Epilogue 2 Kai
I can’t fucking believe my brother roped me into working security at a middle school Valentine’s dance.
A Catholic Middle School. Valentine’s. Dance.
FML.
That’s three strikes already—and I’m not even in the damn gym yet.
I swear, if another kid tries to sneak a vape or spike the punch with something they found in their dad’s liquor cabinet, I’m walking.
But the only reason I haven’t faked a medical emergency and bailed?
Her.
Mary Donahue.
Fiery red hair.
Curves for days.
Mouth like a sailor and a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
Sexy as hell.
Terrifying, too.
I’ve been trying to get in her good graces since the moment I met her.
Which, admittedly, is not going well.
Pretty sure she still thinks I’m a dick for not stopping Ego from breaking Sabrina’s heart, even though I told him he was being a moron.
But whatever.
Tonight, I’m trying again.
Because I’m stubborn like that.
And because I like the way she looks when she’s mad at me. Which is often.
So of course I find her exactly when I’m not supposed to.
Cornered.
Pressed up against the lockers by some overdressed prick in a suit who clearly doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no.
“I said stop it, Mr. Jonas!” she yells, shoving at him.
I don’t think. I just move.
My fist slams into his nose with a crack that echoes down the empty hallway.
Blood gushes. He drops like a sack of shit.
Mary gasps, stepping back. “Oh my God!”
“You’re welcome,” I growl, shaking out my hand. “What the hell was that?”
“I had it handled!” she snaps, shooting me a death glare. “Jesus, Kai!”
“Like hell you did. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, crap,” she mutters, looking down at the groaning man and then over her shoulder like she’s about to get called to the principal’s office. “That’s one of the school’s top donors.”
I blink. “So what? He shouldn’t be touching you like that. You said no.”
“I know, but—ugh. Dammit. Can you help me carry him to that chair?”
“What the fu—are you serious?”
“We’ll just tell people he tripped and hit his head.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Please,” she says, giving me the look.
The one that makes me consider committing crimes and/or signing up for a PTA bake sale.
So I do it.
Like a moron.
Because apparently that’s who I am now.
Kai Montego, certified idiot, muscle-for-hire, and part-time accomplice to school dance coverups.
And all because one sharp-tongued, red-haired first-grade teacher asked me nicely.
But when I catch her smiling—really smiling—as we prop Mr. Nosebleed up in the chair and she mutters, “Thanks, I really do owe you one,” I realize something dangerous.
I’d do it again.
Hell, I’d knock out a dozen assholes and carry their broken bodies across a minefield if it meant getting her to look at me like that one more time.
Oh. Shit.
I think I like her.
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