Chapter 26 #2
Pinned against the wall like prey. Her shirt torn at the shoulder, pale skin exposed. Hair wild. Eyes wide with terror I'd never seen before.
Two men. The same ones from the sedan. One had her arms wrenched behind her back, crushing her wrists together. The other leaned in close, thick fingers reaching for her face.
Something inside me shattered.
I launched.
A snarl ripped from my throat—inhuman, primal, unstoppable.
I grabbed the first loan shark by his collar and slammed him into the bookshelf so hard the wood splintered. Books rained down. The entire structure groaned, tilting dangerously.
The second man lunged at me, fist raised.
I caught him mid-swing and drove my fist into his jaw. Bone crunched. He flew backward, hitting the opposite wall with a sickening thud.
The first man scrambled to his feet, gasping.
I dragged him up by his throat and slammed him again.
And again.
And again.
"You touch her—"
Slam.
"You look at her—"
Slam.
"You breathe in her direction—"
Another slam. His head cracked against the shelf. Blood smeared across the spines of old paperbacks.
"I will end you."
The man choked, clawing at my hands. His eyes bulged with terror. Good. He should be terrified.
"Gideon—stop—" Belle's voice cut through the red haze. Thin. Shaking. Broken.
I released the man. He crumpled to the floor, wheezing.
But the second shark was already moving again—trying to crawl toward the door.
I grabbed him by the throat and hauled him upright.
He clawed at my wrist, nails digging into skin. "Please—"
I tightened my grip.
My vision tunneled. Blood roared in my ears. Every instinct screamed at me to finish this. To make sure they never walked again. Never spoke again. Never existed again.
I drew back my fist and drove it into his face.
Something cracked.
Not his bones.
Mine.
Two fingers on my right hand snapped sideways, instantly swelling. Purple bloomed across my knuckles. The pain should've registered.
It didn't.
I only felt rage. Pure. Consuming. Righteous.
The man slumped in my grip, blood pouring from his nose.
I dropped him. He hit the floor like a sack of meat.
Both sharks lay gasping. Broken. Bleeding.
The taller one sputtered, crawling backward on his elbows. "We—we'll leave—just let us—"
I stepped forward.
He flinched.
I leaned down, voice deadly calm. "If you ever come near her again, I'll put your bodies on public display."
Silence.
Then they scrambled. One limped. One stumbled. Both bleeding, leaving a trail across Belle's beautiful bookstore.
The door slammed behind them.
Gone.
Finally gone.
I stood there, chest heaving, fists clenched, my broken fingers screaming pain I refused to acknowledge.
Then I turned.
Belle stood against the wall, arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide and wet. Staring at me. Not with relief. With something else. Something I couldn't name. Something that made my chest ache worse than my shattered hand.
"Belle," I whispered.
She didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stared.
And I realized with sickening clarity—she'd never seen me like this before.
The real me. The monster I kept leashed.
The violence I'd always promised would only ever protect her.
But standing here, blood on my knuckles, rage still burning in my veins—I looked exactly like what I was.
A beast.
Thank God my teammates decided against coming in. Thank God they knew better. They’d only scare her.
My hand trembled. Not from pain—though fire licked up my wrist with every heartbeat—but from the effort of standing still. Of not crossing the distance between us and crushing her against me until I knew she was whole.
"Belle." Her name cracked in half on my tongue.
She flinched.
The small movement gutted me worse than any hit I'd ever taken on the ice. She wasn't recoiling from me—not exactly—but from what she'd just seen. The violence. The rage. The monster I'd become the second I heard her scream.
I took one step forward. Stopped. Forced the words out. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. Trembling. Arms still wrapped tight around herself like she could hold the pieces together through will alone.
"You…" Her voice barely registered above a whisper. "Your hand—"
I looked down.
My fingers jutted at impossible angles. Blood dripped from split knuckles, pattering onto the hardwood in dark, perfect drops. Purple bloomed across my entire hand, swelling already distorting the shape.
I flexed. White-hot agony exploded through bone and tendon.
I didn't care.
My vision blurred at the edges, but I kept my eyes locked on Belle. On the torn shoulder of her shirt. The red marks circling her wrists. The wild terror still haunting her face.
"I should've been here."
The words scraped out of me. Raw. Broken.
True.
Belle's lips parted. Her breath stuttered.
She was shaking—fear, adrenaline, shock, something I couldn't name but felt in my bones.
Every instinct screamed at me to close the distance.
To wrap her in my arms. To prove she was safe now.
But she stood pressed against that wall like cornered prey.
Because of me. Because of what I'd just done.
I took another step—then stopped myself.
My voice came out hoarse. Wrecked. "Belle… I need you to tell me you're okay."
Her chest rose sharply. Once. Twice. Then she nodded. Just once. Small. Uncertain.
But there.
And only then—only when I saw that single nod—did I let myself breathe.
The air rushed into my lungs like I'd been drowning.
My broken hand throbbed in time with my pulse, each beat a reminder that I'd been too late. That she'd been alone when they came for her. That my control meant nothing if I couldn't keep her safe.
I stared at Belle across the wreckage of her bookstore—books scattered, shelves broken, her sanctuary violated—and understood with perfect clarity that I would never let her out of my sight again.