“The fuck it won’t,” I growl, stepping closer.
“It won’t,” he says again. “If we play this right, we can get the charges dropped against Jett and Delilah. Think about what that means for her.”
My heart lurches. He’s right. I don’t like it, but he’s right.
My fists unclench. A fraction.
The door opens. Jett walks out, looking like he ate bullets for breakfast and is ready for seconds. Not a scratch on him that I can see, but his eyes are storm-dark. Pissed.
Rhys fills him in on the plan. Jett listens without interruption, just a single tight nod. Then he looks at me.
“I tagged him,” he says, like he knows it’s the only thing I need to hear.
I nod back. “I’m not doing well with this.”
“Yeah.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “He busted her lip.”
The words land like a knife to the sternum. “You let him walk out of there?” I snap, teeth grinding.
Jett shrugs, but his shoulders are steel. “It was chaos. I got a few in. Would’ve done more if Chad hadn’t.” He cuts himself off.
I run a hand through my hair, shaking.
Then Rhys stiffens beside me.
I follow his gaze, and I feel her before I see her. Something in me goes still. Then slams back into motion.
Delilah.
Black tights. Little crop top. Pink skeleton hands on black fabric. Like death herself in partywear. And her face. The bruise is fresh. Her lip is swollen and split.
I hit the floor. Just drop, my legs decided they couldn’t hold me up if she’s walking around like that.
She gasps. “Baby.”
I don’t hear the rest. She’s already there, hands in my hair, pulling me in. I wrap my arms around her hips and bury my face against her belly. She smells like shampoo and blood and something feral that makes me want to burn this city down.
“It’s okay,” she whispers, holding my head.
“It’s so far from okay,” Rhys says behind us.
I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. Can only feel. The shape of her. The way she strokes the back of my neck like I’m the one who got hit.
Jett’s pacing now.
“Let’s go meet with Walter,” Rhys says.
I force myself to stand, keeping her tight against me.
“I need to stop by my place,” I say. “I’ve got the proof of everything Margo’s done. The emails, the paper trail. All of it.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jett says. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
Rhys moves to take Delilah’s hand, to pull her toward him. “I’ve got her.”
She rolls up on her toes and kisses my jaw, soft and sure. “It’s okay,” she says, even though it’s not.
It’s not okay.
