Page 49 of Catching Flynn

Zavier had shown up in more ways than one. Flynn wasn’t suddenly fixed, but he was no longer alone. Zavier had given touch to someone who had been deprived of the basic human need for far too long. He didn’t just accept that Flynn operated like a caffeinated squirrel, Zavier adored it. Adored everything about Flynn.

And this asshole was trying to rip that away.

“I should thank you.” Flynn glared at him.

Melvin’s jaw twitched. “About damn time.”

Flynn had never wanted so badly to slap the spit of someone, but Melvin the mailman made his palm itch. Flynn needed that wine. And his mate.

“But I’m curious as to why you want to thank me.”

That smug smile pushed Flynn over the finish line. “If you hadn’t been a delusional asshole, stalking someone instead of having the balls to make your interests known to their face, I wouldn’t have needed a bodyguard.”

Melvin grabbed for Flynn’s shirt, fingers catching in the fabric near his throat, and tried to yank him forward. Flynn drove his knee up on pure instinct. It connected somewhere useful because Melvin grunted and doubled just enough for Flynn to claw at his face.

Adele screamed.

The sound ripped through the store.

Books toppled from a display when Melvin slammed Flynn backward. Flynn hit a shelf shoulder-first, pain jolting down his arm. Before Melvin could pin him, Flynn snatched the nearest hardback and swung.

The book cracked against Melvin’s temple with a deeply satisfying thud.

Flynn gasped, scrambling back. He didn’t regret a single word he’d said, just wished he’d done with muscly backup. In the store, not on the phone somewhere.

Melvin snarled and came at him harder.

This time the hit drove Flynn to the floor. His elbow banged wood. Breath shot from his lungs. Melvin’s weight crashed down half over him, fingers going for Flynn’s throat.

Then the weight vanished.

One blink ago, Melvin had been on him. The next, he was ripped off so fast Flynn only caught a blur of motion and the ugly crack of a body hitting wood. A shelf shuddered. Hardcovers spilled in a clattering avalanche.

Melvin swung wildly, but Zavier caught the arm and drove him into the endcap hard enough to rattle the entire display. A framed sign dropped and shattered somewhere behind the counter. Adele cried out again from the back hall, a frightened, muffled sound that made everything feel even more unreal.

Jesus Christ. This was happening.

Melvin tried to scramble free. Zavier hit him again.

There was nothing messy or panicked about it. Zavier moved with terrifying efficiency, each strike quick and brutal. Melvin got one hand up, got half a step, and then Zavier slammed him across the counter edge so hard the register rattled and a cup of pens went skittering to the floor.

Flynn’s stomach lurched.

“Zavier—” The name came out rough and useless.

Another blow. Melvin sagged.

Then Zavier drove him to the floor and pinned him there with a forearm across his throat while the other hand twisted his wrist back at an angle that made Flynn’s own shoulder ache in sympathy. Melvin thrashed once, twice, then started choking on a wet, ugly sound.

For one terrible beat, Flynn thought Zavier might kill him.

The sight froze Flynn where he knelt among fallen books and dust and pain.

“Zavier.” This time Flynn’s voice cracked. “Stop.”

The store went tight and strange around the edges. The air conditioner hummed overhead. Adele was still somewhere in the back, silent now. Outside, a truck rolled past and the ordinary sound of it felt obscene.

At last, Zavier let go.