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I lower my chin and narrow my gaze on her. "Then you're not working the bar. It's not safe, Violet."

"Nowhere is safe. Do you watch the news? But that's not even the point. You do not get to dictate my life, Sully! You have no say in where I work or how much. None! You've crossed the line, and I won't have it. I barely survived one man deciding what I could do, and I won't go through that again. You don't get to protect me," she says, using air quotes, "by controlling me or my livelihood."

I flinch at her words. At the comparison to her ex. At making her feel the way she feels when all I want to do is build her up and keep her safe. "That's not fair. Sweetheart, do you know what went through my brain when I saw you that night? Do you want to see what you looked like when I got on the scene? Because that image is burned into my brain for eternity. I can tell you every bruise, every scrape, every place you were bleeding."

She falters for a split second before firming her jaw and squaring her shoulders.

"Sully, I'm sorry you went through what you did with your sister. I am, okay? But I'm not her. I've made it clear to Ty that I am absolutely going back to work, and I'm telling you here and now—don't ever speak for me again!"

She hurries out of my room and into the hallway.

I rake my fingers through my damp hair and pull hard. "Violet, come on," I call after her. "Be reasonable. Until this thing with your ex and the robbery is resolved, you aren't safe!"

I follow her into the hallway, earning a glare over her shoulder.

The doorbell rings, and we both go still.

Violet and I continue to glare at each other before I swear and stalk to the door to answer it. I unlock the deadbolt and yank it open. "What?"

Jasmine's eyes widen before her gaze slides beyond me, searching.

"Perfect timing," Violet says. "Let's go, Jas."

Violet suddenly inserts herself between me and her sister, sidling past me before I have time to process what's happening. "What are you doing? Where are you going? Violet."

"I'm going to work," Violet says, swinging round.

For the first time since she barged into my room, I note her Beach Babe Burgers T-shirt and the bit of makeup she's used to cover up her bruised face. Not that it works but it helps. "No," I growl. "You're recovering. You're staying here to rest."

"Uh, Sully," Jasmine says in a warning tone.

"I'm going to work," Violet counters, steel in her voice. "Deal with it."

Violet heads toward the car parked in my driveway, and I stalk after her but stop at the edge of the porch.

Violet's already in the passenger seat, glaring at me and saying words I can't hear but can probably guess given the expression on her face as she says them.

Jasmine whistles softly then says, "Cool off and come see us later. I'll make sure she doesn't work too hard, and the Saints are already there, so she's protected. Oh, and here you go," she says, slapping something damp against my midsection as she walks by.

I grab it automatically and look down to realize it's the towel I apparently lost at some point.

"It's a little hard to take you seriously when you're standing there in your skivvies."

I watch them go, unmoving, even though I am on my porch in my boxer briefs. They cover more than most swim trunks, so I don't care.

Once the two of them are out of sight, I stalk back into the house and slam the door, the rich scent of flowers assaulting my nose.

Everywhere I look, I see the island's show of love for Violet, but it does nothing to soothe the worry and anger inside me.

Maybe I have overstepped. Just a little.

But isn't safety more important than anything else?

Ready to climb the walls, I throw on some running gear and head out to pound the pavement, determined to end my run at the pier where I can lend a hand in keeping Violet safe.

Five miles later, I'm at the pier doing some cool down stretches by a bench when I see a guy lurking behind a building facing the bus. I want to race over and demand answers, but I know to bide my time, even though it takes every ounce of patience I have.

The dude lingers. Smokes a cigarette. Acts as though he's waiting on someone. But his head is on a swivel, and the majority of the time, it's pointed toward the bus.