Page 46 of You Owe Me

“And now you’re on his radar. Officially. That punch might’ve felt good, but it’s going to cost you something.”

Maverick meets my eyes, steady and completely unapologetic. “I’ll pay it.”

Before I can respond, our server appears timidly beside our table, a dish towel-wrapped bag of ice trembling in her hands.

“Um... here.” She doesn’t quite make eye contact as she places it in front of Maverick. “For your... uh, knuckles.”

“Thanks,” Maverick replies calmly, as if he didn’t just commit assault fifteen feet from the soda machine.

She scurries away like her life depends on it, and I lean across the table, lowering my voice. “What the hell was that? Seriously. You’re not a caveman.”

He presses the ice to his knuckles, wincing slightly at the contact. “No. But he put his hands on you. He ignored you saying no. He knew I was sitting right here, and he still did it.” His voice is quiet but intense. “That’s not flirting, Ainsley. That’s a power play. And he lost.”

I want to argue with him. Want to lecture him about impulse control and proper conflict resolution and all the reasons why violence isn’t the answer.

But I can’t.

Because he’s right.

Because for all his flaws and fury and fist-throwing idiocy, Maverick was the only one who saw Carter for exactly what he is and acted accordingly. The only one who stepped in when words failed and boundaries meant nothing.

Still—

“This is gonna get worse before it gets better,” I say softly, watching him flex his bruised knuckles.

He nods once, matter-of-fact. “Yeah. But at least now he knows.”

“Knows what?”

“That there are consequences.” His eyes meet mine, and there’s something fierce and protective there that makes my chest tight. “That I meant what I said. That he can’t just take whatever he wants.”

I nod, too, and for a moment, we just sit there in the wreckage of what used to be a semi-peaceful date night. The restaurant slowly returns to normal volume around us, people pretending not to stare, pretending they didn’t just witness the opening shot of what is now, officially, war.

And me? I lean back against the booth and try to pretend my pulse isn’t still hammering in my throat. Pretend I’m not scared of what Carter will do next. Pretend I don’t already know that whatever’s coming, Maverick won’t be able to punch his way out of it.

But he’ll try anyway.

Because that’s what he does: He protects what’s his.

Even if it breaks him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rumor has it, she's about to make a deal with the devil.

Ainsley

The fire station smells like industrial soap and burnt coffee, which is weirdly comforting right now when everything else in my life feels like it’s spinning off its axis. I need Bostic. I need his steady voice and his practical advice and his ability to make me feel like the world isn’t actively imploding around me.

What I don’t need is Sebastian and Rowan sitting at the poker table with Luke and Davis, cards spread between them like they’re planning to be here all night.

“Hey, Ainsley!” Luke calls out when he sees me hovering in the doorway. “Come to watch your boy’s friends lose their rent money?”

“Something like that,” I mutter, forcing a smile that feels like it might crack my face in half.

Bostic looks up from his cards, and I can see the exact moment he clocks my expression. His eyes narrow slightly, not suspicious, just concerned. He knows me well enough to recognize the difference between my usual chaos and actual distress.

“Everything okay?” He sets his cards face down.

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