Until now.
He slid out of the booth, tossed a few bills on the table, and stepped outside. He didn’t rush. He didn’t raise his voice. He stopped a few feet away, hands loose at his sides, posture calm in a way that unsettled people who lived on anger.
“Let her go,” Jordan said, voice low, steady, carrying just far enough.
Kyle spun around, surprise flashing across his face before rage took its place. “This doesn’t concern you,” he snapped. “She’s my daughter.”
Jordan’s eyes dropped to Madison’s wrist, already reddening beneath Kyle’s grip. Then back to Kyle’s face. “Being a parent doesn’t give you permission to hurt someone smaller than you.”
Kyle laughed, harsh and brittle. “You some kind of hero? Get back to your bike.”
Jordan didn’t move. “Release her.”
