16. Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
Alex
Iglance at Cole on the pavement, cuffs snapping closed as officers lift him. This time, no parents. No payoffs. No escape.
I step a little closer to Lina, keeping my voice low. “You okay?” I ask her.
She studies me for a moment, as if she senses there’s more I’m not saying.
There is.
This started as a job. Surveillance. Protection. Find the threat that surrounds her. Trace it back to the source so we can get paid.
Yet, over the past six weeks, witnessing her efforts, practice, and lifestyle, it transformed into something more.
I’ll still finish the job. I’ll find the threat and end it.
But if it comes down to our rules or her safety? The choice is already settled in my mind. And that scares the fuck out of me.
I see it all once as my adrenaline starts to ebb.
The cuts. The scrapes. Blood smeared along her palms, her knees, the backs of her legs where skin met concrete.
Her hair is tangled at the nape of her neck, matted where he grabbed it.
Evidence, clear and unforgiving, of how close he came to hurting her much worse.
My jaw tightens.
An EMT kneels in front of her, calm and efficient, cleaning her scrapes with practiced care.
Lina winces but doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t cry. She steadies her breathing and lets them work
Anger burns hot and steady in my chest.
Not reckless. Controlled. Focused.
Anger that remembers faces—makes promises.
I turn my head slightly, watching Cole being loaded into the cruiser, and briefly, I imagine how easily I could have done worse. How thin the line was between restraint and ruin.
I didn’t cross it but there’s still fucking time.
“She fought,” the EMT says to me. “You can tell.”
I’m aware.
I saw it as I ran toward them, the way she moved, the way she resisted, the way she refused to go limp or compliant. She didn’t freeze. She didn’t fold. She fought him with everything she had.
That says everything.
It takes a particular kind of strength to fight back when fear is screaming at you to disappear. To refuse to be reduced again. To decide, on concrete, in pain, with the weight of the past crashing down, that this ends here.
I’m furious that she was hurt. But I’m proud of her to a degree that surprises me with its intensity.
She catches me watching her and lifts her chin slightly, defiant even now. There’s fire in her eyes. Not bravado. Resolve.
Damn. That defiance is sexy.
She did more than survive him. She stood her ground against that prick. I guarantee that if she were better prepared, maybe after a gym session, she would have laid that fucker out.
Her courage doesn’t fade when the lights go out, or the uniforms leave. It’s built in. Bone-deep. And seeing it up close does something to me I don’t have a clean name for.
Respect. Perhaps admiration? Something harder at the edges.
I step closer, careful not to crowd her, lowering my voice so only she can hear. “You fought him,” I say. “You didn’t freeze. You didn’t give up. Now you know you have the power to do it again if you have to.”
She exhales gradually, her shoulders relaxing a bit. Good. She’s letting the truth of that land.
“I did,” she says. “But I still needed saving in the end.” Her gaze flicks toward the cruiser where Cole sits restrained.
“He’s bigger than me. Stronger. And when he’s drunk…,” she inclines her head. “There’s no inhibition holding him back.”
My jaw tightens.
The file didn’t say he’d put his hands on her before. But files only tell you what gets reported. And women don’t always report.
“He’s my ex-husband,” she continues. “We divorced over five years ago. Apparently, he still hasn’t let that go.” Her mouth curves faintly, humorless.
“He loves bar fights. That’s how I know what he’s capable of,” she adds.
Maybe he hasn’t put his hands on her, or maybe that’s just her excuse.
She looks down at her hands as the EMT gently cleans them, her smile soft, almost detached. Like she’s learned how to compartmentalize pain.
“I can’t thank you enough for your timing,” she adds. “I think it would have turned much uglier had you not appeared.” A pause.
“I’m glad I was here,” I say honestly. Because it’s true, and because she needs to hear it, I add, “But I think, in the end, you would’ve taken him down on your own.” I smile at her.
She huffs a quiet laugh. “That’s what Krav Maga is supposed to teach me. I don’t go as often as I should. I’m definitely not skipping classes anymore.”
Krav Maga. Right. I’d seen it in her file. Noted the gym schedule. Noted that she hadn’t been in class the last few months.
“Krav Maga is a solid system,” I say. “Practical. Efficient. Good survival techniques.”
She gazes up at me, curious now. “You sound like you’re familiar with it.”
“I am.” I hesitate only a second. “I’m a Grand Master.”
Shock flashes across her face, followed quickly by disbelief. “You’re—wait. Seriously?”
I nod once.
She studies me in a new way, like pieces are clicking into place: my timing, my discipline, the way Cole left the ground so easily.
“Well,” she says after a beat, smiling despite everything. “That explains…a lot.
I return the smile, brief and restrained.
By the time the lights stop flashing and the questions give way to paperwork, she’s limping. Adrenaline can only carry you so far before pain starts collecting its due.
“I can drive,” she says automatically, keys already in her hand when the officer asks how she’s getting home.
I turn towards her. “May I drive you? I would feel much better knowing you made it home safe.”
She looks me over for a moment.
“You aren’t a serial killer, are you?” she asks.
“Depends on how many bodies are required to meet that category,” I say with a smirk.
“Don’t be offended if I have pepper spray in hand. Just in case.” Lina says, sneering at me.
“By all means. I don’t blame your caution.” I say, putting my hands up in defeat.
“How will you get home?” she asks.
“I’ll finish my run. I don’t imagine you live too far.”
She smiles and nods in defeat. She’s exhausted.
We walk to her car, and I take the driver’s seat after I ease her in beside me from the passenger side.
The ride is short. Too short. This small town seems different when it’s passed midnight, and the danger has already shown its teeth.
“Thank you,” she says again, staring out the window. Softer this time. Real.
“You don’t owe me anything,” I reply.
When we pull up to her place following the GPS on her car to Home, she exhales like she’s been holding her breath the entire drive.
I kill the engine and get out first, instinctively scanning the street, the shadows, the angles of the house. Everything looks quiet. Normal. I don’t trust that word.
I carefully help her out of the Bronco.
We walk up the driveway and up to her front door. She punches in her door code to open the door. Once inside, I keep my movements casual, unhurried, but my eyes are everywhere: windows, corners, doors, anything that doesn’t sit right.
I note the layout without making it obvious. Old habits don’t turn off.
She leans into the wall for a moment, and I’m there before she has to ask. I guide her carefully down the hall, into her bedroom, helping her sit. She winces but doesn’t complain.
“Get some rest, Lina.”
She nods, eyes shining but steady. “Thank you…for everything. Tonight could’ve been really bad.”
“Could have, but wasn’t,” I say simply. “That’s what matters.”
She exhales, slow and shaky, as the last of the adrenaline leaves her body. She looks down at her hands and flexes her fingers, as if making sure they still belong to her.
“I should’ve called the cops,” she says, releasing a breath. “The second I saw him out there. I knew better.”
I don’t interrupt. I let her talk.
“I think part of me thought…I need to face him,” she continues. A small, humorless laugh escapes her. “I’ve always been afraid that if I pushed too hard—if I demanded justice—it would mean I was still letting him control me.”
“Cole and I have quite the history.”
She looks up, meeting my gaze. There’s no panic in her eyes now. Only honesty.
“I was too easy on him for so many years,” she admits. “I let things slide. I walked away without a word. I convinced myself that staying silent was strength.” She exhales, shaking her head.
“But I don’t have any idea when that became habit—when protecting him became automatic. I was conditioned to preserve his image for so long that I never learned how to stop. Or even if I was allowed to.”
Her jaw tightens.
“I wanted to say the things I never got to say when I left him. Things I was too scared, too worn down, too small to say.” She lifts her chin slightly.
“I believed I was strong enough now. Mentally. Physically.” A pause. “I mean it felt so good to say what I wanted. Just turns out I was wearing the wrong ass-kicking outfit for what was to come from it.”
Despite myself, a hint of amusement graces my lips. She notices and huffs with a soft laugh.
“I really did think I could handle it,” she says. “And maybe someday I can. Just…not yet.”
“You’re not wrong for wanting closure,” I tell her, steady and certain. “But closure doesn’t come from confronting someone who thrives on chaos. It comes from consequences.”
She absorbs that. Nods once.
“I know,” she says. “And I think tonight opened my eyes. Being kind doesn’t mean being passive. And walking away doesn’t mean staying silent forever.”
Good.
I straighten, giving her space again, keeping the line where it belongs. At the door, I pause.
“I’m sorry to drop all of this on you. I suppose I thought I had to clarify the circumstances,” she explains.
“Don’t apologize. I appreciate you providing context,” I tell her.
“Call or text me if you need anything,” I say.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks. “Maybe?” She adds.
“I’ll be at the shop,” I answer. “You shouldn’t have to go in after what you’ve been through. You have employees to help, don’t you?”
She gives a faint smile. “We’ll see.”
She meets my gaze. “Goodnight, Alex.”
“Goodnight, Lina.”
I step out of her room and close the door behind me. I walk down the hall and out the front door, listening until I hear the automatic front door lock slide home.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
It’s Reese texting me.
I did fuck up. I completely forgot to text Reese.
Filling out a police report was a bad idea. I put my information out there. But I didn’t do it for me. I did it for her. She needed to know she wasn’t alone.
“Fuck!” I nearly scream.
I jog down the street toward my place, the night cool against my skin.
The noise in my head eases. Thoughts of her and everything about tonight soften into something quieter.
The job isn’t over.
But tonight, she sleeps in her own bed. And that’s a win I’ll fucking take.