Chapter Fifty-Four
Delilah
The gym door slams open like the wrath of god and in walks fucking Hank.
Everything in me locks up. Not because I still want him. Not because he still hurts me. But because the sight of his smug, confused, sanctimonious little face so close opens a thousand festering wounds all at once and pours vinegar into every single one.
He looks me dead in the eye and smirks. “Jesus, Lilah. You fucking criminals now?”
My mouth is open but my brain is chewing glass. “Hank,” I manage. Just the one word. It tastes like bile.
Jett’s entire body coils like a spring. “The Hank?” he growls. “Punk-ass Hank?”
Oh no.
Jett’s already moving, on his feet, halfway to feral.
I’m right behind him.
Chad stumbles into the space between them, flinging his arms out like he’s auditioning for worst human shield of the year. “Charges will stick this time,” Chad huffs, smug as a toddler with a plastic badge.
“This is his goddamn workplace,” I snap, fury surging up my spine like fire.
I shove Jett back, my palm flat on his sweaty, furious chest, and march up to Chad, jabbing him hard in the sternum with my finger.
“Do whatever you need to feel better about your sad little car, but you come here, again, stalking him at work, and I swear to every trash god in this city, I will end you with glitter, spite, and whatever blunt object I can find first.”
Jett’s behind me in an instant, his arm locking around my waist like a safety bar on a hell ride. “Don’t touch him, princess,” he says, voice tight and ragged. “He’s not worth it.”
He turns his glare to Chad and Hank, eyes full of murder.
“This is harassment. I don’t give a fuck what bullshit restraining orders you’ve jacked off to.
You don’t get to follow people around and hide behind paper.
You don’t get to weaponize the courts just ‘cause your fragile-ass can’t take a hit. ”
And then, the doors swing again and Margo waltzes in like a fucking supervillain on Xanax.
“Chad, honey? Hank?” Her voice is all syrup and sin. Her eyes scan the room, land on me, and go wide. “Oh, no. This could ruin our case.”
“Case?” I bark. “Case?”
It clicks. The three of them. A shitty triangle of bureaucratic vengeance.
That bitch, who tried to sexually extort Benji and got her glittery little claws batted away, teaming up with the ex who stalked me back when I loved him and couldn’t stop, and the manbaby who can’t even handle a few dents in a bumper without trying to destroy someone’s life.
My vision goes white.
“You’re working with them?” I scream, voice shaking. “You tried to fuck your swim coach and got rejected so now you’re filing a case against me? Against Jett? You don’t even know Jett.”
My hands are trembling. My heart’s jackhammering. Something inside me snaps so loud I swear it echoes in the rafters. I elbow Jett hard in the ribs.
He grunts, lets go.
And I lunge straight at Margo. Fists out, fury unleashed, ready to ruin her.
Hank jumps in front of her, smug and stupid and still thinking he’s the main character, and clocks me across the face.
For a second, I see stars. Blood in my mouth. Rage in my teeth.
Jett makes a sound I’ve never heard before. Like a bear breaking through a cage.
And then all hell breaks loose.
Jett’s fists connect with Hank’s jaw and he goes down. Chad yells something and swings wild, misses Jett by a mile and slams into a punching bag instead. Margo’s shrieking. Kevin’s on the phone, yelling for backup or maybe the Pope. A protein shaker goes flying. Someone’s crying.
It’s fists and fury and screams and chaos.
And then it’s sirens.
Red and blue splash across the mirrors. The doors fly open again. Cops this time.
Jett’s eyes find mine, wild and glittering and full of panic.
I lick the blood off my lip, taste copper and heat, and grin through it. “Smile for your mugshot this time.”
The cops swarm, flies on carnage, barking orders, separating bodies. One gets a hand on Jett and I flinch. He’s still vibrating like he could rip someone in half. Still half-feral and absolutely not calming down.
And I want to go to him. Want to pet his hair and sit on his lap and coo sweet threats until he stops pacing like a caged beast. Because if he swings again, it’ll be at a cop, and they’ll put him down for it.
“That son of a bitch hit her!” Jett roars. “He hit a fucking woman! What the fuck did you expect me to do, huh? What the fuck would you do? Look at her! Look at her! He busted her goddamn lip! He’s lucky he’s still breathing.”
“Sir, calm down,” an officer says.
“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down!” Jett yells.
A different officer, older, bored, smells like coffee and cruelty, turns to me. “Did he hit you first?”
I don’t look away from Jett, but I nod. “Yeah. Hank. My ex. There’s a court order. He came in here. I was already signed up. Been on the schedule for weeks. I wasn’t stalking him. He stalked me. And Chap, same story. He followed Jett here.”
The cop squints. “You mean Chad?”
“Yeah. Chap. Chaz. Who cares. The one trying to sue me for a bumper. Jett works here. These motherfuckers showed up to harass him at his place of employment. I don’t care what flimsy-ass legal paper they’re waving, that’s illegal.
That’s predatory. That’s.” I jab a finger at my face. “A busted lip and a lot of trauma.”
The officer holds up a clipboard like it might protect him from my vibe. “Would you like to press assault charges on Mr. Hansen?”
“Oh. Wait. I’m the presser? I’m not the one getting arrested?” I don’t even know what this side of the paperwork looks like. “Yes. Fuck yes. Press him like a panini.”
“Did you hit Ms. Patterson?”
I pause, cock my head, trying to remember which demon I threw hands with. “Maybe,” I say, too sweet. “It got a little fuzzy after Hank clocked me. My brain went full Fruit Ninja. I was just swinging at shapes.”
“He needs a shock collar,” Chad mutters from across the room.
Jett snaps his head toward him, all teeth and threat. “Put it on me, coward.”
The officer sighs so deeply it rattles his mustache. “Alright, that’s enough, everyone’s going in.”
And just like that, it’s a field trip. Cuffed and collected. Margo’s mascara is running, Chad’s pouting, Hank’s bleeding from the mouth. Jett’s ready to rip the doors off the squad car.
God, I want to kiss him until his jaw unclenches.
Charges get slapped on every single one of us, because apparently Margo scratched Jett defending Chad, and none of us made it out without hitting someone. Equal opportunity violence.
It’s kinda hot.
As the cuffs click and we’re being dragged toward separate cars, Jett calls out to me. “I’ll call Walter.”
“I’ll call Rhys,” I say, as a cop yanks me forward. “He’ll let Benji know.”
We’re both grinning now. Bloody and wrecked and buzzing.