Chapter Fifty-Five
Benji
I’m absolutely crawling out of my skin.
The precinct lobby hums with fluorescent buzz and cop boots and the thud of my pulse in my ears. I’m too big for this space, too tightly wound to sit, too hot to breathe.
Rhys is calmly signing release paperwork with the desk sergeant, his pen scratching over forms that mean my girl and Jett get to walk free.
But I can’t focus on that.
“He hit her?” I say again for the thousandth goddamn time.
My fists are clenched and I’m not sure when they started shaking.
Hank. That bastard. Her ex. He laid hands on her. On my wild little chaos goblin, my tiny terror in pink and combat boots. My Delilah.
I didn’t see it. I didn’t stop it. And now there’s blood in the air I can’t taste, only feel.
“Is he here?” I ask, eyes scanning every hallway, every uniform, every breath like it might belong to him. “Is Hank in the building?”
Because I’ll teach him. I will teach him what never again feels like. I will put him on the floor and make sure he stays there.
Rhys finally strolls over, all composed like he hasn’t been sitting on the same ticking bomb as me. “Walter’s gonna meet us all at his office. We’re going to fix this. All of it. Hank. Chad. Margo. They’re going down.”
“He hit her.” My voice is low.
Rhys doesn’t react. “If they’re using Chad’s lawyer, they’ll all be out by the end of the day.”
“Good,” I say, slow and sharp. “That’ll make it easier to find them.”
Rhys gives me a look. “Benji.”
“I’ll wait here,” I interrupt. I’ll wait until Hank comes out and make sure he goes right back in. I want his teeth in my palm. I want his blood on the cuffs he wears out of here.
“No. That won’t help,” Rhys says, measured and even.
“The fuck it won’t,” I growl, stepping closer.
“It won’t,” he says again. “If we play this right, we can get the charges dropped against Jett and Delilah. Think about what that means for her.”
My heart lurches. He’s right. I don’t like it, but he’s right.
My fists unclench. A fraction.
The door opens. Jett walks out, looking like he ate bullets for breakfast and is ready for seconds. Not a scratch on him that I can see, but his eyes are storm-dark. Pissed.
Rhys fills him in on the plan. Jett listens without interruption, just a single tight nod. Then he looks at me.
“I tagged him,” he says, like he knows it’s the only thing I need to hear.
I nod back. “I’m not doing well with this.”
“Yeah.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “He busted her lip.”
The words land like a knife to the sternum. “You let him walk out of there?” I snap, teeth grinding.
Jett shrugs, but his shoulders are steel. “It was chaos. I got a few in. Would’ve done more if Chad hadn’t.” He cuts himself off.
I run a hand through my hair, shaking.
Then Rhys stiffens beside me.
I follow his gaze, and I feel her before I see her. Something in me goes still. Then slams back into motion.
Delilah.
Black tights. Little crop top. Pink skeleton hands on black fabric. Like death herself in partywear. And her face. The bruise is fresh. Her lip is swollen and split.
I hit the floor. Just drop, my legs decided they couldn’t hold me up if she’s walking around like that.
She gasps. “Baby.”
I don’t hear the rest. She’s already there, hands in my hair, pulling me in. I wrap my arms around her hips and bury my face against her belly. She smells like shampoo and blood and something feral that makes me want to burn this city down.
“It’s okay,” she whispers, holding my head.
“It’s so far from okay,” Rhys says behind us.
I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. Can only feel. The shape of her. The way she strokes the back of my neck like I’m the one who got hit.
Jett’s pacing now.
“Let’s go meet with Walter,” Rhys says.
I force myself to stand, keeping her tight against me.
“I need to stop by my place,” I say. “I’ve got the proof of everything Margo’s done. The emails, the paper trail. All of it.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jett says. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
Rhys moves to take Delilah’s hand, to pull her toward him. “I’ve got her.”
She rolls up on her toes and kisses my jaw, soft and sure. “It’s okay,” she says, even though it’s not.
It’s not okay.
Jett follows me into my house and stops in the doorway of my office. “She’s in every fucking room,” he says.
And yeah. That’s the truth. Since the first time she broke in, back when I should’ve called the cops but didn’t, she’s been leaving her mark.
Lip gloss smudged on mugs. Notes hidden in drawers.
Her scent in the linens. Glitter in places I haven’t even figured out how she got to. The place hums with her.
“You really love her,” Jett says, voice low. “You’re good for her.”
I stop where I am, folder in my hand. The edges curl in my grip. “Yeah,” I say. “I love her.”
He nods, serious now. “Leave Hank and Chad to me. I don’t have a clean record. The gym won’t fire me. You got too much to lose. She needs you.”
This is Jett laying himself down for me, sure, but it’s really for her. He’d bleed for her. I know the feeling.
“She needs you too,” I say. “Loves you. You love her.”
He cracks his neck and starts fidgeting with the stack of scrunchies on his wrist. He’s collecting them now, like a kid with friendship bracelets. They’re hers. I don’t even think he realizes how obvious it is.
“I’ll handle Hank,” he says, dark now. “He put his hands on her.”
My jaw flexes. My hands tighten on the folder until the cardstock creaks. If he hadn’t already tagged him, I would’ve torn Hank apart.
“Don’t kill him,” I say flatly.
“That’s why I’m handling him, not you, fucking brute.” He winks, trying to cut the tension.
“Chad touch her?” I ask, throat tight.
“Nope,” he says. “Just Hank.”
“Good,” I say. Even that doesn’t help.
He huffs a laugh. “She got a hit in on all three of ‘em. Little Tasmanian devil. She’s wildfire.”
That breaks something loose in me. I let out a breath. “She is. Burns so damn good.”
I shift the papers in my hands. “Maybe let Walter handle Hank. Legally.”
He gives me a look. “Why?”
“Because he’s not worth us losing you.”
There’s a small moment where something soft flashes across his face. “Fuck, man. You gonna cry on me?”
I shake my head, but yeah, maybe I fucking am.
I’m not the only one shaking. We all are. That’s what love does. That’s what she does.