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No matter that the frame had sat on his desk at the fire station, clearly important to him too.

He still wouldn’t have wanted me in danger to save this.

And neither did Hudson.

God, I should have waited, been patient, ridden this out—just like we had with my money. I let the lawyers and Atlas do their thing and in the end, it had worked out in my favor.

But no, I had to stupidly rush in and?—

Dylan takes a step toward me and instinctively, I skitter back, my hip banging against the corner of the desk, sending a sharp bolt of pain through my side.

“Stay away from me.” My voice only wobbles the slightest bit.

He smirks as he takes another step toward me and my fingers clench on the frame, but I manage to move more carefully, to sidestep his office chair, to put the length of the desk between us.

I’m nowhere near safe.

But the panic in my belly, coiled tight and ready to strike, stays like that. Not lurching out, not stealing my thoughts and controlling my body.

If I’m calm and smart, maybe I can get a call out to Hudson.

If I’m strong and centered, maybe I can make my way out of the house, can get to my car, can…

“You’ve really fucked up my life,” Dylan says, slowly moving toward me, slowly stalking me around his desk.

I shift my grip on the frame, slip my other hand into my pocket. “The feeling’s mutual,” I say, and this time there isn’t the least bit of waver in my voice.

Something he notices.

Something he doesn’t like given the way his sneer grows on his face.

Fuck sneaky.

I take several steps toward the door and pull out my phone. “Just leave me alone, Dylan. All I wanted was my dad’s picture. If we’re smart, we can handle this quietly and both go on with our own lives.”

“Don’t you understand by now”—he takes several large steps toward me and the distance I’ve been so carefully creating between us evaporates—“that you don’t give me orders?” He bends, putting his face all of an inch away from mine.

So, I can see his temper ratcheting up.

His control fraying.

Can almost feel his fists connecting with my body.

I’ve gotten my cell free, and I point it at my face, unlocking the screen. “I’m not trying to give you orders,” I say, continuing to back up as I jab at the phone icon, pulling up my recent contacts, finger reaching for Hudson’s contact.

I don’t make it that far.

Before the pad of my finger can hit his name, my phone is batted out of my hand. Fingers wrap around my wrist so tightly that I cry out in shock and pain, then again when he roughly twists my arm behind my back and shoves me forward.

Hard.

I hit the built-in bookshelves so hard that I see stars and as my vision clears, I feel something hot sliding down my face.

Blood, I realize.

Dripping from my eye, down my cheek, my jaw…

Dropping onto the pretty, sparkly outfit I was so excited to put on earlier.