“Chad, honey? Hank?” Her voice is all syrup and sin. Her eyes scan the room, land on me, and go wide. “Oh, no. This could ruin our case.”
“Case?” I bark. “Case?”
It clicks. The three of them. A shitty triangle of bureaucratic vengeance. That bitch, who tried to sexually extort Benji and got her glittery little claws batted away, teaming up with the ex who stalked me back when I loved him and couldn’t stop, and the manbaby who can’t even handle a few dents in a bumper without trying to destroy someone’s life.
My vision goes white.
“You’re working with them?” I scream, voice shaking. “You tried to fuck your swim coach and got rejected so now you’re filing a case against me? Against Jett? You don’t even know Jett.”
My hands are trembling. My heart’s jackhammering. Something inside me snaps so loud I swear it echoes in the rafters. I elbow Jett hard in the ribs.
He grunts, lets go.
And I lunge straight at Margo. Fists out, fury unleashed, ready to ruin her.
Hank jumps in front of her, smug and stupid and still thinking he’s the main character, and clocks me across the face.
For a second, I see stars. Blood in my mouth. Rage in my teeth.
Jett makes a sound I’ve never heard before. Like a bear breaking through a cage.
And then all hell breaks loose.
Jett’s fists connect with Hank’s jaw and he goes down. Chad yells something and swings wild, misses Jett by a mile and slams into a punching bag instead. Margo’s shrieking. Kevin’s on the phone, yelling for backup or maybe the Pope. A protein shaker goes flying. Someone’s crying.
It’s fists and fury and screams and chaos.
And then it’s sirens.
Red and blue splash across the mirrors. The doors fly open again. Cops this time.
Jett’s eyes find mine, wild and glittering and full of panic.
I lick the blood off my lip, taste copper and heat, and grin through it. “Smile for your mugshot this time.”
The cops swarm, flies on carnage, barking orders, separating bodies. One gets a hand on Jett and I flinch. He’s still vibrating like he could rip someone in half. Still half-feral and absolutely not calming down.
And I want to go to him. Want to pet his hair and sit on his lap and coo sweet threats until he stops pacing like a caged beast. Because if he swings again, it’ll be at a cop, and they’ll put him down for it.
“That son of a bitch hit her!” Jett roars. “He hit a fucking woman! What the fuck did you expect me to do, huh? What the fuck would you do? Look at her! Look at her! He busted her goddamn lip! He’s lucky he’s still breathing.”
“Sir, calm down,” an officer says.
“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down!” Jett yells.
A different officer, older, bored, smells like coffee and cruelty, turns to me. “Did he hit you first?”
I don’t look away from Jett, but I nod. “Yeah. Hank. My ex. There’s a court order. He came in here. I was already signed up. Been on the schedule for weeks. I wasn’t stalking him. He stalked me. And Chap, same story. He followed Jett here.”
The cop squints. “You mean Chad?”
“Yeah. Chap. Chaz. Who cares. The one trying to sue me for a bumper. Jett works here. These motherfuckers showed up to harass him at his place of employment. I don’t care what flimsy-ass legal paper they’re waving, that’s illegal. That’s predatory. That’s.” I jab a finger at my face. “A busted lip and a lot of trauma.”
The officer holds up a clipboard like it might protect him from my vibe. “Would you like to press assault charges on Mr. Hansen?”
“Oh. Wait. I’m the presser? I’m not the one getting arrested?” I don’t even know what this side of the paperwork looks like. “Yes. Fuck yes. Press him like a panini.”
“Did you hit Ms. Patterson?”
