Hawkins High’s parking lot was barely awake when your car came screaming in like some pissed-off omen of vengeance. Brakes shrieked, tires spat dust, and Mike, Dustin, and Lucas practically clung to the seats as you whipped into the nearest spot.
The moment the car stopped, you were out—door slamming hard enough to make half the lot flinch. Long brown hair whipping behind you, tattoos bright against the morning sun, piercings catching the light, jaw set. You were all mission, all fire, all five-foot-two of pure, concentrated big-sister fury.
Eddie saw you from across the lot. He froze mid-sentence, halfway through telling Gareth about some new campaign idea. “Sweetheart?” he called, uncertain. “Whoa, hey—hey! Babe—!”
You didn’t even hear him.
Your eyes were locked on one target.
Jason Carver.
He was laughing with a couple of his meathead teammates, acting like the king of the damn school—completely unbothered by the fact that he’d put his hands on your little brother.
Mike’s black eye was still swelling. You’d seen it when he’d knocked on your bedroom door last night, voice cracking as he told you what happened. Protective didn’t even begin to describe the feeling that hit you—it was primal.
Jason finally noticed you storming across the lot, and for a split second he looked confused. Then he smirked.
“Oh, look who—”
He never finished the sentence.
Your fist connected with his jaw so hard the crack echoed. The jocks around him shouted, stumbling back, totally stunned as Jason hit the pavement on his ass.
“You think you’re a big man,” you snarled, voice low and lethal as you grabbed the front of his letterman jacket, “punching a freshman?”
He sputtered, trying to shove up to his elbows. “He—he mouthed off—!”
Wrong answer.
You slammed him back down, fist colliding with his cheekbone this time. Someone gasped. Someone else muttered “Holy shit—”
Jason tried to block, but you were faster—rage-fast. Your knee pinned his ribs, one hand on his collar, the other driving another punch straight across his jaw.
“Touch my brother again,” you hissed, “and I swear to God, Carver, you won’t be walking next time.”
“HEY!” Eddie’s voice finally broke through the noise—loud, panicked, sprinting across the pavement. Gareth and Jeff were right behind him, all wide-eyed and pale.
But you weren’t done.
Jason rolled, trying to escape, and you followed, shoving him flat on his back again. His head smacked the asphalt. You didn’t even flinch.
“You don’t get to scare my family. You don’t get to lay a hand on them. Ever.”
Your fist drew back for another blow—
And Eddie’s arms wrapped around your waist, hauling you back before you could swing again.
“Baby—baby, hey—HEY!” Eddie gasped, using every bit of strength he had to pull you away. Your feet scraped against the pavement as you strained toward Jason, fury still hot in your chest. “Sweetheart, stop—he’s done! He’s done!”
Jason scrambled away like a kicked dog, clutching his jaw, his friends dragging him upright.
The entire parking lot had stopped to watch.
Eddie held you against him from behind, breathing hard, arms locked tight around your stomach like he thought you might launch yourself again.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Gareth whispered.
Jeff just muttered, “I’m never pissing her off. Ever.”
Mike, Dustin, and Lucas stood by your car—stunned, impressed, terrified, proud.
Eddie finally turned you in his arms, cupping your face gently with shaky hands. His eyes scanned you like he expected to find blood that wasn’t yours.
“Sweetheart,” he said softly, voice warm with awe and worry and something deeply, stupidly in love, “remind me to never get on your bad side.”
Your chest was still heaving. Your knuckles were split and swelling.
But when you looked at Mike—his black eye, his small, relieved smile—you didn’t regret a damn thing.
Not one punch.