Chapter 28-Esme
It happens so fast.
One second I’m floating—light, giddy, wrapped up in this unbelievable, impossible joy—freshly married, heart full, thinking about snacks and cuddling and the way Benji said wife like it meant something sacred—
And the next?
The world turns into a nightmare.
A real one.
Not the kind you wake up from.
The kind that grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go.
Because standing in the middle of our suite—in our space—is a ghost I wish had stayed buried.
Paul fucking Meadows.
And he’s holding a gun.
Pointed right at my husband—my heart.
My breath locks in my chest so hard it hurts.
Everything goes sharp.
Too sharp.
The lights.
The shadows.
The way Benji stands in front of me—solid, unyielding, a wall between me and the worst person I have ever met in my life.
I whisper, my voice trembling despite everything I try to do to steady it, “Paul, you need to leave. I’m with Benji. We’re married”
““NOOOO!” He snaps, his voice twisting into something ugly and unrecognizable.
We exchange more words.
They get lost in the shuffle.
I’m terrified.
I can’t think straight.
He waves that damn gun at Benji.
My stomach drops.
Because this isn’t the guy who lingered too long, who made me uncomfortable, who crossed lines I didn’t even realize were being crossed until it was too late.
This is something worse.
Something broken.
Something dangerous.
“I’ll die before I let you touch her.”
Benji’s voice cuts through everything.
Low.
Certain.
Final.
My heart slams.
Because I believe him.
I believe he means it.
I believe he would.
“Benji, don’t—” I whisper, panic rising like a tidal wave in my chest.
“Oh?” Paul says, that sick smile curling across his face. “We’ll see about that.”
And then—
He pulls the trigger.
The sound explodes through the room.
A deafening crack that tears a scream out of me before I even realize it’s happening.
“NO—!”
But Benji—God—Benji moves.
So fast I barely see it.
One second he’s in front of me—the next he’s on him.
His hand just slams into Paul’s wrist, shoving the gun to the side just as it fires.
Blood is flowing from his nose, but he doesn’t seem to feel it.
They struggle for the gun, and it goes off again.
This time the bullet hits the glass wall with a violent crack—but it doesn’t shatter.
Thank God.
Oh God, thank God.
And then it’s chaos.
Pure chaos.
Benji’s fist connects with Paul’s face with a sickening thud.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Each hit sharp and brutal and controlled in a way that tells me this isn’t just anger.
This is training.
This is instinct.
This is survival.
I stumble back, my legs barely holding me as the two of them crash into the furniture, knocking a chair sideways, sending something glass shattering across the floor.
“Stop—stop it!” I cry, my hands shaking, my heart pounding so hard I think I might black out.
But they don’t hear me.
Or maybe they do and it doesn’t matter.
Because this is bigger than me now.
Paul swings back, wild and unhinged, but he’s sloppy.
Slower.
Unfocused.
And Benji—Benji is not.
There’s something terrifying about him right now.
Something I’ve never seen before.
Cold.
Precise.
Relentless.
Like he’s locked onto one objective and nothing is going to stop him from seeing it through.
“Stay down!” Benji snarls, slamming Paul into the wall hard enough to rattle the art hanging behind him.
But Paul doesn’t stay down.
Of course he doesn’t.
Because he’s crazy.
Because he doesn’t think like a normal person.
Because he can’t.
He twists, scrambles, manages to get his hand back on the gun.
My blood runs cold.
“No—!”
He fires again.
The sound is louder this time.
Closer.
And everything in me stops.
“BENJI!”
The scream tears out of me, raw and broken and full of pure, gut-wrenching terror.
Benji jerks.
Just slightly.
But I see it.
The impact.
The way his body reacts.
My world tilts.
“No, no, no, no—”
Paul turns toward me.
That smile back on his face.
That look in his eyes.
Possessive.
Delusional.
Wrong.
“Now,” he says softly, raising the gun again. “We can finally—”
He doesn’t finish.
Because Benji is still moving.
Even shot.
Even bleeding.
He’s still moving.
He grabs Paul’s arm from behind, wrenching it back with a force that makes Paul scream—an actual scream, high and sharp and panicked.
The gun jerks upward.
Useless.
“I told you, touch her, even look at her,” Benji growls, his voice rough, dangerous, inhuman in its intensity, “and I will end you.”
Something flashes in his other hand.
I don’t even see where it comes from.
One second it’s not there—the next, I see it.
A blade.
Sharp.
Cold.
Final.
And then—a swift, brutal motion.
A line of red.
Paul’s eyes go wide.
Shock replacing that twisted confidence.
He gurgles.
Stumbles.
Collapses.
And just like that—it’s over.
The silence that follows is deafening.
Broken only by my own ragged breathing.
By the sound of something dripping—no.
No, no, no—
“Benji,” I choke out, rushing forward, my hands shaking as I grab onto him.
There’s blood.
So much blood.
“Oh my God—oh my God—”
“I’m okay,” he says immediately, his voice strained but steady, his hands already coming up to hold me, to anchor me even now. “Ezzy, look at me—I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay, you’re bleeding—”
“It’s not bad,” he insists, pulling me closer, pressing me against him like he needs to feel me, to confirm I’m real. “I’ve had worse.”
My vision blurs with tears.
“I thought—” My voice breaks. “I thought I lost you—”
“You didn’t,” he says fiercely, his hand cupping the back of my head, pressing my face into his shoulder. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
I cling to him.
Trembling.
Breathing him in like it’s the only thing keeping me standing.
His heartbeat is fast.
Strong.
Alive.
Thank God.
Thank God.
After a moment, I feel him shift.
Pulling back just enough to reach for something.
His phone.
His movements are slower now.
Careful.
But still controlled.
Still deliberate.
He dials.
Puts it on speaker.
“Sawyer,” he says when the line picks up, his voice back to that calm, commanding tone like nothing just happened. “I need a cleanup. Sammy’s already here.”
There’s a pause on the other end.
“Where am I?”
Benji’s arm tightens around me.
“Stargazer,” he replies. “Suite level.”
Another beat.
“Handled?”
Benji glances down briefly.
At the body.
Then back at me.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “It’s handled.”
“Sit tight,” Sawyer responds. “I texted Sammy. He’ll take care of it.”
The line clicks off.
And just like that—it’s done.
Or at least, the worst of it is.
Benji lowers the phone, his hand finding mine again immediately.
Squeezing.
Grounding.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs again, softer this time.
And I believe him.
Even with blood on the floor.
Even with the world still spinning.
Even with everything that just happened—I believe him.
Because he stood between me and death.
Between me and him—fucking Paul.
And he didn’t hesitate.
Not for a second.
I press my forehead to his, my breath finally starting to steady.
“You saved me,” I whisper.
His jaw tightens.
“I always will,” he says.
And I know—deep in my bones—he means it.