Page 195 of Menace in Vegas

He freezes. Pants fall from his lips. His chest heaves.

Peyton steps closer. Her voice is soft, but it cuts deeper than any blade. “He’s not worth it.”

Daltyn’s knuckles are slick with blood. His whole body vibrates with rage.

She raises her phone. “I’m calling 9-1-1.”

He breathes hard, then slowly lowers his hand. Blood dripping from his knuckles. Fury still burning behind his eyes.

But he steps back.

I ease Allie down on the ground. She’s shaking but conscious.

My entire body is one raw nerve.

And then I walk over to where he lies.

I stand over Landon, staring down at him with hatred and disgust. He’s bloodied, groaning, still somehow alive.

And I punch him square in the face. Hard.

“That,” I growl, “was for touching my wife.”

He slumps, out cold.

Gram shuffles up beside me like a gremlin godmother, sunglasses askew, robe flapping in the wind, margarita in hand.

She spits on Landon’s unconscious body. Then whacks him with her bag again.

“That’s what you get,” she mutters, “for messing with their women, loser.”

94

ALLISON

The flashing lights of the cruiser slice through gray skies.

Landon’s unconscious body is loaded into the back of an ambulance.

Officers swarm the scene.

A medic checks my neck while I try to steady my breathing, but the real damage isn’t physical.

It’s deeper. Quieter. Inside my head.

Connor’s hands are still shaking. He hasn’t let go of me.

I haven’t let go of him either.

* * *

We’re wrappedin blankets on the steps of the bungalow while the world blurs around us.

“He could’ve—” Connor’s voice breaks, raw and low. “You could’ve?—”

“I didn’t,” I whisper.

His eyes find mine like he’s still trying to believe I’m real. That I’m still here. “I almost lost you.”

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