You backed up against the brick wall, pulse thudding in your throat as shouting echoed from down the alley. Boots. More than one set. Getting closer.

And then there he was Rafe rounding the corner like a shadow with sharp teeth. Shirt half-tucked, jaw tight, and a loaded pistol already in his hand.

He saw your eyes flick to the gun. He just smirked.

“Babe,” he murmured, stepping in front of you, one hand curling around your waist while the other yep, still holding that weapon pointed toward the alley.

“You’re safe with me.”

The way he said it, it wasn’t even cocky. It was just a fact. Like gravity. Like bullets didn’t apply to him or you when he was in front of you.

And honestly? You believed him.