Dr. Hartwell’s right behind them, face pale but spine locked straight.
“Delilah P. Darling?” the lead one asks, already reaching for his cuffs.
No. No.
She stands before I can even blink. Chin up, tits out, fire in her throat. “Who the fuck is asking?”
Christ.
Randy chuckles like he’s watching pay-per-view. Some prick across the room lets out a whistle. I mentally tag him for later.
“If this is about Chip the sweaty gym troll, he started it,” she says. “Got in my face, got in my space, got smacked for his troubles.”
My hands curl into fists.
She’s a goddamn menace, but she’s mine.
I get to my feet. “I was a witness. Mr. Petergrind was aggressive. She’s five feet of fury in yoga pants. He cornered her.”
“Bullshit,” she snaps, stalking past me, wild and radiant and so stupidly brave I could scream. “He called me a tramp, disrupted my session, then followed me to the lot. So yeah, I smacked him. I stand by it.”
Dr. Hartwell tries to wedge between her and the officers. “She’s under therapeutic care, and you’re interrupting a confidential session. If there’s a warrant, we need to review it first.”
“We’ve got it here,” one says, flashing a crumpled sheet like that makes it sacred.
“And the charges?” I growl, stepping in front of her as the first one moves in.
“Assault. Vandalism,” the officer rattles off.
She opens her mouth.
I spin, palm to her face, covering it before she can say something profoundly incriminating. “She has the right to an attorney,” I say, dead calm even though my heart’s trying to climb up my throat.
“Got one with your name on it too, Mr. Ryker,” says a voice from the back.
My blood ices. I know that face.
Fuck.
“I was at work,” I snap, but it’s already too late.
Delilah barrels past me like I’m a traffic cone, not a wall of muscle.
“I’ll go,” she says, as if it’s noble instead of batshit. “Leave Jett out of it. I hit Clint. I left the note. Jett was just doing his job.”
God. Fucking. Dammit.
She sticks out her wrists like it’s a magic trick. Like if she gives them what they want, they’ll go away clean.
Rhys steps between her and the badge parade. “This is wildly inappropriate,” he says, voice sharp but calm. “She’s not a threat. Dragging her out in cuffs mid-session is not only excessive, it’s traumatizing.”
Delilah rolls her eyes and physically yeets him out of her way with one arm. “Rhys, please. I’ve been cuffed before. It’s honestly nostalgic at this point.”
She pivots to the lead officer. “Go on, Officer Rude Ass. Wanna be the guy who sides with gym bros and calls it justice? Fuckin’ go for it.”
One of them hesitates, but the other grabs her outstretched hand and slaps a cuff on her wrist. Cold steel and no hesitation. Then he spins her, grabs both arms, and yanks them behind her back.
She locks eyes with me and blows me a kiss like she’s not in the process of being arrested in a public goddamn therapy room.
