Page 4 of Dirty Delivery

My stomach twists when I notice a car I haven’t seen before in her driveway, a brand-new Maserati Levante gleaming under the streetlights. Its sleek design screams money, the kind that doesn’t typically park in this neighborhood. Suspicion bubbles up, and I lean closer to get a good look at the plates already planning to text Ty for a background check. He works for the family handling all of our behind the scenes tech and hacking work. If you ever need to do some digging on a potential hit or transfer money to an overseas bank account, Ty is your guy.

But no luck. My annoyance spikes when I see paper plates from the dealership still clinging to the bumper. No numbers to run, no leads to chase. Great. Whoever owns this car hasn’t had time to register it or doesn’t want to be traced. Regardless, it’s only adding to the unease gnawing at my gut.

There’s no harm in taking a quick look around, right, just a peek to make sure everything’s fine. Odds are, I’ll find her passed out on the couch with the TV playing some old rom-com. At least that’s what I’m telling myself as I step out of the van and make my way to her porch, each step heavier than the last.

A muffled crash comes from inside followed by a choked sob. My stomach twists in fear. I don’t even consider what I’ll say if she opens the door and finds me standing here randomly showing up at her house in the middle of the night on a Friday. I knock once hard and wait. Nothing.

"Savannah", I call out, pressing my ear to the door. Another sound of a struggle more frantic this time. Panic claws at my chest.

I try the knob. Locked. Of course.

Panic sets in as I urgently search the porch for a spare key—under the mat, inside the planter—nothing. My mind races, and without thinking, I step back and slam my foot into the door. The wood splinters on the second try giving way under the force.

What I see inside makes my blood run cold.

Savannah is pinned to the couch, her arms flailing as a tall, broad-shouldered man looms over her, his weight pressing her into the cushions. His dark hair is slicked back, his sharp features wicked with a cruel sneer, and the expensive cologne he reeks of only adds to his air of entitlement. Her face is twisted in terror. Her voice hoarse from screaming. Adrenaline takes over, and I don’t think. I just act.

"Get the fuck off her," I roar, grabbing the guy by the collar and yank him off with enough force to send him crashing to the floor. He scrambles to his feet, but I’m faster. I land a punch to his jaw that sends him falling backwards against her tv stand.

He tries to get up again, but one look at my face must change his mind. "You’re fucking crazy," he spits, clutching his jaw. "She asked me to come over."

"And she told you to stop," I growl, advancing on him and punch him square in the face one last time. It leaves him in a heap on the ground, unconscious for now.

"Savannah," I say gently and crouch down to her level. "Are you okay? Did he—"

She shakes her head. Her round face is stained with tear tracks marring her perfect skin, and her lower lip trembles ever so slightly. "No. He didn’t. You—you got here in time."

Relief washes over me, but it’s fleeting. I need to get Savannah somewhere safe first, then I’ll deal with whoever thought they had the right to lay a hand on her. She may not be my girl yet, but she will be. She just doesn’t know it.

Chapter Four

Rylan

Savannah passes out in my arms before I can even get her out the front door. I don’t blame her. After everything she’s been through tonight it’s a miracle she held it together as long as she did. Her breathing is steady now and her head rests against my chest like she’s finally found a moment’s peace.

She can’t stay at her house tonight after what just happened, not with him still inside. Not to mention, I broke the lock on her door when I slammed it in. There’s no way she’ll be safe there tonight, not like that.

Carefully, I maneuver her into the van, laying her across the bench seat in the back. I grab a blanket from the emergency kitand drape it over her. She doesn’t stir, completely out cold. Her face is pale; her lashes flutter slightly like she’s dreaming. My chest tightens at the sight of her.

“Safe for now,” I murmur to myself, but the knot in my stomach doesn’t loosen. I glance back at the house, my jaw tightens as the what-ifs claw at me. I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened if I hadn’t driven by tonight. If someone else had found her first—or worse, if no one had found her at all—how long would she have been left helpless and alone? The thought sends a cold shiver down my spine and grips me with unsettling dread. The possibilities play on a loop in my mind, vivid and sickening. Each one fuels the urgency that still courses through my veins.

Time to clean up the mess I’ve made.

The inside of her living room feels heavier than before, like the air itself presses down on me. The guy—whoever the hell he is— still lies sprawled out on the floor where I left him, but now there’s blood, a dark, wet pool beneath his head, stark against the hardwood.

“Shit,” I hiss as I step closer. My boots stick slightly to the floor, the sound pulling my focus to the source. That’s when I see it.

The marble French bulldog statue that was perched on her TV stand now lies on the floor. Its once-pristine surface now smeared with red. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened. When I knocked him out his head must’ve slammed into it. Hard.

Too hard.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” My heart races as I crouch down and check his pulse even though I already know it’s pointless. He’s gone, fully, completely dead. And in Savannah’s house, no less.

Panic bubbles up, but I shove it down. This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with something like this, though it’s usually because ofmy family’s business, not a woman I... what exactly? Care about? Am drawn to? Can’t stop thinking about? The uncertainty gnaws at me. She’s not just some passing interest, but defining what she means to me feels like stepping into quicksand. All I know is she’s under my skin in a way no one else ever has been and the thought of something going wrong tonight twists my stomach in ways I didn’t think possible. The stakes feel different, higher.

I pull out my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I find the name I’m looking for, Sam.

Sam’s been the family’s cleaner for years. If anyone can make this go away, it’s him. He doesn’t live too far from here which makes him the best option for the job. The rising need to make sure Savannah is safe overrides my caution. I need this to stay off the books, so I have no other choice but to trust him. The last thing I need is for Declan to hear about this. He'd never let me live it down. I can already hear the teasing:"Getting soft, are we? Or is she just that special?"Nope, not giving him that ammo.

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