Harry was going to kill him.

He could tolerate a lot of things—he’d seen and done more than most—but what he would never understand was how any so-called man could lay a hand on the woman he claimed to love.

Harry had always been trouble. Since his teens, he’d been the kind of guy who found himself in the worst places with the worst people. No college. No steady job. Just deals and cash and working under the radar for people no one dared name aloud. He was good at what he did, but trouble had a way of sticking to him, dragging him behind bars more times than he could count. And each time, it was either a favor or his younger sister Gemma bailing him out.

Last time, she let him sit in a cell for two months to “teach him a lesson.”

He didn’t blame her. She was younger, but sometimes she acted like the older sibling. It was just the three of them at home—Harry, Gemma, and their sick mum. But honestly? It always felt like there was one more.

Her.

Gemma’s best friend since school. Same age, same stubborn heart. She practically lived in their house growing up, and Harry had known her since she wore mismatched socks and ate ice cream straight from the tub. He never said it out loud, but he always felt like she belonged to them too—like family. Except… not really.

Not when he noticed the bruises.

Gemma had asked him to swing by her friend’s place and grab a blouse she left behind. No big deal. Just a favor in exchange for the bail money. But when she opened the door, standing there with makeup too heavy and a hollow look in her eyes, Harry saw it.

The bruise. The goddamn bruise.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t make excuses. But she didn’t have to.

Because Harry saw everything.

And now, someone named Milo—that spineless coward she called a boyfriend—had exactly one night left to breathe easy.

Because Harry wasn’t going to let this slide.