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"You know what this is about," I saw, low and deadly as we circle each other. "You saw Delia and me at the trail and went to tattle to your old friend, Brody, right? Not only that, you had to run your mouth to the force too. As if I didn't give you a job just because you hung around my son in high school."
"Sir, it wasn't like that," Trevor tries to explain.
"Bullshit. Now you're going to learn."
I strike, hard and fast. He manages to get his hands up in defense, but he's already losing ground. I could do this the right way, but that's not what I'm feeling right now. I look at Trevor, knowing that he thought he and Brody could take me down, damage my reputation as the chief of police, and fury roars through me.
The next strike takes him in the jaw, and he stumbles. I take him to the ground easily, and he looks up, fear in his eyes.
"Now you listen to me, and you listen well," I growl. "You're done running your mouth about things that are none of your damn business. You're also done spreading lies about me. The only thing I'm doing is dating someone who knows my son, and even then, she's a grown woman.”
I press the bar of my forearm against his neck, just enough to make fear fill his eyes. “Say you’re sorry, you little fucker.”
"I’m sorry sir, please!” he pleads, the pressure making him struggle.
"I won't go to jail for killing someone, but you're starting to make me want to." No one else can hear me but him, and the way he's shaking in my grasp makes him even more pathetic. "This is your last warning, Trevor. If I catch wind of another rumor or hear a word about you running your mouth about me or the people I care about, I'll fire you. And no one else will hire you. Maybe because you're blacklisted or maybe because you're six feet under. Got it?"
He nods quickly, his face turning red.
"Good. You're dismissed. I expect you to be on security guard duty in fifteen minutes."
"Yes, sir."
I push off him, standing up and wiping my hands off on my slacks. Trevor leaves in a hurry, and the combat trainer looks at me in shock.
"Is everything alright, sir?"
I shrug. "Just giving him a lesson. No harm done."
"Yes, sir."
"Good training, soldier," I say, walking away. "Keep it up."
"Thank you, sir!"
I exit the gym, shaking my head. I know no one will talk about me or Delia anymore, and if they do, they're a dead man walking. I grab my shirt and hat on the way out, not saying a word to anyone as I leave.
There’s a gorgeous woman waiting for me at home. Right now, that is priority number one.
I freeze when I see her, the duffle bag she had shown up with weeks ago open on my bed—our bed—as she shoves her clothes in it.
I can't stop the growl that starts in my throat, and Delia jumps, turning around to face me. Her face drains of color, except for the red of her eyes. It's clear she's been crying, and despite how angry I am that she thinks she can leave me, my chest feels tight at the thought of her here crying all alone.
"What do you think you're doing?" I demand.
"Brody posted everything on social media," she sniffles. "Everything, Dean! And he tagged the bakery I work at in the post!" She dabs at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater as she tears up again. "Do you know how many people wanted that job and how hard I had to work to get it? It's one of the most prestigious bakeries in the country, and now when people search it, they're going to get to see all of my dirty laundry."
Rage flares in me, but not at Delia. At fucking Brody. "You didn't answer my question."
"I'm going home to try and mitigate damage. This...this has been wonderful, Dean, but it was just a dream. And with Christmas coming up..."
I stalk towards her. "Princess, when I said you were mine, I meant it."
There's a stiffness to her shoulders, but she doesn't look surprised. "I know...but how can I move my entire life here after just a few weeks? I feel so strongly about you, but that's just crazy!"
“Is it?”
“Yes!”
