bed, coming closer to me. To Lucifer. “Where have I been, baby?” he purrs, locking eyes with me. “Where the fuck have you been? They put me in that goddamn crate, and you didn’t even try to run? Isn’t that one of the only things you’re fucking good at?”
I don’t have time to think before Lucifer moves. He pushes me to the side, closes the space between him and Jeremiah and grabs his throat, shoving him against the wall opposite the bed.
His head cracks against it and for a moment, J doesn’t fight back. He just laughs. Him and Lucifer are roughly the same height, but where my husband is long, lean muscle, J is bulkier. Fucking ripped.
As he laughs, my stomach drops, and I take a step toward them as Lucifer cocks back his fist.
“Don’t you dare talk about my wife like—”
But Jeremiah grabs Lucifer’s throat, knocks his fist down, and spins them, so Lucifer is shoved against the wall.
I realize in a moment of startling clarity that Jeremiah has never fought Lucifer back before. I realize that was for me.
J has one hand still on his throat, and with the other he pulls a knife from his hip and thumbs the blade free, holding it just over those scars on Lucifer’s bare torso.
Fear has me frozen to the spot, staring as Lucifer’s hands still by his side.
“Don’t call her that,” J says, his voice quiet, sending chills down my spine as my hands come to my mouth. “She’s not yours at all. She’s nothing to you. You’re nothing to her.” He trails the flat side of the blade against Lucifer’s stomach, and I see my husband’s nostrils flare, his hands balled into fists. “But you know what she is to me?”
“Jeremiah—” I try to speak.
“She’s fucking everything to me.”
Lucifer’s eyes dart to me, then back to J.
The silence blanketing the room is chilling.
No one moves.
It seems like no one fucking breathes.
“She’s everything to me, and you don’t fucking deserve her. You were going to kill her—”
Lucifer steps closer to Jeremiah, choking himself, the flat side of the knife digging into his abs. “You raped her.” He spits those words out, like they make him feel physically sick. “You fucking raped her. You hurt her.” His voice almost breaks.
Jeremiah’s triceps are flexed as he holds tight to Lucifer’s throat, but some of the tension seems to leave his body as Lucifer speaks.
“You fucking hurt her, and you made me watch.” Lucifer’s voice breaks, but he doesn’t look away from Jeremiah. Not for a second. “You’re a fucking piece of—”
Jeremiah knocks Lucifer’s head back against the wall with a thud, then he angles the knife so the sharp side grazes my husband’s skin.
I force myself to move then, to close the distance between us as I stand to the side of them, staring at Jeremiah.
His eyes don’t leave Lucifer’s.
“Please don’t,” I beg him, my fingers going to his arm, feeling his hot skin beneath my own. “Please don’t—”
“He doesn’t deserve you,” Jeremiah repeats his earlier words without looking at me. “I fucking do, baby.” He finally turns his head, his green gaze on mine, his brows creased. “I fucking do, Sid,” he’s pleading with me, his voice cracking. “I deserve you. I’ve done everything for you. Fucking everything. I fucking…I love you, and he’s done nothing but fuck you over.” He glances at the scar on my brow, his jaw clenching. He turns away from me. “You hurt her, too. You did that, didn’t you—”
A growl leaves Lucifer’s throat, and all he says is, “Stop fucking touching him, baby girl,” before he grabs the blade against his ribs and yanks it from Jeremiah’s grip, tossing it to the floor with a clatter. With his bleeding hand, he curls his fingers into a fist and launches it into Jeremiah’s face.
Jeremiah barely reacts except to laugh again, then shoves Lucifer back against the wall, and he swings before I can even breathe.
I hear something crack.
See blood pouring from Lucifer’s nose, down over his lips as he holds his hands up to his face on instinct.
“You fucking coke head, piece of shit,” Jeremiah growls, cocking his fist back again. “You left me in that fucking cage. You fucking left me. Fuck. You.”
But before he can hit him again, I come between them, holding up my hands.
Jeremiah stops launching his fist toward my face at the last second, his bloody knuckles grazing my cheekbone, but not hurting me.