Page 110 of Held-

“No shit,” I mumble back to her.

Ethan's attention shifts to Brayden, his gaze narrows to slits. “You think you can just take what's mine?” he shouts, his words slightly muffled through the glass. “You think this is over? It's not over until I say it's over!”

Brayden's jaw clenches so tight I can hear his teeth grinding. His hand grips the door handle.

“Don't,” I plead, grabbing his arm. “That's exactly what he wants.”

“I'm not going to sit here while he threatens you,” Brayden growls, but he doesn't open the door. Not yet.

Ethan circles around to Brayden's side, pounding on his window now. “Get out of that car and face me like a man!” Ethanscreams, his face contorted with rage as he slams his fist against Brayden's window. “Or are you only tough when you're jumping people in bathrooms?”

I can feel Brayden's muscles tensing under my grip, his entire body vibrating with barely contained violence. The expression on his face scares me, not because I fear him, but because I know what he's capable of doing to protect me.

“Brayden, please,” I whisper, tightening my grip on his arm. “The police are coming. He'll be arrested for violating the order.”

Ethan circles back to my side, his face inches from the glass.

“You really think you can hide behind a piece of paper?” He laughs, the sound manic and chilling. “My father owns this town, Cece. Owns the police. Owns the judges. You think your little restraining order means anything?”

I try to keep my face neutral despite the fear clawing up my throat. The dispatcher's voice in my ear asks for updates, but I can barely form coherent sentences with Ethan's face pressed against my window.

“He's—he's still here,” I manage. “He's intoxicated.”

“Get off the phone,” Ethan snarls, slamming his palm against my window again. The glass vibrates dangerously under the impact. “You think calling the police is going to help you? They work for my father!”

My breath stutters, my pulse hammering as Ethan’s rage intensifies, rising around us with terrifying speed.

“Please hurry,” I yell into the phone.

Ethan suddenly stops pounding on my window, his expression shifting from rage to something calculated and cold. The change is more terrifying than his anger. Without a word, he turns and strides back to his car.

“He's going back to his vehicle,” I tell the dispatcher, relief washing through me. Maybe he's giving up. Maybe he realized how badly he's screwed himself by violating the order.

But my relief evaporates instantly when I see what happens next.

He goes to his car, pulling out the tire iron, and Brayden knows exactly what he plans to do with it. He's had enough. He's out of the car before I can stop him.

“Brayden, no!” I scream, lunging across the console, but my fingers only brush the back of his jacket as he slams the door shut behind him.

“Stay in the car!” Brayden shouts back, already squaring off against Ethan in the middle of the street.

Ethan brandishes the tire iron, clearly having waited for this moment, a sick grin stretching across his face as he advances on Brayden. The streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, turning the scene into a waking nightmare.

“Finally,” Ethan taunts. “The delinquent comes out to play.”

Brayden doesn’t move. He stands in the middle of the street, broad and unshakable, his shadow cutting through the headlights.

“Put it down, Ethan.”

Ethan’s grin twists. “You think you can steal my wife and get away with it? You think you can play the hero?”

“I didn’t steal her,” Brayden growls. “You lost her by sticking your tiny little prick into anything that wouldn’t shake you off.”

Ethan lets out a rough, humorless laugh—and charges.

The tire iron comes down fast. Brayden blocks the first hit with his forearm, the sound a dull, heavy crack that makes me flinch. The second blow glances off his shoulder, hard enough to spin him sideways. Brayden recovers and drives a fist into Ethan’s ribs, the impact echoing through the still night.

They crash into the hood of my car. Metal dents, glass trembles, the impact reverberates through me. I can hear the dispatcher shouting on the phone, but her words are distant, drowned out by the chaos outside.