the entrance. Stopped. The passenger window rolled down an inch.
Just looking.
Just watching.
My hand moved to the door handle before I could think, adrenaline spiking hot and violent through my veins. Every instinct I had screamed to get out, cross the street, and put myself between them and her.
But I forced my fingers to uncurl.
Not yet.
Moving too soon meant tipping my hand. Meant they'd scatter, regroup, come back when I wasn't here. I needed to see what they wanted. Needed to know if this was reconnaissance or something worse.
The window slid back up.
The sedan crept forward and turned the corner again.
Gone.
For now.
I exhaled slowly, my breath fogging in the cold car. My phone buzzed in the cupholder—probably practice. Probably someone wondering where the hell I was.
I ignored it.
"They'll have to go through me," I muttered, the words harsh in the silence.
Not a threat.
A promise.
Because territory wasn't just about dominance. It was about drawing lines in the dirt and daring the world to cross them. And Belle—stubborn, defiant, exhausted Belle who hated me with everything she had—was on my side of that line now.
Whether she knew it or not.
Whether she wanted to be or not.
I settled deeper into the seat, eyes locked on the bookstore door, muscles coiled and ready.
Let them come back.
Let them try.
I'd end them before they got within ten feet of her.
Belle was inside, probably restocking shelves, or pretending yesterday hadn't happened. Probably convinced I'd driven away and forgotten about her.
She had no idea I was still here. No idea I wasn't leaving. And she had no fucking idea what I'd do to anyone who tried to take what was mine.