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“Charge what you want, Black, you have carte blanche to put this guy away as long as you can. In fact, I’ll give you a million-dollar bonus if it’s over twenty-five years,” I told him.

Ronan chuckled. “Challenge accepted.” He pushed the leaflet he’d taken out of his briefcase toward Officer Preston. It read:

The Law Won:

A Guide to Understanding Your Charges

“Now, if that’s all, I’ll be catching a flight back to New York. I’ll follow up with the rest of the victims from my office and come back to brief you on things. I called the cops on the way in, so they should be here any minute now.”

“You don’t need to come all the way out here. I’m in New York often.”

“Believe it or not, you’re not the only client I have in this little town.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Who else lives here that requires services like yours?”

A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “Let’s just say, you’d know him if you’d met him.”

And then he was striding toward the exit.

I turned back to Officer Preston and relaxed in my seat, leaning an arm along the back of the booth. Preston had gone an alarming shade of white, with a mottled red creeping up hisneck. Maybe the wanker would do us all a favor and drop dead. What a shame that would be.

“So, I take it that we understand each other?”

Preston was quiet a second and then drew a ragged breath. “You’re doing all this why? For her? That whore?”

“Be careful, Preston. You can go to jail with or without functioning limbs.”

“I’m serious, man. You’re a Sinclair. You’re a billionaire, and yet, you choose her… when you could have anyone. You choose those damaged goods—is there something wrong with you?”

I’d been calm. I’d been controlled. I’d made sure that justice was coming for this fucker, and yet, his words flipped the lid on a simmering anger that I hadn’t realized was festering just below the surface.

I chuckled, but it was dark and furious. “You just insist on running your mouth. Too dumb to shut the fuck up.”

And I lost it.

I lashed out with my feet first. Kicking forward hard, taking Preston in the stomach. He doubled over as I straightened up and rounded the table and smashed my fist into his face. Again and again, I hit him. The diner had gone silent, everyone watching, no one trying to stop me.

I grabbed him by the collar and wrenched him up to look in his eyes.

“You want to take advantage of vulnerable women? I’m sure the big boys in prison will feel the same way about you. Just think of them when the same happens to you. You made a mistake thatwill cost you the rest of your life when you decided to mess with her,” I snarled at him. My self-control was long gone, broken into a thousand pieces in the gutter. I hit him again, enjoying the way his nose burst and his lip split.

Preston muttered something thick and wet. I almost couldn’t make it out.

He repeated it after spitting blood to the side.

“Why her?” he asked through his bleeding mouth.

“Because, she is mine. Mine to have, mine to keep, mine to fucking protect. You didn’t just mess with her. You messed with me. You messed with the Sinclairs. For that, you’ll pay the price for the rest of your days.”

“Brody!” Hands pulled me back. Cal was in my face, wresting me away from Preston.

The red haze that had lowered over my vision gradually cleared.

Preston was out cold, lying in a pool of blood. People were pressed against the wall in the diner, giving us a wide berth and desperately trying to avoid trouble.

“Brody!” Cal shouted again.

Gradually, my rage faded enough to hear his words.