I blinked at him. “It’s okay.”

The hand on the couch moved up to pluck the ice pack from my grasp. Dex’s face shuttered down. Something indescribable flickered in his bright blue eyes, something that was related to fury and a distant cousin to murder.

That added in with his tone, scared me. “Tell me.”

“Those guys came in and hurt Blake. Then they told me that if my dad doesn't pay them back by tomorrow they’ll return.” And finish the job, whatever the job was—me dying or something equally brutal. Not that I would ever say that to him.

Dex’s head dipped toward mine, his eyes not losing an ounce of that dark emotion that swam behind them. “What did they do?” he asked me in a whisper.

I was torn between giving him a shortened version and the truth. I figured both would somehow blow up in my face. The expression I must have made was a sign to Dex that I wasn’t telling him something because his hand reached up to trace my jaw, his eyes locked on what I could imagine was the swelling red mark on my cheek.

I didn’t want to worry him, but I knew if I didn’t tell him what happened, he’d be more pissed about it later.

“He grabbed my hair when I was on the chair and he yanked me off of it,” I told him honestly. I could see by his bulging Adam's apple that he swallowed hard. “Then he slapped me.” I sucked in a breath, letting that wild fear creep over my shoulders. He pressed a gun to my face, I wanted to tell him but I couldn't convince myself to say the words out loud.

Dex’s mood shot through the room like a live current. His face hardened, his posture stiffened, and I swear he even stopped breathing. Molecules in the air paused in deference to him.

But instead of saying or doing anything, he dipped his mouth to mine in a press of a gentle kiss. A lingering kiss that made me forget my head hurt because it made everything else feel better.

“I’ll get one of the guys to bring you some Advil,” Dex whispered, kissing my jaw with a tenderness he so rarely possessed.

It was right then that I noticed his hand was shaking—trembling. He kissed me once more right next to my eye, careful not to hurt me.

Dex took his time getting to his feet, his movement was steady and level but there was something off about him.

"Where are you going?" I asked, scanning his face. That look in his eyes wasn't right. It was savage and unruly, and it made my heart clench even harder.

"I'm gonna go take care of this," he said, eyes flashing up to the ceiling.

Oh crap. Panic nudged at me. Worry over what in the world this man was going to do if he left. In that split second, I couldn't have cared any less about what happened back at the parlor. Not if Dex was going to go do something stupid. "Charlie."

"Babe," he growled. "I need you to feel better. Sit down."

I reached out and grabbed his hand, threading my fingers through his in a tight squeeze. "Don't do anything." I tugged on his hand. "It's fine. I'm fine. Really. I'll figure something out so that they can't find me."

"You're not goin' anywhere." It was stated. Demanded. His Adam's apple bobbed with hard swallows, his muscles tightened and loosened twice.

"Dex, please," I begged him. "Please. If you get in trouble with the cops again..." A sob was lodged deep in my chest. "Don't go." My heart was going to shatter. It was getting julienned by what-ifs.

He ground his teeth together, a vein in his neck bulging. “Don’t ask me to do nothin’, Ritz.”  His neck tipped up in barely controlled anger. “You want me to sit back and let them get away with this shit?”

“Dex—”

“Look what they did to you!” he snapped. His eyes flashed bright. “They hurt you. They put their hands on you. I can’t sit here and look at you with a clear conscience. I should’ve never let this happen.”

Oh my God. My heart did this dumb pitter-patter-clench thing in reaction to his words, to his conviction, his loyalty...everything.  I really was in love with this man. It was horrifying and amazing at the same time. I squeezed my fingers around his. “This wasn’t your fault, Dex. “

He scrunched his eyes together, blowing out a breath that made his lips flutter. Ticking his neck from side to side, he rolled his shoulders. “You’re my responsibility. You’re mine.  And I won’t stay here like some punk. I think I’d do anythin’ for you, believe me. But I won’t do this.” He pressed his lips to my forehead, his breath hot. “I gotta do this.”

I could have let him go. I could have just sat back and let him seek vengeance on my behalf, but I wouldn’t. Not that day, not the next or any month or year after that. Because the situation wasn’t worth the possibility of losing him, and I wasn’t above playing dirty. Saying what I needed to. Doing what I needed to.

"Please. Don't leave me, too," I whispered.

That statement must have hit home in his thick, stubborn skull. He blinked those brilliant blue eyes repeatedly before finally nodding slowly, as if it pained him. He lifted a hand to rest on my bad arm, pressed his lips to my forehead and let out a shuddered breath. It was a low move to say those words to him but I didn’t care when he finally spoke. "Lemme get you some Advil.”

I looked up at him as I sat down. Dex's eyes were fierce on Wheels's, his mouth curled cruelly. That fierce tension pumping through his veins returned with every second he communicated wordlessly with Wheels before he retreated. It wasn’t until he had turned to walk out of the room that that static he seemed to radiate expanded, tripled and quadrupled.

The next thing any of us knew, he’d grabbed one of the stools at the bar and thrown it across the room, where it met a loud, messy death with the wall. Dex roared. He friggin’ roared this guttural, primal noise that could have caused earthquakes. Dex tipped his face up, hands clenched at his sides. "Goddamn it!" he yelled, raking his hands through his hair.

Holy crap.

He grabbed another stool by the legs and launched it in the same direction. “Fuck!” exploded from his lungs.

With one final burst of noise, he disappeared through the door. Just like that.

And for some not so strange reason, I trusted him enough to not assume he’d lied to me.

"That went better than I expected," Slim sighed.

I pressed the ice pack to my face again and reached out with my free hand to grab his fingers. "I'm sorry about all of this."

I was sorry. But more than anything, in that moment, I was mainly really pissed off.

What in the hell was wrong with my dad? What kind of a selfish asshole would put other people at risk for his mess? And why in the universe would I have to be related to him? I knew it was unfair and maybe even a little mean but what he was doing eclipsed any of my thoughts. There was no way he didn't know what the friggin' Russians or Romanians or Croatians were capable of. This gang and mafia crap was on a level reserved for the books I read and movies I watched.

I was pissed. And now that even more people that I cared about had gotten involved, this felt all the more like my own personal battle. My own mess to fix. Obviously there was no way in hell those jerks would get their money the next day but if I left, nothing would happen, right?

It was a long shot but it was the only hope I had.

Slim tugged at my hand, squeezing the fingers he held. "It's not your fault."

"It is." I told him with a sigh. I felt terrible.

I needed to fix this.

It was Wheels that told me exactly what I needed to do. "You still don't know where Curt is?" he asked.

I did—now, at least. Luther's friend had found him blocks from the house we lived in back... back before everything had gone to hell when I was a kid.