The bass from Lexi’s New Year’s Eve party rattled the walls, the air thick with smoke, laughter, and the fizz of champagne flutes clinking together. Fez’s arm draped lazily over your shoulders as you weaved through the crowded living room, Rue and Jules trailing somewhere behind. His warmth pressed steady against you, but your chest was tight, your jaw clenched so hard it ached.

You’d heard enough. Nate Jacobs. The smug bastard who called the cops on Fez, who dangled Rue and Jules’ secrets like weapons in his hands. He thought he was untouchable. He thought no one would ever check him.

But you weren’t about to let it slide.

Fez was relaxed tonight—calm, smiling in that soft way he rarely let people see. He deserved to breathe without looking over his shoulder. Rue deserved to feel safe. Jules deserved to not live with Nate’s shadow looming over her.

And you? You were done watching.

Your eyes locked on him across the room. Nate, leaning against the kitchen counter with that self-satisfied grin, beer in hand, laughing like he hadn’t ruined lives. Like he hadn’t nearly gotten the man you loved killed.

“Baby, you good?” Fez murmured, squeezing your arm lightly when he noticed your whole body had gone tense.

You turned your head just enough to give him a small smile—sweet, practiced. “Yeah. I’ll be right back.”

Before he could question, you slipped from under his arm, cutting through the crowd until you were standing right in front of Nate Jacobs. He blinked down at you, brows lifting in surprise, that smug smirk twitching at his lips.

“What? You here to tell me to leave your little drug dealer boyfriend alone?” His voice dripped condescension, loud enough to cut through the music.

That was the last straw.

You grabbed the nearest glass bottle from the counter, cold and sweating in your hand, and smashed it across his head before he could even finish that smirk. Gasps erupted around the room as Nate staggered back, stunned, the bottle shattering across the tile. And before anyone could move, you were on him, fists flying, fueled by months of pent-up fury.

“This—”CRACK you snarled, landing another blow, “—is for Rue.” Another hit. CRACK “This is for Jules.” And then, one more, teeth bared, voice cracking CRACK “And this is for Fez.”

Chaos swallowed the party. People screamed, phones whipped out, Fez was suddenly behind you, pulling you back, his strong arms wrapping tight around your waist.

“Yo, ma, that’s enough!” he hissed, dragging you away even as Nate groaned on the ground, blood dripping down his temple. His voice was urgent, but not angry. If anything, there was this rough edge of awe in it—like he couldn’t believe what you’d just done.

Your chest heaved, knuckles raw, glass glinting on the floor. Nate writhed, groaning, humiliated in front of everyone.

Fez pressed his forehead to the side of your head, breath ragged as he held you close. “Damn, girl… remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Phones were already out, red record lights cutting through the dim glow of string lights as voices overlapped in a messy chorus of “Oh my god—what the fuck—” and “Somebody stop her!”

Fez’s arms stayed locked around you, firm but gentle, like he knew if he loosened his grip you’d dive right back into Nate. Your chest rose and fell in quick, angry bursts, heart pounding against your ribs like a war drum.

Nate was struggling to his elbows, blood streaking down his face in a sharp line that made him look less like the golden boy of East Highland and more like the spoiled, cowardly kid he really was. He spat pink onto the tile and glared up at you, hatred simmering in his eyes.

“You’re fucking insane,” he growled, voice thick. “You and your little junkie friends—”

You lurched forward again, but Fez tightened his hold, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered low, urgent “Ma, nah, don’t give him what he wants. Look at him. He already lookin’ pathetic as fuck.”