Carver struggled. “That’s a lie.”

Denver touched her one last time, then turned away. “Let him go, Stack.”

The second Stack moved his foot away, Carver lunged up, heaving. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Denver nodded. “Let’s go.”

With an ear-splitting war cry, Carver charged. Denver stood his ground until Carver had almost reached him. Then he moved so fast that Cherry saw it as a blur. She’d just sucked in a breath of fear when Denver halted Carver’s rush with a massive fist to his face, followed by a kick that sent Carver sprawling back to the ground.

Impassive, Denver again waited.

More slowly, Carver stood, and this time he approached with caution, his fists up, his eyes narrowed. Carver swung and missed; Denver struck him on the chin. Carver swung and missed; Denver landed a blow to his temple.

Less steady, his fists dropping a little, Carver took another stance. Denver kicked out, catching Carver in the face. Blood sprayed, and Carver went flat, dead to the world. That wouldn’t last, so he switched his gaze to Mitty.

When the big man snarled, Armie gave him a shove. “Get on with it, will you?”

“Fuck you.” Mitty stalked forward, his hot, furious gaze a laser beam on Denver.

Watching him, Denver waited until his patience wore thin. When Mitty was still several feet away, Denver strode within range. Mitty threw a hook, but Denver caught him with a series of straight punches, backing him up with each combo of left-right, left-right, until he finished with a knee to the gut. As Mitty bent forward, Denver nailed him with a straight right that sent him flat to his back. He was so big that when he hit, Cherry thought she felt the ground shake.

Stack checked his watch. “I’m guessing you’ve got three minutes more, tops.”

Nodding, Denver said, “Get her out of here.”

Understanding what he planned, Cherry scrambled to her feet. “I want to stay.”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “Cherry—”

She put up her chin. “I’m staying.” With a flicker toward Carver, she admitted, “I want to watch.”

Denver searched over her face, gave a slight smile, and turned back to Mitty. “You first.” And so saying, he hit Mitty fifteen, maybe twenty times in a row, until the big man collapsed, choking on his own blood, curled in the fetal position.

Although the beat-down lasted less than a minute, it did the job. He wouldn’t be getting back up.

Glad, Cherry clasped her hands together and resisted biting her lip.

Through it all, Carver just sat there on the ground, doing his best to regain his wits.

“Up.”

Carver shook his head. “Where’s Gene?”

“I left him unconscious. I broke his knife arm in two places, bad enough that he’ll never play with sharp objects again.”

Cherry smiled. So many times she’d seen Gene threaten and intimidate with that big hideous blade. But no more.

She couldn’t wait to tell Denver how much she loved him.

“Broke his nose, too.” Denver nodded at Carver. “Now get up, you sniveling puke, so I can give you some of the same.”

Carver eyed his brother, the mangled condition of his face, and he shook his head. “I’ll just wait for the cops.”

Denver laughed. “Doesn’t work like that.” He reached for Carver, got slugged in the chin, and barely flinched. In fact, satisfaction shone in his predator’s gaze. “There you go. Might as well give it a try, right?”

“You’re insane.”

“I love her.” Denver shrugged his massive shoulder. “That means it’s going to take all I have not to kill you.”

Cherry gasped. With both hands she covered her mouth. Denver loved her? She frowned. Hell of a time to tell her!

Armie and Stack both grinned at her.

Carver made the mistake of sneering—and got his face bashed because of it. Denver had big fists and deadly accuracy. He hit Carver three times before Carver could even think of trying to defend himself.

Not that it would have done him much good.

Slumped on the ground, Carver shook his head.

Denver didn’t give in. “Get up.”

When Pamela and Lyle walked out together, Cherry pulled her gaze away from Denver long enough to peek at them. Lyle’s right arm was wrapped in a white bandage. His left arm was around Pamela. The pretty redhead had makeup streaks down her cheeks and some of her husband’s blood on her otherwise immaculate and stylish outfit. She clung to him as if she feared she might lose him if she loosened her hold.