Page 40 of Dissonance

“Fuck you, asshole.”

Zane moves fast, shoving Tyler hard enough that he stumbles backward, catching the railing, but the momentum carries him sideways, straight into Thea. She gasps as he collides with her, balance gone in an instant. I’m moving the second Zane’s hands leave Tyler’s chest, but I’m a step too far, a second too late.

Thea goes down, the thud, the scrape of her heels loud as she lands at the bottom, one hand cradled tight to her body, curled inward.

Everything inside me goes quiet. Focused.

I take in her position, the angle of her wrist, the way she’s breathing, shallow but steady, as she pushes herself upright, grimacing. Cooper appears, face draining of color when he sees her on the ground.

I spin around, and whatever Zane sees in my expression makes him step back.

“It was an accident,” he says, hands flying up. “It was like, what? Five steps?”

I’m on him before he can say another word. My fist closes around the front of his shirt, walking him backward until his head connects with the wall, my forearm banding across his throat. Not crushing, but enough pressure that he knows how fragile he is. His eyes widen, the bravado emptying out of them as terror floods in.

“Accident?” My voice is quiet, lethal even.

One movement and he’s flipped, face against the wall, arm wrenched up behind his back. He grunts in pain, folding in as his knees buckle. All of it—the posturing, the swagger, everything—gone. Two security guys appear in my peripheral vision, stopping when they see the hold, the angle, the way Zane’s already shaking and sweating.

“Get off—”

“One more word, boy,” I tell him, my threat a dangerous whisper in his ear, just between us, “and I’ll make sure you leave here charged with assault. And if you so much as breathe in her direction again”—I adjust the angle, just a fraction, and he whimpers—“you’ll need a goddamn surgeon.”

Nodding toward security, they take over, hauling him upright and dragging him outside.

Tyler stands to one side, hands wringing together, looking like he might be sick. Cooper’s a step behind him, both of them useless with horror.

“Oh God, Thea, I didn’t— I swear, I didn’t mean—”

“Back,” I bark, not looking at either of them.

I’m already crouching beside her, hands framing her face, thumbs brushing lightly along her cheeks as my eyes do the work—pupils, breathing, the way she’s holding her wrist.

“Look at me.”

“I’m fine.” She tries to push at my chest with her good hand, the smile she offers brittle around the edges. “It’s just a sprain.”

She goes to twist it, wincing the second she moves. I catch her hand before she can try again, fingers careful as I test the range myself.

“Don’t,” she hisses, pulling it back to cradle against her chest.

“We’re going to the hospital,” I say, hands moving to her elbow.

“Lachlan—”

“No.” I lean in, forehead nearly touching hers, voice dropped so only she can hear. “Don’t argue with me. Please. Not right now.”

Around us, the noise has dimmed to faint murmurs. Cooper’s still hovering, Tyler beside him, both of them wrecked. I don’t look at either of them, not when there’s only her.

“I can walk myself,” she insists as I help her up, stubborn even now as I guide her toward the exit.

“Aye. After they’ve checked you out.”

She huffs in frustration coated with ache. “You’re impossible.”

“So I’m told.”

I get one arm carefully around her shoulders, the other bracing her elbow, and she leans into me. My chest tightens, not from adrenaline or the job. I’ve spent my whole life placing myself between people and harm, because that’s what I do, what I’ve always done every day since I enlisted. But this—the way everything else in the room blurs, the way my body positions itself closer to her—this is different.