Page 111 of Held-

“Brayden!” I scream, fumbling with my seat belt.

He glances toward me—just a heartbeat of distraction—and Ethan swings. The tire iron connects with Brayden’s jaw. The sound it makes—thick and final—tears a gasp from my throat. Blood splatters across the hood, bright and shocking under the streetlight.

Brayden stumbles but doesn’t go down. He lunges forward, driving Ethan backward until his spine cracks against the hood of the car. Metal dents under the impact. Ethan tries to twist away, but Brayden’s grip clamps tighter.

They wrestle across the slick surface, boots scraping, fists flying. Ethan’s heel slips, and Brayden uses the moment. He pivots, shoving Ethan sideways off the hood and dragging him toward the passenger side.

Brayden seizes the front of Ethan’s jacket and slams him into the door so hard the entire frame shudders. The passenger-side window explodes outward, glass raining onto the pavement in a glittering cascade.

Ethan swings wild, a desperate, poorly aimed punch that catches Brayden in the ribs. Brayden grunts, barely reacting, then cocks his fist and delivers a strike to Ethan’s jaw that drops him to the ground

“Stay down!” Brayden roars.

But Ethan does not listens. He wipes at the blood running from his nose, his grin twisted and manic. “You’ll never have her,” he spits, charging again.

Brayden meets him head-on. They hit the pavement hard, rolling, fighting for control. The tire iron scrapes across the asphalt as they grapple, each strike heavier, more desperate. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is sickening.

I can’t breathe. I can’t just sit there and watch him die for me. I throw open the door and stumble out, still holding the phone inmy shaking hand. “The police are almost here!” I shout, my voice breaking. “Please, stop!”

Brayden blocks another hit, but Ethan rams his shoulder into him, sending them both crashing into the gravel at the edge of the road. Brayden’s breathing is harsh, ragged. Ethan grabs a handful of dirt and throws it in his face, then tackles him again, slamming his fists down. Brayden takes the hits, twisting, grappling, trying to get control.

“Brayden!” I cry, taking off toward them.

He pushes himself up, blood running from his mouth, eyes dark and unfocused. He’s hurt—badly hurt—but still fighting. Ethan lunges again, shouting, his face smeared with blood and rage. Brayden drives his elbow into Ethan’s stomach, forcing a guttural cry from him. The tire iron drops to the pavement with a sharp clang.

They’re both on their knees now, exhausted, breathing hard, the cold night air steaming around them.

“Don’t even think about touching my woman,” Brayden snarls.

Ethan shoves him away, spitting blood. “She’s mine!”

“No!” I shout, my throat raw as I sprint toward them. “I’m not!”

Ethan whirls on me, and before I can react, his hand shoots out and clamps around my arm.

“Ethan—no!” I struggle, twisting, clawing at his wrist, but his grip is unyielding.

“You think you can humiliate me?” he hisses against my ear. “You think you can hide behind him? You’re mine, Cece. You’ve always been mine.”

“Let me go!” I kick, shove, and dig my nails into his skin, but he yanks me closer, dragging me toward his car. “We’re going home,” he growls. “You’re done ruining my life.”

“Brayden!” I scream.

He forces himself up, staggering toward us, blood pouring from his jaw and side, his breath coming in short, painful bursts.

Then—sirens.

The wail splits through the night, growing louder, closer. Blue and red light wash over the street as Sheriff Miller’s cruiser skids to a stop, gravel spraying across the pavement.

“Let her go, Ethan!” the sheriff’s voice booms, sharp and commanding.

Ethan freezes, breathing hard.

“Now!”

For a moment, it’s silent. Even the air holds its breath.

Then Ethan’s hand trembles. The fight drains out of him as the flashing lights paint his face. Deputies rush forward, shouting, tackling him before he can take another step.