Surviving gun violence wasn’t something I’d expected to do more than once in my lifetime. When the first loud shots sounded through the house, my blood turned to sludge and darkness nudged the edge of my vision. The familiar loud whoosh sound roared through my ears again, and I felt myself shutting down.

Guns.

There were guns and gunmen in my house.

And Saint was out there somewhere with his own deadly weapon. What if they turned it against him? What if they outnumbered him?

My brain went to another place while I pressed myself into the corner of my hiding spot so firmly, I didn’t even notice the exposed roofing nail by my head. As soon as the staccato pops of the second round of gunfire erupted, I threw my head to the side to get away from the sound and gouged my scalp with the nail. The pain was blinding—so much that I began to black out. I quickly sank to the floor so I wouldn’t bump my head when I fainted. While I tried to get my brain jumpstarted, I watched the blood trickle down to the rough-hewn floorboards of the attic space over the closet.

It wasn’t until I heard noises directly below me that I was able to scramble back to the corner and hide my face in my knees.

For some reason I didn’t realize it was Saint at first. I stared at him blankly, trying to place the reason my heart felt tender and raw. The lights went out, and I tumbled forward. I vaguely recalled later that something about me losing my balance seemed to spur him into action. He lurched for me, bumping his head on the low roof before gathering me to him.

Everything ran together after that. There were murmured words of love and reassurance whispered into my ear, soft kisses pressed into the side of my face that didn’t hurt like a bitch, and bright lights of a hospital corridor shooting daggers in my skull. Through it all, I was aware of a large, warm hand in mine. It never left my grip, no matter what harsh words were spoken or soft instructions given.

At one point I tried to swat at someone tugging on my scalp, but Saint’s voice soothed me back to a place I could let the medicine take over. I drifted in and out until waking up fully to a hospital room filled with sunlight.

“Blinds,” I croaked.

“You’re blind?” Stevie’s screech pierced my eardrums and caused me to wince, which shot arrows of pain into my skull.

“Get him out of here.” Saint’s voice wasn’t happy. “He promised to be quiet.”

“Steven,” the fire chief warned in a low tone.

“Fuck,” Stevie muttered. “Look at him though. He looks like Harry Potter. No amount of concealer is going to…” Someone must have shot him a look. “Anyway, could be worse I guess. At least it’s not Mad-Eye Moody.”

Charlie’s soothing lilt came from the other side of the room. “Blinds as in window coverings. Hudson, love, pull those curtains closed. The man’s head must be splitting wide open.”

I winced again but tried opening my eyes slowly as the brightness behind my lids dimmed significantly. Saint’s beautiful baby face was right in front of me, peering worriedly with his blue-gray eyes.

“Thank fuck,” he breathed. “I missed you.” He carefully moved to bury his face in my neck and inhale. I recognized it as a self-soothing gesture and hoped we had many years ahead of him finding comfort in me.

I brought my hands up to his shoulders, careful to watch the one with the IV in it. “You okay?” I asked. “I didn’t do a good job of…” I paused to catch my breath. Saint leaned back to look at me. His fingers brushed my hair off my forehead. “I didn’t protect you.”

Saint huffed out a laugh. “You did perfect. You did exactly as I asked and trusted me to handle it. That was the best gift you could have given me. I’m the one who failed.”

“You scraped the nail across my head?” I asked with a weak smile. “Funny, I thought that was me.”

His big hand cupped the side of my face. “I thought you’d been shot. You scared me to death.”

“Not shot. Allergic to guns, remember? My boyfriend told me to stay away from them. They’re hazardous to your health.” I tried smiling, but the short conversation had already worn me out. “Why so tired?” I asked under my breath.

“Shock,” West said from the other side of the room. “You were pretty shocky when they brought you in. That’s why we kept you overnight. You can go home this afternoon as long as someone keeps an eye on you for a couple of days. Don’t underestimate the mental and emotional toll something like this takes on you, Augie.”

“I’m not leaving his side,” Saint said. “We’re going to stay at Doc and Grandpa’s until they’re done fixing Augie’s house. Doc’s desperate to take care of him, and Grandpa is cooking everything except chili now. He even quizzed me on Augie’s favorite foods so he could go grocery shopping before we get home.”

I let myself drift off to the sound of Saint and our friends and family chatting about whether or not to still hold their chili dinner that night. I didn’t have the energy to participate, but I was relieved when Charlie spoke up and said I’d be horrified if they changed their plans for me.

“He can stay snug as a tick in a back bedroom and doesn’t need to spend any more time with you lot than necessary,” he explained. “Best of both worlds, yeah?”

I woke up again to a room empty of everyone except Saint and my sister Rory. They were talking quietly next to the bed. Rory sat in the visitor chair with her legs drawn up beneath her while Saint crouched next to her with his arms folded on the arm of the chair.

They were talking about Marco.

I cleared my throat. “Water?”

Both of their gazes snapped up to me. “Hey, sleepyhead, how are you feeling?” Saint asked, moving toward me with an affectionate smile. He grabbed a cup from somewhere and held a straw to my mouth.

“Headache,” I mumbled around the straw. “Itchy.”

Rory straightened up and leaned toward me. “I get itchy from heavy pain meds. That’s probably what it is.”

“Or the stitches in your scalp,” Saint added. “Gonna have a hot-as-hell scar there. My very own bad boy.”

I reached up to feel where the bandage was. It covered the edge of my hairline and part of my forehead. I hoped it didn’t leave an ugly bald spot in my hair.

Saint leaned in close and grabbed the hand messing with the bandage. “I’m kidding, babe. It’s deep but small. West thinks at most you’ll have a half-inch line on the very edge of your forehead. It’ll be fine. And since you’re not in the market for picking up guys anymore…” He winked at me before dropping a kiss on the unbandaged side of my forehead.

“Tell me about Marco,” I said when he pulled back.

Rory stood and came closer to the bed so she could reach for my hand. Saint moved around to the other side and slid onto the bed beside me, lying on his side with an arm around my waist so he could face Rory. Feeling him so close to me was soothing. I thought maybe I was finally beginning to trust he was really in this with me.

“I’m so sorry, Augie,” Rory said. “I promise I didn’t know.”

Saint twisted around and came back with my glasses, slipping them gently onto my face. Suddenly, I could see my sister’s red-rimmed eyes and tear tracks down her face.

“Of course you didn’t,” I said. “Why are you so upset? Where’s Kat?”

“She was in on it,” she said in a shaky voice. Tears spilled over and washed down her cheeks. “She was using me. Using us.”

I reached out a hand to her and grabbed onto her own cold fingers. “Shit. Oh god. Rory, I’m so sorry. Are you sure?”

Saint’s grunt of disgusted confirmation was all I needed to hear to know it was true.

“Their father started CSP and brought Marco on right after graduation. I remember hearing he was working for a nonprofit, but I guess I just assumed it was… I don’t know. I remember when Kat started suggesting beneficiaries for foundation donations. It started off with obvious ones like the Children’s Cancer Initiative, but then she suggested an organization that specialized in low-income housing. I finally put her in touch with Brett and Uncle Eric since they worked with the foundation more directly. I had no idea CSP was her family. Or that they were not a true nonprofit.”

“But why? I don’t understand what Brett and Eric had to gain. Don’t they already have enough money? Why get involved in this?”

My throat felt dry, so I gestured to the water cup on the table again. Rory handed it to me and helped keep it steady.

Saint was the one who answered. “It’s early still, but thankfully Brett couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Apparently, Marco and his dad have Eric and Brett over a barrel. The Duvalls threatened Eric and Brett to make this deal happen or he’d expose them for their involvement in CSP.”

My head hurt just thinking about the complexity of the situation. I gingerly laid my head back on Saint’s shoulder. “But wouldn’t Uncle Eric have been able to expose them too? They’re the ones running a fraudulent non-profit.”

“The Duvall’s brought Eric and Brett into CSP eighteen months ago. According to the researcher at Landen, Community Surge Properties is joint owned by Marco, Katrina, and David Duvall along with Eric and Brett Kohli. I didn’t get that tidbit till earlier today.”

I locked eyes with Rory. Kohli was Aunt Prima’s maiden name.

“Shit.”

“Yup,” Rory said with an exhausted sigh. “And before you ask, Mother didn’t know anything about it. She just thought they needed her help making an important deal for the foundation.”

“Well, that’s something,” I muttered. “I guess.”

Saint pressed a kiss to my head. “Brett is in Cross County lockup for the armed B&E, and Marco is in custody here at the hospital for the same. He had to get his shoulder stitched up. Seth is handing over the CSP stuff to the IRS and FBI since it involves tax fraud. It’ll be up to the US Attorneys Office to determine whether or not to indict Eric, Kat and David. Meanwhile, your grandfather was lucid enough to contact the chairman of the board to have Eric removed and a temporary CEO put in place. They’ll order an external audit of the company to help defend Stiel Corp from any blowback.”

I wanted to pass out again and bury my head in the sand. The entire situation was so fucking ugly.

Rory sighed. “We’re not sure if this is what happened exactly, but Mother recalled a conversation Grandfather had one night when he was kind of out of it. He told her that he’d set aside your building for you in his will and put all the supporting documents, including the actual deed, into Melody’s writing slope.”

“No. Not the deed,” I said.

“Right. But that’s why she wanted to get her hands on the box. To recover the deed and whatever other evidence of his dementia before you had a chance to realize he intended to gift you the building. She thought his decision to give you the building was something he’d decided after his diagnosis. She didn’t want to get your hopes up just to have the will blocked after they realized he had compromised cognitive ability.”

“Pfft. Not sure I believe that,” I muttered. “That’s awfully kind of her.”

Saint let out an mmpfh. The supportive suspicion made me smile.

“Well, we’ll see what happens. In the meantime, let’s get you out of here and back to the ranch. Saint said there’s room for me to stay over if you don’t mind me leeching onto you two. I don’t want to go back to Dallas right now.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Saint. “You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you want. Hell, you can move to Hobie and come work for us at Twist if you want. Your brother told me the self-defense lessons were your idea in the first place. You could learn how to teach them.”

Rory smiled for the first time that day. “Don’t tempt me, Saint Wilde. Living away from my brother this past year hasn’t exactly been a cake walk.”

“She’s a paralegal,” I added. “Has a really good job in the city.”

Saint snickered softly. “My sister MJ is an attorney starting at a practice here in Hobie. I’m sure she’ll need some help…”

My heart was so fucking full that seeing Rory’s face light up with possibility made me spring a leak from my eyeballs.

I thought maybe I’d made the best decision ever when I decided to stick with Saint Wilde as my self-defense instructor. I’d agreed to Rory’s suggestion of the self-defense class to feel empowered and strong. I’d thought the lessons themselves would bring that about, but they hadn’t. Instead, they’d brought me friends and a new place to belong.

And that was what made me feel empowered and strong.

Saint shifted off the bed and reached for the button to lift me to a sitting position. He reached his hand out to help me stand up.

“Come on, slowpoke. It’s time to get you out of here. Let me help you up.”

So I did. And I always would.