“Princess, Princess, why you cut your wrists?”

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Maddox’s phone lit up beside the candle on the table, and the second he saw the name on the screen, his whole body stiffened. His thumb hovered over the screen for a second before answering, and when he spoke, it was low—dangerously calm.

“...Yeah?”

Silence.

Then a short reply in Spanish, sharp and clipped. When he hung up, his eyes flicked to hers—not panicked, but laser-focused. Already planning. Already moving.

“Get your bag, baby,” he said, voice soft but urgent. “We gotta go. Now.”

There was no time for questions. He threw down some cash on the table without even looking, grabbed her hand, and led her out the back of the restaurant like he’d memorized every exit just in case. The night air hit cold and sharp, and his hand never left her waist.

“I’m not leaving you behind,” he said before she could ask. “Not for this. Not ever.”

They walked fast—cutting through the kind of alleyways she’d normally avoid, past shadowed figures and flickering neon signs. Maddox didn’t say a word until they got to his car, unlocking it and helping her in like she was something fragile, even though everything about him screamed violence.

He drove fast. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on her thigh—firm, grounding. His jaw was clenched, his eyes scanning every car, every corner.

“Could’ve left you in the restaurant,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “But I don’t trust anyone with you. Not this city. Not these people. You stay with me, even when it gets ugly.”

They pulled into a run-down lot behind a condemned building—graffitied walls, broken windows, low thumping bass vibrating from somewhere inside. Men lingered near the entrance, hands in pockets, watching like they were born waiting for someone to up.

Maddox parked.

“Keep close. Don’t look scared. Don’t look weak. And if anyone touches you—I end them.”

He stepped out first, scanned the lot like a hawk, then came around and opened her door. One hand slid into his jacket, fingers brushing the grip of something tucked inside.

She stepped out, and he slipped his arm around her shoulder—not romantic. Territorial.

They walked toward the door, his expression unreadable. He knocked once, sharp, and the door cracked open. A face peered out. Maddox didn’t say a word, just stared him down until the guy opened the door the rest of the way.

Inside was worse—smoke in the air, heat from too many bodies, music playing low like a warning. A group of men stood at the far end, around a table, eyes shifting the second they noticed the girl on Maddox’s arm.

He caught it.

He saw the way they looked at her—and he didn’t even blink before stepping in front of her slightly, shoulders squared, voice like steel.

“You wanna stare, you better have the balls to back it up.”

Silence.

The tallest guy—gold chains, dead eyes—grinned and nodded to the back.

Maddox led her through the maze of crates and cracked tile to a dimly lit room, door barely hanging on its hinges. Once inside, he shut it behind them and finally exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice rougher now. “Didn’t wanna bring you into this... but leavin’ you behind would’ve been worse.”

He turned to her, touched her cheek with the back of his fingers, gentle despite the violence in his bones.

“Stay quiet. Stay close. I’ll handle everything else.”