Page 2

I feel the exact moment Dylan spots us.

It's like a cold finger tracing down my spine, the same feeling I've had since this whole nightmare started. Lilly freezes beside me, her earlier joy evaporating like morning dew under a harsh sun.

But this time, something's different. This time, we're not alone.

Tank stands at my side, a human fortress of muscle and intent.

The carnival lights play across his tattooed forearms and the hard planes of his face.

I've known him for all of thirty minutes, and already I understand why Lilly speaks of her brother with such confidence.

He radiates controlled violence. The kind that doesn't explode randomly but strikes with precision when needed.

"That's him," I murmur unnecessarily. "Coming this way."

Tank gives a nearly imperceptible nod. "Got him."

Dylan weaves through the crowd, his face lighting up with that fake smile I've grown to hate—the one that never reaches his eyes. Those eyes only show one thing when he looks at Lilly: possession.

"Should we move?" Lilly whispers, her hand finding mine and squeezing.

"No," Tank and I answer simultaneously. I clear my throat. "We stand our ground. You've done nothing wrong."

Tank shifts slightly, positioning himself half a step in front of us, but not completely blocking our view. It's a protective stance but not possessive, a distinction that doesn't escape my notice.

"Lilly!" Dylan calls out, his voice carrying that forced cheerfulness that makes my skin crawl. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

He slows as he approaches, finally registering Tank's presence. The hesitation is brief but telling. A predator recognizing a larger threat.

"Who's your friend?" he asks, eyes narrowing as he takes in Tank's cut and patches.

Before Lilly can answer, I step forward. "This is Tank, Lilly's brother. He's visiting for a few days."

I don't miss the way Dylan's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. Good. Let him be nervous.

"Brother?" Dylan recovers quickly, extending his hand. "Great to meet you, man. I'm Dylan Thomas, Lilly's boyfriend."

"Ex-boyfriend," Lilly says firmly. "We broke up three months ago, Dylan."

Tank doesn't take the offered hand. His face remains impassive as he stares Dylan down, saying nothing. I've never seen silence used as a weapon before, but Tank wields it masterfully. Dylan's hand eventually drops, his confident facade cracking slightly.

"Right, well, we're just taking a break," Dylan says with a forced laugh. "Working through some things."

"No, we're not," Lilly counters, her voice stronger with her brother beside her. "I've told you repeatedly it's over."

Dylan's eyes harden for a split second before the mask slips back into place. "Baby, you're confused. We belong together." He steps forward, reaching for her arm.

Tank moves so fast I barely register it. Suddenly he's between them, Dylan's wrist caught in his massive hand before it can touch Lilly.

"She said no," Tank says, his voice deceptively quiet. "Where I come from, that means something."

The nearby fairgoers sense the tension and give our little group a wider berth. The sounds of the carnival continue around us—the calliope music, children laughing, barkers calling out to play games—but it all seems to fade into background noise as these two men square off.

"Look, I don't know what Lilly's told you," Dylan starts, trying to pull his wrist free. Tank releases him with such suddenness that Dylan stumbles back. "But we had a misunderstanding. I love your sister."

"Love doesn't slash tires," I interject, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. "Love doesn't break into someone's home. And love definitely doesn't leave dead roses on pillows."

Dylan's face darkens. "You should stay out of this, Katty. You've been poisoning her against me from the beginning."

"No, I've been witnessing what you've been doing to her," I counter. "There's a difference."

I feel Tank's gaze shift to me briefly, assessing. I've been dealing with Dylan's bullshit for months, standing beside Lilly when the sheriff dismissed her concerns, when the locksmith came to change her locks, when she cried herself to sleep on my couch. I'm done being polite about it.

"You bought a gun, Dylan," Lilly says, her voice trembling slightly. "Why would you do that if you love me?"

Dylan's expression changes, becomes almost boyish. "For protection, baby. This county's getting dangerous. I want to keep you safe."

"Safe from what?" Tank asks, his voice rumbling like distant thunder.

"You know, just... things happen." Dylan shifts uncomfortably. "Anyway, Lilly, I came to invite you to the fireworks tonight. They're setting up by the lake. Remember last year? How perfect it was?"

The manipulation is so transparent it makes me want to scream. Last year at the fair, they had just started dating. Before the control issues emerged. Before the stalking began.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Lilly states firmly. "Not tonight, not ever."

Dylan's face twists for a moment before he controls it. "You're making a scene, Lil. Let's talk privately."

"No," I say at the same time Tank says, "Not happening."

Dylan finally seems to realize the situation isn't going his way. His eyes meet mine, and the hatred there sends a chill through me. Then he looks at Tank, sizing him up with a newfound calculation.

"Fine," he says eventually, hands raised in mock surrender. "I get it. Bad timing with your... brother in town." He manages to make the word sound like a question. "I'll catch you later, Lilly. When you're not surrounded by your guard dogs."

He backs away, that plastic smile returning. "Enjoy the fair. The Ferris wheel's running all night." His eyes linger on Lilly. "Our spot will be waiting."

With that parting shot, he turns and disappears into the crowd.

"Jesus," Lilly breathes once he's gone, her shoulders sagging. "That was—"

"That was him on his best behavior," I finish for her. "Because Tank was here."

Tank's eyes are still tracking Dylan through the crowd. "He's circling back," he observes. "Watching from the ring toss booth."

I'm impressed by his awareness. Most people wouldn't have noticed.

"He'll keep his distance for now," I say. "He doesn't like confrontation where he might not win."

Tank turns to me, his dark eyes intense. "Tell me everything. Not the sanitized version. Everything."

For a moment, I'm caught off guard by the directness of his gaze.

Tank is nothing like I expected. From Lilly's stories, I'd pieced together an image of a rough biker with more muscle than sense.

The man before me is certainly dangerous, but there's an intelligence in his eyes that surprises me—a calculating awareness that misses nothing.

"Maybe we should get something to eat?" Lilly suggests, looking between us. "I'm starving, and we can fill you in while we eat."

It's her way of trying to normalize the situation, to reclaim some of the fair experience that Dylan just tainted. I know this because it's what we've been doing for months, finding moments of normalcy in between the chaos he creates.

"Food sounds good," I agree. "The BBQ stand by the auction barn is decent."

Tank nods, but his eyes sweep the crowd one more time. "Lead the way. But stay close."

As we walk through the fairgrounds, I can't help but notice how people react to Tank. Some stare openly, others avert their eyes. A few men puff up as if preparing for confrontation, then think better of it. It's like watching wildlife respond to an apex predator.

"Your town isn't used to visitors like me," Tank observes quietly, close enough that only I can hear.

"Sweetheart County likes to think it's all sunshine and apple pie," I reply. "But trust me, there's plenty of darkness here. It just wears polo shirts and has family names on buildings."

His mouth quirks slightly. Not quite a smile, but close enough that I feel oddly accomplished for causing it.

At the BBQ stand, Tank insists on paying despite Lilly's protests. We find a picnic table somewhat removed from the main crowd, giving us privacy to talk. I watch as Tank positions himself with his back to the solid wall of the auction barn, eyes still scanning periodically.

"Always aware of exits and sight lines," I observe as I sit across from him. "Military?"

He looks mildly surprised at my question. "Four years. Marines. How'd you know?"

"My dad was Army," I explain. "Same habits."

Lilly returns with extra napkins and sits beside me.

Tank's gaze lingers on me a moment longer before he turns to his food. "So. Dylan Thomas. Start from the beginning."

As we eat, Lilly recounts the relationship, with me filling in details she glosses over. How Dylan seemed perfect at first. Charming, attentive, generous. How things changed gradually. First with texts checking her whereabouts, then "surprise" visits at work, then accusations about male friends.

"Classic isolation tactics," I add. "He even convinced her to switch yoga studios because her instructor was male."

Tank listens intently, his expression darkening with each new detail. When Lilly mentions finding Dylan sitting in her apartment when she got home from work—despite having never given him a key—his knuckles whiten around his plastic fork.

"The police said there was no sign of forced entry," Lilly explains. "They suggested I might have left the door unlocked."

"Or he made a copy of your key earlier in the relationship," Tank counters.

"That's what I said," I agree, meeting his eyes.

The connection is brief but potent. Two people seeing the same threat clearly.

By the time we finish eating, the sun has set completely, and the fairgrounds are transformed by thousands of twinkling lights. In another circumstance, it might be magical. Tonight, the shadows between those lights seem deeper, more threatening.

"The gun is what worries me most," I admit. "Dylan's always been about control, but that's escalation."

Tank nods. "Where does he live?"

"About fifteen minutes from here," Lilly answers. "One of his father's properties, a condo development on the lake."

"And his daily routine?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Gathering intel?"

Tank's expression doesn't change. "Information is always useful."

Before I can respond, fireworks explode overhead, the first test shots before the main show. The boom resonates in my chest, and I notice how both Tank and Lilly tense at the sound, though likely for different reasons.

"Speaking of useful information," I say, "the fireworks mean it's almost nine. They'll be starting the main show in about twenty minutes, down by the lake."

"Dylan mentioned the fireworks specifically," Lilly says nervously. "Should we leave?"

I glance at Tank, curious about his assessment.

"No," he says finally. "We stay. But we watch the fireworks from somewhere with clear sight lines and multiple exits."

"I know just the place," I offer. "The hill by the 4-H building. We can see everything from there, and there's a service road behind it if we need to leave quickly."

Tank's eyes lock with mine again, and this time there's something beyond tactical appreciation in them. Something that makes my pulse quicken in a way that has nothing to do with the possible danger.

"Smart thinking," is all he says, but the weight of his gaze carries more.

As we stand to leave, I catch movement in my peripheral vision. Dylan, standing near the Ferris wheel, watching us. He doesn't try to hide this time, just stares openly, his face illuminated by another burst of test fireworks.

Tank notices my distraction and follows my gaze. His body shifts, angling between us and Dylan.

"He's not going to give up easily," I say quietly.

"Neither am I," Tank responds, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear.

And as we make our way toward the hill, I realize I'm caught between two immovable forces. Dylan's obsession and Tank's protection. One fills me with dread, the other with something dangerously close to hope.

The night is far from over, and as another firework explodes overhead, I can't shake the feeling that it's not the only thing about to ignite at the Sweetheart County Fair.