“I’m sorry for what I said.” Zeph closed his car door and lowered his voice to a mutter, so nobody could overhear. “I shouldn’t have… tried to… ugh. Fuck. Words.” Maybe he’d just be spontaneous.

But the second he got to the top of the stairs, Zeph knew something was wrong. There was a trash bag outside River’s apartment, and although the door was closed, he heard a sound.

Then another—a distinct thud. He knew the sounds of a fight anywhere. And he also knew River wasn’t the type to fight just anyone, which meant…

He’s back.

Zeph crossed the distance between the staircase and River’s door in less time than it took to draw his breath.

“River!”

He tested the knob before he kicked down the door. Good thing, because it started to swing open, and River’s damage deposit probably didn’t cover a door.

The creep from the bar, all six-foot-something of his ugly ass, was pushing River up against the door to his bedroom, a hand going to River’s throat, but the door opening distracted him and he looked back over his shoulder.

“Fuck off,” he growled.

But Zeph ignored him. He didn’t give a shit what he said. It was River’s quiet, “Zeph,” that sounded like a prayer and a plea in one.

God knew how long he’d been there. River looked exhausted, and so did the other guy, but River had held his own.

Goddamn, Zeph was proud of him.

He snarled as he crossed the hall in a few quick paces, blocking this guy’s route to the door. He was not getting away again.

And more importantly, he was never laying a hand on River again.

Between them, they flipped him to the floor in a few seconds, and when he tried to get away, River stepped on his stomach to keep him there.

“You fucking creep,” Zeph snarled as the asshole grabbed his legs and tried to pull him down.

Fine, he wanted to take this to the mat? He’d show him a floor game.

Zeph sank to his knees, parried the blows at him, and landed two in quick succession on either side of the fucker’s face. He took a few hits to his shoulder and stomach, but he doled them out faster than he took them, leaving the other man’s already-bloodied face even more raw.

River was going to be bruised, too. Fuck. Zeph ached at the thought, much worse than a hit could ever hurt him.

Zeph wanted to tear this guy in two, but he didn’t deserve that mercy. He deserved to be ground through the legal system until his face was plastered everywhere, and he was forced to repeat in court every creepy fucking word he’d sent to River on the sly.

“I’ve got him,” River snarled. “You call the cops.”

“Are you sure?”

In answer, River just gave him a small, dangerous smile.

Zeph actually felt a shiver run down his spine. For that second, River looked like a fighter. Shit, he had no idea how incredibly attractive that was. He managed a quick nod and got off him, resisting the urge to spit on the little twerp as he grabbed his phone to call the cops.

He stayed between the guy and the door, just in case he did try to run for it.

And, true to his word, River stood watch over him. His bruised knuckles were locked together in tight fists. He looked like he wanted to throttle the guy. The guy wasn’t breathing a word now, but every time he moved, River stepped on one of his body parts, so no wonder.

Just one hit, and I can knock him out.

“911.”

“We have a break-and-enter and assault by my boyfriend’s stalker. We subdued him. He’s here on the floor. Babe, what’s your address?”

River offered him a half-smile, then gave his address.

It took Zeph a second to realize which words had slipped from his mouth and he winced in apology.

But River just shook his head slightly, then returned his gaze to the guy on the floor.

Well, one thing was for sure: Zeph had fucked up, but River had never looked at him with that expression.

It looked like River wanted to do just about everything Zeph wanted to do to the stalker. This creepy fucker was going to be glad to be in custody as soon as the cops showed up.