Page 91 of Held-

“She’s not going anywhere,” Brayden snaps, stepping halfway in front of me again. “Not until we call a lawyer.”

“She has that right,” the Sheriff concedes with a nod. “But the arrest still has to happen.”

My mind spins.Assault?Ethan cornered me. He left these bruises. He was the one—He did this. And now he’s flipping the story.

“Jim,” my father says again, this time with more force. “Look at her. Look at her wrists. You’re really going to tell me those marks were made in self-defense?”

The Sheriff hesitates. I see it. See the part of him that hates this—knows it smells wrong.

“I see them,” he says finally. “And it’ll be documented. But I’ve got a warrant signed by a judge. I don’t have a choice.”

Brayden’s hand finds mine, steadying me. His voice drops, edged with quiet danger. “This is Mayor Kincaid pulling strings,” Brayden says, a growl simmering beneath the words. “Using his influence to protect his precious son.”

Sheriff Miller's jaw tightens. “I'm just doing my job, Mr. Cole. Now, Ms. Montgomery, as much as it pains me to say this, I have to place you under arrest.”

“You can’t be serious,” I say, disbelief making my words shake. “Ethan is the one who should be arrested. He assaulted me!”

Sheriff Miller’s expression stays professionally neutral, though a flicker of something crosses his face—discomfort, maybe even sympathy. It doesn’t change anything.

“Ms. Montgomery, please turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

“Jim, for God’s sake,” my father protests, stepping forward. “You’ve known Cece her entire life. You really believe she would assault anyone?”

“What I believe doesn’t matter right now, Reverend,” Sheriff Miller says, tone steady but not unkind. “I have a sworn statement and a warrant.”

I feel Brayden's body tensing beside me. His arm tightens around my waist, and for a terrifying moment, I think he might actually try to stop the sheriff physically. The thought of him getting arrested too sends a jolt of panic through me.

“Brayden,” I whisper, placing my hand on his chest. “Don't.”

The cuffs click shut, biting into my already bruised wrists. I flinch, but I don’t make a sound.

Brayden does.

It isn’t a word, not even a growl—just a harsh, guttural sound torn from his chest. His fists clench at his sides, jaw so tight I can almost hear his teeth grind. One more step, just one, and I know he’ll cross a line neither of us can undo.

“Brayden,” I whisper, because I need him to look at me,notat the deputy. “Please.”

His eyes snap to mine. The rage is still there—boiling, volcanic—but he locks it down with visible effort. For me.

“I’ll fix this,” Brayden declares. “I don’t care how many strings I have to pull or bridges I have to burn—I’ll get you out.”

“I know.” My voice is steadier than my hands. “That’s why I need you out here.”

The sheriff mutters something procedural, but it blurs into nothing. All I see is Brayden—braced, furious, struggling to keep himself from snapping the cuffs off me and tearing the walls down.

As they turn me toward the door, I finally glance at my father.

He stands there stiffly. His mouth is tight, eyes full of conflict—believing me, but paralyzed by the weight of who he is. He says nothing. Not a word. Not even my name.

The silence from him hits harder than the handcuffs.

Brayden notices.

His head turns, slow and cold, voice dropping into something dangerous enough to still the whole room. “Hell of a thing,” he says, eyes locked on my father. “Watching a man of God stand there and do nothing while his daughter is dragged out in her worst moment.”

My father’s jaw trembles, but he doesn’t speak.

Brayden steps closer, fury simmering just under the surface. “You talk about saving souls, preaching love and protection—but when she needs you?” He shakes his head, disgust cutting sharp. “You choose to be silent.”