The conversation in the living room died the moment you appeared. Not slowly—abruptly. As if someone had cut off the air.

Simon felt it first.

That old, ugly pull in his chest. Protective instinct. Possession. Something unspoken he had carried for years like a blade pressed beneath his skin. You had never been just Soap’s sister. Not really.

You came down the stairs—confident, beautiful, dangerous. The dress left no room for illusion. Every inch of you said meant to be seen. Simon’s gaze followed you relentlessly, assessing, as if he needed to be sure you were real—and not just another mistake his mind had made.

Too much skin. Worth too many looks.

His fingers twitched. Control. Always control.

“Holy shit,” Gaz muttered. Simon shot him a look that killed any further comment instantly.

You stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “What?” Soap grinned. “You look like you’re looking for trouble.”

Simon cut in. “Or trouble finds her.”

You turned toward him. Your gazes locked. Something dark flickered in his eyes—not desire that asked for permission, but something that claimed ownership. His eyes traced you again, slower this time. Possessive. Evaluating.

“You’re not going out like that,” he said.

Silence.

You let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Excuse me?” He stepped closer. Too close. His presence was overwhelming, his voice low. “You have no idea how men look. What they think.”

“And you do?” “Yes.” A brief pause. Honesty. “Because I am one.”

Soap stiffened. “Simon—”

“No.” Simon didn’t take his eyes off you. “She just broke up. She’s hurt. And every damn guy out there is going to think she’s fair game.”

Your heart sped up, even though you refused to admit it. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

You were almost at the door, keys already in hand, when Simon’s voice hit your back like a gunshot.

“No.”

Not loud. Not angry. Final.

You turned. “What do you mean, no?” He was already standing. Tall. Still. Dangerously calm. His gaze rested on you like a claim that had never been spoken—until now.

“You’re not going out alone tonight. Not in that dress.”

Soap frowned. “Simon—” One look was enough. Soap fell silent.

“I’m an adult,” you said. “And I’m not going to be told—”

Simon crossed the distance in two steps. Too close. His voice dropped, rough. “You broke up. You’re vulnerable. And you’re wearing a dress that tells every damn man out there to try.”

Your pulse raced. “That’s my problem.”

“No.” His eyes darkened. “It’s mine.”

Silence spread through the room like smoke.

Gaz cleared his throat. “I’m… gonna grab a beer.” Roach followed without a word. They knew when to disappear.

“Simon,” you said more quietly.

He studied you as if making a decision that had already been made long ago. You suddenly remembered how you’d once had a crush on him. How safe you’d always felt when he was around. What you’d never seen: how closely he’d watched you. How he’d measured every man who got too close.

“You can go,” he said slowly. A flicker of relief. Then— “If I come with you.”

You stared at him. “You’re kidding.” “I come with you—or we all do.” A hard smile. “But you’re not going anywhere alone tonight.”

“That’s insane,” you snapped. “No,” he replied calmly. “That’s your only option.”

He leaned in slightly. His voice was nothing but a dark promise. “I lost sight of you for too long. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Watchful. Possessive. A man who had decided you were under his protection— whether you wanted it or not.