Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
FUCK A SAFEWORD
HENRY
Stupid, reckless fucking woman.
Of all the God damn stunts she could’ve pulled, this one takes the whole damn cake, plate and all.
Do I blame her? No. Truth is, if it were me, I probably would've done the same. But that’s not what has me spiraling.
That’s not what’s got my chest squeezed tight like someone’s got a fist wrapped around my heart.
I have one fucking job. Keep her and Dallas safe. That’s it. That’s all I need to do to breathe. And she—God help me—she goes and gets into a bar fight with that washed-up, venom-spitting excuse for a mother who should’ve never been allowed to raise a damn goldfish, let alone two girls.
What if she’d been hurt?
What if I walked in too late, and all I found was blood and silence?
I’m not Maddox. I’m not the one who knows how to carry bodies like they weigh nothing. I’m not built for tragedy—I’m not built to cradle the girl I love in my arms while she bleeds out and slips away. I’m not fucking built to lose her.
What about Dallas? Sweet, tough-as-nails Dallas. Did she even think about him before going full Andre the fucking Giant? Did she think what it might do to that kid if something happened to her?
Of course not.
Because she’s impulsive. She leads with her heart and fights like it’s the only way she knows how to survive. And as much as I love her for it, I never want to feel the fucking fear I felt when Vic called earlier ever again.
“Get to Bangers. Now. Marie just walked through the door.”
That’s all he said. I hung up so fast my phone nearly cracked against the counter. Called Mama, told her to stay with Dallas. Thank God he was asleep, tucked safe in his bed while the woman who’s slowly becoming his whole world was tearing through a bar like a woman possessed.
By the time I got there, Mercy was trying—and failing—to wrangle the wild thing that was Louisiana Wright. And Marie? That walking pack of Virginia Slims had the audacity to scream about pressing charges.
I didn’t even blink. I stomped across that floor, backed her into the God damn wall, nose crooked and bleeding down her shirt. She flinched, and I leaned in slow, let her see the storm in my eyes.
“If she has one God damn scratch on her…” I said, voice low and lethal, “I’ll slit that dick chute you call a throat from ear to ear.”
She knew I meant every syllable.
Then I turned—spun on my heel, and headed toward the chaos that was Lou.
Fuck me, the moment I saw her—I didn’t even think.
Her pupils were blown wide, chest heaving like she couldn’t catch her breath. Wild and shaking, like her body had no idea if it was supposed to fight or fall apart.
She didn’t see me. Didn’t even register I was there.
She was a wildfire still burning.
So I did the only thing I could.
I marched over, wrapped my arms around her, and tossed her over my shoulder like the feral, beautiful problem she is. Took her straight into Crow and Crew’s office.
That’s where she finally let go.
Fought me the whole way in. Clawed at my back. Cursed me out. Destroyed everything she could get her hands on. Then passed out in my arms like her body had finally surrendered.
Now, here I am, driving with the most infuriating woman strapped in the backseat, handcuffed tight, thrashing like a storm that refuses to be tamed.
Every curse, every threat she spits at me ricochets off the walls of my mind.
I clamp down hard on the chaos she stirs inside me—her fight, her fire—it makes me wild, feral in ways I don’t want to admit.
“Big, pushy, controlling motherfucker. I hate you!” Her voice slices through the car like a razor.
That’s it.
I slam on the brakes, jerking the wheel hard enough to skid us onto the shoulder. The world blurs, tires whining against gravel.
My fingers fumble the buttons on my uniform, undoing the top two as if the tight collar’s choking me too. I inhale deep, trying to steady the storm raging inside.
The silence thickens.
Her eyes—hard, fierce—lock with mine in the rearview mirror. No apology. No regret. Just that damn fire.
“That’s right, get these cuffs off me. Now.”
Fuck. That.
I’m done playing nice.
I kill the engine and yank the door handle with a fierce snap. The door flies open.
I grab the chain between those cold metal cuffs, hauling her out like I’m dragging a wildcat from its den.
Her body slams against me, raw and untamed.
No words.
No apologies.
Just the pulse of two stubborn souls—clashing and crashing.
Within that breathless moment, the tension between us tightens like a wire ready to snap.
I gently run my thumb along her plump bottom lip trembling with restraint I barely have. “I love you so God damn much it makes me insane, and now I’m going to make you feel every fucking fractured piece of it.”
“Do your fucking worst, Sheriff.” It doesn’t sound like defiance—it sounds like a plea.
And fuck, her body? It’s already begging for mine.
I can see it in the way she shivers, in the way her breath catches like my nearness is oxygen and poison all at once.
She’s burning for me—whether she wants to admit it or not—and God help me, I want to watch her come undone in that fire.
I drag her to the front of the car, boots scuffing gravel as I shove her up against the hood. The metal's still warm from the drive, the scent of engine oil clinging to the air. Crickets wail in the tall grass, and the distant snap of a branch reminds me we aren’t as alone as this might feel.
I hook her cuffs onto the passenger-side windshield wiper, stretching her arms out across the glass.
Her chest presses flat to the hood, cheek turned to one side, breath fogging faint circles on the surface.
But it’s that ass—high in the air, perfect and shameless—that knocks the last bit of restraint clean out of me.
My hands find her like they’ve always known where to go. I trace the soft planes of her waist, her hips, feeling the tremor beneath my touch. She’s shaking, but she’s not pulling away. Not even close.
I shove her cropped T-shirt up, baring the silk of her skin to the moonlight and the night air thick with heat and dust. Her spine arches, the muscles in her back twitching beneath my fingers.
“You pushed it too far tonight, little viper,” I murmur, voice low, dangerous.
She doesn’t look back. Doesn’t need to.
“Pushed what?” she breathes, all heat and defiance wrapped in a whisper.
“Your fucking luck,” I snap.
My hand reaches around, fingers finding the worn button on those cutoff shorts she wears to work—tiny things that leave nothing to the imagination, show off those long legs that make every man in town look twice.
I pop the button. Yank the denim down her thighs in one hard pull.
Then I see it.
No panties.
I freeze. Just for a second. Suck in a sharp breath like it might help me keep control.
“You’ve been walking around here like this?” I growl, voice breaking with heat. “In these little fucking shorts? No panties? Where anybody could’ve seen—”
My hand closes over the curve of her ass, rough and possessive. Her skin’s warm, soft, too God damn tempting. I squeeze—once, hard—before drawing my hand back and bringing it down in a sharp, echoing slap.
“What’s mine,” I bite out. “What’s always been mine.”
She begins to thrash wildly pulling at her cuffs. “Henry! Let me go!”
“No,” I say, voice low and razor-edged. “Here’s what’s going to happen.”
I drag a finger down the length of her spine, slow and deliberate, feeling the way her body reacts—tightens, shudders, betrays her. I take my time with it, savoring every flicker of tension.
“I’m going to spank this ass until it’s fucking purple for the stupid shit you just pulled. She could have hurt you.” My tone doesn’t waver. Doesn’t give her an inch.
“Usually we’d use a safeword, but we’re way fucking past that.”
I lean in, my breath hot against her skin.
“You have no fucking control here, and you’ll take everything I give you.”
She glares back at me, defiant. “So even if I refuse, you're still going to do whatever the hell you want?”
I fist her hair and yank her head back, baring that pretty neck I’ve marked too many times to count. My voice drops to a growl against her skin. “Baby, your nipples are hard, and you’re so wet it’s practically pouring down your legs. Don’t lie to me—you fucking want this.”
I sink my teeth into her throat, just enough to make her flinch, then drag my tongue over the sting like a promise. Her breath hitches.
“Fuck. You,” she snaps, but it lands more like a moan—more like ‘fuck me’.
I smile.
Then I bring my palm down hard—much harder than she expects—and her cry nearly undoes me.
“You better fucking count,” I warn, low and lethal, “or I start over.”
She doesn't say a word. Just breathes heavy, eyes blazing.
My grin sharpens.
“Okay, little viper. Starting over it is.”
She braces for it—I can see it in the way her shoulders tighten, the way her breath stills like she’s trying to steel herself against me. Against this.
Outside, it’s dead quiet. The kind of country dark that swallows sound whole.
Just the tick of the engine cooling, the hum of cicadas thick in the trees, and the distant crack of something moving through the brush.
Could be a deer. Could be someone with high beams about to blind us both. Could be nothing.
Doesn’t stop me.
I bring my hand down—twice. Sharp. Deliberate. Right on the same spot. The wet smack of it cuts through the stillness like gunfire. Her body jolts, a ragged inhale slicing through her clenched teeth.
She doesn’t cry out, but I see the tears welling. She bites down hard on her lip, holding in the sound I want to pull from her.
Something honest. Something wrecked.
Around us the world keeps turning. Night thick and endless. Dirt road empty—for now, and we both know anybody could come up behind us.
Anybody could see, but she doesn’t look away—just watches me—like I’m the sin she’s been starving for.