Page 57 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

She crouched beside me, silent and focused, patting down one of the men with practiced efficiency.

“Phone,” she said, handing it to me. “It's locked, though.”

I shoved it into my back pocket. “We’ll get Eddie to work on it later.”

The door opened, and Eddie returned, dragging the last guy by the collar like he was hauling a sack of potatoes. The man’s head lolled, eyelids fluttering.

“Still breathing,” Eddie reported. “Might not be for long if he wakes up smelling like that.”

"I didn't technically do anything to him," Gabby admitted. "It might be the stench that knocked him out."

We secured him to the others, lining them up along the far wall with their hands zip-tied and their weapons collected and stored on the opposite end of the room.

Gabby sat back on her heels, wiping her forehead with the back of her arm. “Okay,” she exhaled. “They’re down. What now?”

I glanced at Eddie, then at her. “Now we keep them here, and we wait.”

“For what?” she asked, her voice tight.

“For the others to realize their buddies aren’t coming back.”

Gabby nodded, her jaw tense. “And when they do?”

I looked her in the eye. “Then we finish this.”

We went quiet for a beat, the only sounds the creak of the floorboards and the faint rustle of wind outside the windows.

As Eddie finished checking the three men, I turned to Gabby. She was still near the doorway, Tinkerbell tucked away, breathing a little faster than usual. There was a flush in hercheeks that I figured was from adrenaline, and her hands trembled just enough for me to notice.

I stepped over and caught one of them gently. “You okay?” I asked, my voice low.

She nodded, but the movement was automatic—detached, like her mind was still catching up. I didn’t let go of her, not yet. My eyes moved over her quickly, searching for anything out of place. Thankfully, there were no visible wounds. Still, I gently turned her hand over, checking for cuts or bruises, then glanced down at her knees, making sure she hadn’t scraped or injured herself in the chaos.

“You didn’t get hit or cut?”

“No,” she murmured. “Just got elbowed a few times. Nothing serious.”

I let out a slow breath and pulled her into me before I had the chance to overthink it. She came without hesitation, her arms sliding around my waist as she rested her cheek against my chest. I wrapped both arms around her, grounding myself in the solid weight of her—in the simple, overwhelming truth that she was still here. Still standing. Still breathing. Still safe.

I dipped my head and pressed my forehead to hers, holding it there for a moment before brushing a quick kiss against her lips. But when her hands tightened against my back, I kissed her again—slower and deeper this time. It wasn’t driven by hunger or heat but by something far more powerful: sheer, overwhelming relief.

Behind us, zip ties snapped with practiced precision.

“Do you two want me to leave the room,” Eddie said dryly, “so you can make some more fighting noises again?”

Gabby pulled back from the kiss and groaned, her forehead falling against my chest. “Eddie,” she muttered, “could you just hush.”

I chuckled and kissed the top of her head, still holding her close. Eddie smirked but kept working, stacking the three unconscious intruders like cordwood along the far wall.

“Just sayin’, some of us are trying to work over here, and I’d like to not hear trauma being processed through creative moaning.”

Gabby turned her head and glared at him. “Do you want to be force-fed expired catfish, too?”

That shut him up, at least for a few seconds. I held her a little longer before finally letting go, brushing a thumb along her jaw before stepping back.

“You did good, Gabby.”

She smirked faintly. “I almost vomited on a guy and still managed to kick him unconscious. I feel like I deserve a merit badge.”

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