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Maybe it's my imagination and hard-earned cynicism, but I feel like I see the real him. The rose-colored glasses are crushed to smithereens, and I see the sneer on his face, the darkness of his light-colored eyes.

I go still when my gaze falls to his wrist and visually trace the tattoo up his forearm to his biceps. My hands shake as I reach out and turn the photo sideways then place my fingers about a half inch apart over the area of his wrist bone. The tattoo isn't of a snake but a tentacle belonging to the octopus higher on his arm. The octopus is curled around a ship, dragging it down into the depths of the sea, destroying it like he'd destroyed our life together.

"Is that what you saw?" Sully asks.

I hear the tension in his gruff voice. His anger. I look up at Chase and somehow manage a nod, my stomach roiling with unease.

Sully swears and releases me to stalk a few steps away, hands raking through his hair.

"I'll get a protective order ready. You'll need to come in and sign it," Chase says.

"A piece of paper won't stop him," I whisper, realizing I need to scale up my plan.

I'm just not sure how. Especially when I need to figure it out now.

"Maybe not. But it's part of a process that will need to be in place when we find him," the officer says.

I glance at the clock and realize I need to get ready for the day. To shower and dress and head out into the world as the woman I want to be. Have to be for my own sake.

Brave and strong and a force to be reckoned with. Not a statistic, which technically I already am. "I'll sign it today before I go to work."

"For the love of— Violet," Sully bites out.

I narrow my gaze and split my attention between the two men. "Have it ready by one. I'll sign it on the way."

Chapter 33

Sully

* * *

The last of the morning passes in uncomfortable tension. I'm beside myself with anger and worry that Violet refuses to listen to reason and give MacGyver and the police a few days to do their jobs to find her ex. That she's pushing herself so hard after what she's gone through and working when she should be resting.

The last time I tried to bring it up—before she shot me down again—she blamed herself for causing the robbery and Ty getting hurt in light of MacGyver's news.

The awareness that her ex apparently used the robbery as a way to get to her leaves Violet insisting she owes Ty, and the least she can do is fill in for her boss until he's back on his feet. Especially when there are men working the burger bus in her stead for the very same reason.

It's hard to argue with her wanting to help her boss, but at the same time, her safety is more important. My shift starts tomorrow morning, and I won't be able to be there for her.

Be here for her.

And that? That makes me even crazier that I won't be around to put my body between her and her past. I want to call off work. I want to tie her up and take her with me to the firehouse where my buddies and I can keep a close watch on her. Throw her in my truck or on the back of my bike and take off for the mountains until the police catch her ex and put him back where he belongs.

But instead, I have to figure out a protection plan that will anger Violet to no end, even though it'll barely remove an ounce of my worry.

I drive Violet to the Pelican and watch her work to get the bar's booze order going while I sit at a high top. Phone in hand, I send out a group message to the Blackwater Saints MC. The guys that are able to help will answer the request, but I hate that it won't be me protecting my girl.

In short order, I explain the situation and get a list of guys able to pitch in. I then get a schedule going to make sure Violet has bodyguards round the clock for the next forty-eight hours.

She'll hate it. But I'm not budging on this.

While Violet moves around the bar checking inventory and doing the day-to-day stuff Ty typically handles, I confirm a protection detail and answer all the questions flying my way about what's going on behind the scenes.

I know Violet doesn't like being the center of attention and keep my answers as vague as possible, but I don't downplay the threat. I refuse to do that. I need these men on high alert and unwilling to let Violet evade or dismiss them out of pride or pure stubbornness.

We stay at the bar for several hours. The daytime bartender handles drink orders, but Violet pitches in too, earning a glare from me because she came to do paperwork, not physical work. Slinging drinks during the slow time of the day might not be overly taxing, but it's not her job today. Especially not when she's hurt.

"Stop glaring at me," she mutters as she moves by me to deliver drinks to an older couple who grab the table in front of the window. "I feel better now, and the soreness is almost gone. It's been days."