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T he alley stinks— garbage, booze, piss —but there’s another stench now.

Fear.

It rolls off the two pathetic excuses for men as I step into the dimly lit lane, where Junior and the rest of our security team already have them pinned and shaking.

“Please, man, just let us go?—”

The motherfucker who tried to drug my Pixie is begging now, voice thin, desperate.

But I don’t answer him.

He doesn’t deserve it.

I give a sharp nod to the brute holding him in place, a silent command.

“What did you find?” I ask.

The man reaches into his jacket, then tosses me a small pill bottle.

I catch it. Turn it over. Read the label.

Rohypnol.

My stomach curdles, my grip tightening around the bottle as rage spreads like wildfire in my chest.

“Fucking motherfucker,” Nico snarls.

“The other one had some, too.”

The same guard tosses another bottle, this one snatched from the air by Junior, who catches it quicker than a cobra strikes.

The two pieces of shit go still.

And then the excuses start.

“No! I swear, we weren’t gonna hurt anyone! We were just having some fun!”

Some fun.

My vision blurs with red.

“Some fun?” Junior spits, stepping forward, looming. “You stupid fuck. You came into our club with the intention of hurting women . Then you were dumb enough to single out our women .”

His boot slams into the bastard’s gut, sending him reeling against the brick wall with a wheezing groan.

The man scrambles, his hands up in pathetic surrender, voice trembling, “Okay, okay, okay! We made a m-mistake! We’re sorry! Please, we didn’t know they were yours!”

I still.

For a long, lethal moment, I say nothing.

I just let the words settle between us.

My lip curls.

My fury rolls around inside of me, filling every inch of my person.

“That’s not a fucking excuse, you piece of shit.”

Because it’s not.

Because these two would have done it anyway.

Because they only care now that they picked the wrong girls.

And because this one dared to touch mine.

I don’t hesitate.

I blur forward, swift, methodical, using one of the first things I ever learned in the Marines.

Two moves. That’s all it takes.

I grab the back of his neck with one hand.

His chin with the other.

I breathe in the stench of his fear, let it settle deep in my gut.

I look deep into his eyes, noting his weakness, and his horror at what we both know I am about to do.

And then—I move.

A sharp, violent twist.

A snap.

His body slumps, lifeless.

Junior watches, head canted slightly.

Then, without a word, he grabs the second guy.

“Like this?”

I nod once. “A little lower.”

And just like that, he mimics the motion.

Another crack.

Another body.

And the world is better off.

Junior exhales, rolling his shoulders, then turns to our guy. “Put ’em in the trunk. We’re heading downtown.”

Downtown—where we have friends with a nifty little waste management facility.

A place with an incinerator.

A place where mistakes disappear.

Permanently.

“Give me your jacket,” Junior says.

I don’t hesitate. I strip it off and toss it to him.

“I should come with you,” I say.

He’s already shaking his head.

“Nah. I got this, bro.” He smirks. “You need to check on your girl.”

Something shifts inside me.

Something I’ve spent too long ignoring.

Because he’s right.

And it’s time I admit it.

Aella is mine.

“What about you?” I ask.

He shrugs, mouth twitching. “Ain’t my time yet. No worries. I’m a patient man.”

I nod once, watching as he climbs into the SUV that pulled up sometime before we even walked into this alley.

Then, without another word, I turn and head back inside.

But this time?

This time, my blood is pumping for a different reason.

I stalk across the floor, past bodies grinding to the bass, past flashing neon and spilled liquor.

And then I see her.

Standing by the bar, wiping at her chest with a napkin, her dress clinging wet and ruined, her lips slightly parted, eyes still wide, shaken, too damn vulnerable for my liking.

And just like that, everything else fades.

The noise.

The heat.

The club.

Because all I see is Aella.

And all I feel is real, gut-wrenching fear.

Because tonight, I almost lost her.

Because if I’d been seconds slower, she could have been hurt, been taken, been fucking gone.

I don’t rein myself in this time.

I don’t hold back like I always do.

Not now.

Not this time.

I can’t.

I close the distance in three strides and grab her waist, hoisting her into my arms before she even realizes what’s happening.

“Sammy!”

She gasps, gripping my shoulders, her body molding to mine, warm, soft, perfect.

Watermelon and sugar—that’s what she smells like.

I shake my head once.

And without another word, I walk out of the club with her in my arms.