“Sorry,” she mouths.
Then the second cuff clicks home like a gunshot, and I see her wince. She’s trying not to make a sound but it’s there, tight around her mouth, in her eyes.
That son of a bitch hurt her.
Something inside me snaps. I lunge.
Rhys is suddenly in front of me, hands up. “Jett, breathe.”
The only thing I’m breathing is blood and fury and the sound of that fucking cuff clicking onto her wrist.
I shove him. Hard.
“You wanna lay hands on someone, lay ‘em gently on her!” I shout and swing. Not thinking. Not aiming.
Rhys tries to block but I catch him in the jaw. He goes down, crumpling along with my last ounce of impulse control.
The nearest officer grabs my shoulder and slams me into the wall. His voice is a hot breath. “You wanna add assaulting an officer to the charges, tough guy?”
Rhys groans from the floor, fingers to his face. “I’ll call your lawyer,” he says, spitting blood.
“Tell him to bail her out first,” I grit, shoulders burning under the pressure.
Rhys drags himself upright, still professional even when bleeding. “I got it. Just, both of you, don’t say another word.”
Delilah, halfway out the door, looks over her shoulder and winks.
I want to scream.
They drag her out first. Kicking, obviously. I catch a glimpse of her wrists in cuffs and one shoe half-on. Of course she’s still trying to charm the fucking cops on her way out. I hear her voice bouncing down the hall.
“Hey, tell Walter Chad came to the gym and got in my face,” I grunt at Rhys. “He baited me. Baited her. That has to matter.”
Rhys nods once, distracted. His eyes keep flicking between me and the front doors like he doesn’t know which one of us is the bigger emergency. He stays. Guilt or instinct, I don’t know. But he stays.
The receptionist scrunches her nose as we pass like I’m something she stepped in. I stare her down until she looks away. Fuck you too, sweetheart.
Out front, the cruiser’s already rolling away with Delilah in the backseat. I catch the blur of pink from her hair and something sharp in my chest twists.
Benji’s by the front door, phone still pressed to his ear. His jaw’s set like concrete.
“Need time off,” he says. “Family emergency.” He tucks the phone in his pocket and looks at me.
Not at my busted lip. Not the cuffs. Just me.
“I’ll be there in an hour,” he says.
That’s it? No lecture? No threats? No bleeding-heart golden boy posturing?
“I.” What the fuck do I even say to that?
He turns to go.
“I have a lawyer,” I call after him. “Get her out first.”
He pauses long enough to nod, once. No words. No bullshit.
Just gone.
