rail up from his boot. I have to be dreaming. Why would he be here?
Liam from the junkyard is standing in my bedroom, muscles bathed in moonlight, with his boot across Paul’s throat. He leans forward, putting a little more weight on it. Paul flails. He’s crying—actually crying. I cover my mouth, because I want to laugh, I really do. I wonder if he’s pissed himself.
As attracted to Liam as I was on sight, right now? Right now he’s a goddamn superhero.
Liam spares me a glance over his shoulder and my heart pounds so hard, I think we must all hear it.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod, eyes wide, without words.
A little more pressure, and I wonder if he might kill Paul. I’m curious, but by no means concerned. Maybe he has people who could clean that up. If not, maybe I could help him. He’s pretty strong, he could drag Paul’s body out of here. I’ll just tell Pietro’s guys Paul never came home from his girlfriend’s house.
Liam hunches over so he can look Paul in the face. His stoicism might be even more terrifying than anger, and he’s completely calm when he says, “You ever lay an unwelcome hand on her again, and I’ll kill you.” He presses his boot down even harder. “Understand?”
Tears streaming down his face, Paul tries to nod. Liam lets up, stepping off to the side, and Paul climbs shakily to his hands and knees, spittle and snot dripping from his long, pathetic face. He sits back on his knees and holds his throat, making pitiful little noises.
The contrast between his wretched hunched form and Liam standing tall beside him is emblazoned in my fantasies forever.
I meet Liam’s gaze and hold it for a moment, but neither of us says anything.
Without sparing Paul another glance, Liam turns and barges right out of my life.
Liam
I’m on guard duty with Lance when I see her coming down the road.
I’d been watching for her all morning, just on the off chance she came. I thought she might, against Raj’s warning and common sense, but I hoped she wouldn’t.
I knew I shouldn’t have interfered last night, but I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t do nothing. I’d be as bad as her sniveling little shitbag husband.
But doing something had consequences, too.
For both of us.
“Stay here,” I tell Lance, propping my gun up against the fence.
He goes alert, eager for conflict. “What? What do you see?”
“Don’t worry about it, just stay here,” I tell him before taking off toward the road.
She slows to a stop, her gaze moving warily to Lance.
In lieu of a greeting, I say, “You shouldn’t be here.”
“So I’ve heard.” She shifts her weight, as if unsure. She’s holding a wrapped cloth, and without warning or explanation she thrusts it in my direction.
It’s barely warm since she had to travel so long to get here, but a whiff and a look tells me it might be an apple turnover. My mouth waters, but I don’t betray any sort of pleasure.
“What’s this?” I ask evenly.
Her cheeks are a little flushed, and I don’t know if it’s from the cool autumn air or me being a jackass. I hope it’s the former, but it’s probably the latter.
She shrugs, self-conscious. “I had extra.”
I sigh, glancing back at Lance to make sure he’s still where I left him.
“You can’t come here,” I tell her.