“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, the chill in his voice startling as he tentatively stepped forward, like he was expecting me to bolt or cower.

Though this was a rather frightening version of Rowan, I wasn’t scared of him. Not what he’d do to me, at least.

I shook my head slowly, deciding not to mention the throbbing in the back of my skull.

We were silent for a long while. Or at least what felt like a long while before he gingerly pulled me into his arms.

I didn’t relax, not entirely.

Rowan opened his mouth to say something, but someone entered the hall. Kip, looking worried—likely on my account.

“Holy fuck,” Kip muttered, staring at me then Rowan then Ronnie on the floor.

I worried for a second that Ronnie was dead, but then he rolled over, groaning in pain, and I sank back in relief.

Rowan was not relieved, not even a little, holding me tighter.

“Take care of this,” he told Kip, angling his head to Ronnie. “I’m taking Nora home.”

“Got it,” Kip replied without humor for once, staring at Ronnie with a hard, dangerous glare.

“When you say, ‘take care of,’ you don’t mean kill, right?” I clarified as Rowan tried to drag me away.

Rowan’s mouth was a grim line and not at all reassuring.

“You need to get home.”

I planted myself in place. “You don’t mean kill, right?” I asked again, my molars grinding.

“No, I don’t mean kill him,” Rowan gritted out, sounding somewhat irritated. Which made no sense since I didn’t think that asking my boyfriend not to kill someone was a particularly irritating request.

Once I had his word, I let Rowan guide me out of the bar, somewhat dazed and still a lot drunk.

The air outside was biting, causing me to realize I had left my jacket somewhere. Rowan hadn’t hesitated to drape his jacket around my shoulders. It smelled like him.

It wasn’t until we approached Rowan’s truck, so familiar, his hand on my back, that I remembered my plan, that I remembered how I was going to self-destruct.

I stopped moving my feet. Rowan stopped too.

“You can go now,” I told him flatly, staring at his face but only seeing the general shape. I was careful not to focus on his eyes. “You’ve saved the day again; no harm will come to me. Fiona can pick me up.”

“What the fuck, Nora?” he growled. “No harm will come to you?” He threw out his hand toward my neck. “Harm has already fuckin’ come to you.”

I shrugged. “It’s a bruise. I’m not dead.”

Dead was a heavy word, and it tasted acidic on my tongue, mingling with the aftermath of the spirits I drank.

“Nora, we’re going to the police station right fucking now,” Rowan bit out, blood leaking off his knuckles onto the concrete.

I noted that absently, same with his demeanor, the violence he’d unleashed earlier. The violence that had been unleashed upon me. Ronnie was angry. And willing to hurt me. Truly hurt me.