My bare feet slap against the floor as I push to run faster and I have a fleeting moment to realize that if I was wearing socks, I’d be dead by now.

  The stairs are there, they’re right there.

  I have to make it.

  I reach out and grab the banister, swinging myself around.

  There’s noise outside. People.

  The stairs end in the main entryway. I just need to get down the flight, cross the room, and rip the door open.

  I’m going to make it.

  My feet fly down the first few stairs.

  And then something hits my back.

  Something hard and unforgiving.

  And I lose my footing.

  I reach for the railing. But I miss.

  The sharp edges of the stairs stare up at me as I crash towards them.

  Grief fills me as my arms extend to brace my fall.

  If I die, King will never forgive himself.

  My left wrist connects with a crunch.

  The scream I’ve been trying to shove out of my lungs finally lets loose, and it’s filled with pain.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

  Right before my temple hits the next step, the front door swings open, and light floods the room.

  CHAPTER 82

  King

  Savannah’s scream scrapes across my bones.

  In front of me, only yards away, I watch my wife crash onto the unforgiving hardwood stairs.

  Her head bounces off a step, and my heart stops when I see her body go limp.

  It all happens in a second. Less than a second.

  I don’t stop moving.

  I run, as hard as I can, trying to get to her before she rolls the rest of the way down the stairs, even knowing that I won’t make it.

  I can’t even give her that much.

  Because I don’t have time.

  Because I’m too fucking late.

  Savannah’s slumped form slides off the last step. One arm trapped between her chest and the floor, her head turned to the side, eyes shut.

  I can’t even call for her as I run.

  Can’t even yell her name.

  Because my throat is wrapped in desperation.

  A manic cry drags my eyes up, and I see Donnie O’Reilly racing down the stairs toward Savannah. Trying to get to her before I can. Trying to kill her, if she isn’t already…

  The thought that my sweet Savannah Baby could be gone rips a roar from my chest.

  The sound echoes through the house, and I’m nearly there, when Duke beats me to it.

  Snarling, my dog flies through the air, colliding with Donnie just as he’s about to jump down the last few steps.

  Donnie screams as he lands on his back on the steps, over a hundred pounds of furious animal on top of him. Snapping his teeth in his face.

  With Donnie pinned, I drop to my knees and slide the last few feet to Savannah.

  “Baby.” My voice breaks. “Honey.” I lean closer and I watch my hands shake as I lightly press my fingers to her throat, checking for a pulse.

  Checking for a pulse.

  “Savannah…” I’m whispering now. “Please…”

  She can’t be gone.

  I won’t be able to live with myself if she’s gone.

  I put my cheek to the floor, so I’m looking at her beautiful face.

  “Please, Baby.”

  When I see her back rise as her lungs fill with breath, I feel a hot tear slide from the corner of my eye.

  She’s still alive.

  Gently, so gently, I stroke her hair.

  “Wife.”

  Her lids flutter.

  “Call an ambulance!” I shout.

  “On it.” Nero’s voice surprises me and I look up to see him entering the house. “Go secure the property.” He tells the men gathered by the door, and I see that he brought a fleet with him.

  Nero’s phone is in his hand when he comes to kneel next to Savannah.

  His hand touches my shoulder. “I’ve got her. Now go finish it before your dog’s forced to.”

  Donnie.

  Trusting Savannah to Nero, I stand.

  Even with Duke on top of him, snapping at his hands when he tries to push him away, Donnie tries to crabwalk back up the stairs.

  Maybe it was the sight of Nero that finally scared him enough to try and flee.

  But he shouldn’t be scared of Nero. He should be scared of me. Because I’m the one who’s about to kill him.

  “Release!” I call out the command to Duke, as I’m already closing the distance on my prey. Duke jumps off of Donnie, but before he can so much as move, I take Duke’s place, leaping up the final steps and straddling Donnie’s chest.

  “You killed my entire family!” he screams up at me.

  “Not yet.”

  Then I strike him.

  With all of my fucking strength, and rage, I punch him.

  Over and over. I hit him.

  As hard as I fucking can, I strike him for daring to come after me.

  For daring to touch my wife.

  For hurting my wife.

  For causing her to scream and cry in her own home.

  I hit him.

  I switch hands. Throwing a left hook into his already dislocated jaw.

  I punish him for what he’s done. For what he was going to do. For making me a failure.

  Blood soaks my hands.

  Bones give.

  And I don’t stop.

  I don’t stop until he’s unrecognizable.

  Unrecognizable as Donnie The Hand O’Reilly.

  Unrecognizable as a man.

  I don’t stop until my chest is heaving and my hands ache as much as my heart does.

  Through the open front door, I can hear the sound of distant sirens.

  “Would you shut the fuck up for a second, Enno?” I hear Nero snap into his phone.

  And I finally sit back, looking down at what’s left of Donnie’s skull.

  “I don’t want Donnie to disappear.” Nero explains with little patience. “And I sure as shit wouldn’t call you for that. What I want is his identity known. I want to use him for a message.” There’s a pause. “That if anyone tries to fuck with our women, King will beat them to death with his bare fucking hands.”

  I flex my fists. He’s not wrong.

  The sirens are growing louder.

  I notice Duke’s low growls and finally tell him to “Settle.” I croak the word, but he still hears me, and falls silent. I reach out and pat him on the back. “You’re a good boy.”

  He lets out a chuff, then bounds past me back down the stairs.

  Savannah.

  A small feminine moan has me moving, climbing off of the last O’Reilly corpse.

  When I turn, I find Savannah rolling onto her back, as she lets out a pained sound.

  “No,” I skip three steps on my way down to get to her. “Baby, don’t move.”

  Her arm is partially lifted, and I don’t know if she’s trying to sit up, but if she is, I want to stop her. So I reach for her.

  And she flinches.

  I freeze and our eyes lock.

  And all I can see in hers is fear.

  Her lips move, making no sound, and then her lids close and her arm drops to her chest as she loses consciousness.

  The feeling I’m left with is…nothing.

  An emptiness. Like everything that was once inside me is now gone.

  Just like that.

  Slowly. So slowly. I lower myself to the ground beside her, the stairs at my back, so I’m between her and Donnie.

  Duke lays down at her other side, letting out small whines.

  I want to touch her.

  Need to feel her body filling with breath.

  But she… She doesn’t want me to touch her.

  She’s…

  I rest my forearms on my thighs, letting my hands hang.

  Savannah is afraid of me.

  And why shouldn’t she be?

  All of this. All of it happened because of me.

  I kidnapped her from her life and thrust her into mine.

  How many times did she try to run from me?

  She ran from me down these same stairs.

  My head drops and I stare down at my hands.

  They’re covered in death. Literally stained red.

  Her perfect little body running down the hall. The unexpected worry that slammed into me when she slipped on the stairs. The pain of landing ass first on the steps to catch her. The feeling of her in my lap, submitting. Curves pressing into me everywhere we touched.

  But you didn’t catch her this time.

  Because this time you weren’t there.

  And this time, she flinched.

  Red and blue flashing lights reflect off the walls.

  “She’s gonna be alright.” Nero using a reassuring tone does absolutely nothing to reassure me. “She will.” He tells me again then gestures toward the driveway that’s quickly filling up. “I’ll head that off.”

  But she’s not gonna be alright.

  Not while she’s with me.

  That emptiness inside me expands and it’s too much for me to deal with.

  She’s not awake, so she doesn’t have to know…

  I reach out, resting my hand lightly on her thigh. Her sleep shorts soft under my sticky palm.

  “I’ll make it right, Savannah,” I promise in words just for her.

  Her chest keeps filling with breath, but her eyes stay closed.

  “Bedroom,” I tell Duke. He lifts his head, but doesn’t move. “Bedroom,” I say it firmer this time.

  I can tell he doesn’t want to leave her, but he follows his command, disappearing up the stairs as Nero comes back inside, with a couple of paramedics at his back.

  I can’t have anyone saying my dog is dangerous. I can’t lose him, too.

  “Over here,” I call out, my voice sounding weak.

  The two medics start in my direction. “Can we get some more light in here?” one of them asks.

  I hadn’t even noticed the thick darkness still around us. The only light currently coming in is from outside.

  “I got it,” Nero says before flipping on the main lights.

  And I hate it, because Savannah looks so pale in the bright lights.

  She looks too broken.

  She’s okay.

  She’s not broken, she’s alive.

  One set of footsteps falter. “Um, what about that other guy?”

  “That guy is past saving,” Nero responds.

  The paramedics crouch down on the other side of Savannah. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  I can feel them looking at me, but I keep my eyes on my wife. “He pushed her down the stairs. I only got here in time to see her hit her head on a step.”

  “He who?”

  I lift my gaze. “The one past saving.” My tone is dark and neither of them make eye contact with me.

  One clears his throat, “Is that when she lost consciousness?”

  “Yes.” I force myself past the memory of her head hitting the floor. “She woke up a few minutes ago and rolled herself over, then”––I’m forced to swallow––“then she passed back out.”

  “Alright. Is there anything else we should know?”

  “I don’t…” I shake my head. “She was running when I got here. I don’t know if…” Fuck. I can’t even get the sentence out. I grit my teeth and do it for Savannah. “I don’t know if he hurt her before that.”

  “Okay. We’ll take good care of her, sir, but I need to ask you to move back a little, so we can get her ready for transport.”

  Knowing it’s what’s best for her, I pull my hand back and stand.

  Seeing my bloody handprint on her shorts makes my stomach roil.

  I never meant for it to be like this.

  I take enough steps back, that they have room to work, but I stay close enough to see her.

  She looks so small like this.

  The thud of shutting car doors signals the arrival of the cops.

  Normally we don’t involve law enforcement in our business. But Nero was right about what he said earlier. People need to remember that no one fucks with us.

  And the dead man on the stairs behind me is a convicted felon home invader, here to murder my beautiful wife. When the public gets word of me killing him in an act of self-defense, they’ll make me a hero.

  But I’m no hero.

  I never have been. And I never pretended to be.

  My fists clench, the skin pulling tight across my knuckles, reminding me who I am.

  What I am.

  Another set of headlights flash across the entryway before the new car stops and a man jumps out.

  From where I’m standing, I can see out the front door to where the three police officers stopped ten feet from the front door to look at the newcomer.

  The man comes into view, jogging up the sidewalk.

  “Hey, boys,” he lifts a hand.

  The cops all look at each other, then one finally asks. “What’s the FBI doing here?”

  “Just give me a second,” the man replies. “I’m a friend.”

  Nero and I glance at each other as the federal agent vaults up the front steps, enters my home, then swings the door shut behind him.

  “Friend?” Nero repeats the word like he’s never heard it before.

  “Figured I could get that message moving quicker if I happened upon the scene. Driving home, ya know.” He nods to me. “King.”

  “Tye.” I spare him a glance as I watch the paramedics slide a thin cot under Savannah.

  Nero and Tye keep talking, but I can’t do anything except watch two strangers lift my wife onto a gurney.

  When they move her, I follow.

  And when the cops try to stop me, I tell them there isn’t a force in this world that would keep me from riding in that ambulance with my wife.

  CHAPTER 83

  Savannah

  King.

  I try to say his name, but I don’t think I do.

  I don’t think I can.

  My King.

  I want him so much.

  I want him to hold me.

  There’s so much noise.

  I struggle to find myself.

  I feel lost inside my own body.

  Why is there so much pain?

  Someone touches my arm, and I finally find my voice. To scream.

  “You’re hurting her!” King’s furious voice fills my head. And it’s too loud, but it’s what I need.

  King.

  I still can’t say it, but I let myself think it over and over.

  My eyes feel scratchy as I force them open.

  The room I’m in is blessedly dark with just a small amount of light filtering in through the slotted window curtains, so I work to open them further.

  My brain feels fuzzy, and my head aches, but I can remember bits and pieces.

  I remember getting the X-ray and the tight brace being fitted to my broken wrist.

  I remember being examined.

  I remember King bellowing when a male nurse tried to undress me.

  I can remember waking up in the ambulance, and reaching out for King’s hand. And I remember looking down at his own when he wouldn’t take mine, and seeing his covered in blood.

  And… I let the relief of being alive wash through me…I remember King getting there just in time.

  I remember seeing him just before my world went black. And I know. I know that if King hadn’t shown up, that man would’ve killed me.

  My head is pounding, but I roll it to the side, trying to take in my surroundings.

  I must still be in the hospital room, but I don’t know how much time has passed.

  The sound of a chair creaking pulls my attention to the far corner, and sitting there, in the dark, is my husband. Leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head hanging down, he looks…defeated.

  “King.” My throat is so sore, only the K sound comes out. But it’s enough to have his head snapping up.

  The look on his face causes tears to fill my eyes.

  Why does he look so sad?

  He stares at me, his eyes moving over every inch of me that isn’t covered by this starchy sheet.

  I can feel pressure on the side of my head, where it hit the stairs, and I’m sure there’s a lump. And when I opened my mouth to speak, I could feel the bruise on my cheek, from where that man struck me.

  I try to swallow and I feel the pain circling my neck, from when that man tried to choke me.

  The tears spill over my lids and King staggers to his feet.

  He takes one step toward me, but that’s it. He doesn’t close the distance.

  He doesn’t come to me.

  “I’m so sorry.” King’s voice cracks, and it’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.

  I try to shake my head. He has nothing to be sorry about.

  But the movement hurts too much, and I’m forced to close my eyes.

  The click of the door handle turning keeps my eyes shut as more light streams in from the hallway.

  When the door closes, I crack them back open.

  King has moved so his back is to the far wall and standing at my bedside is the woman who I think has been treating me.

  “Hi, Savannah.” I watch her take in the tears on my cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

  My lip quivers and I fight to get out the words. “I want to go home.”

  She nods slowly. “Normally I’d argue to keep you here for a full twenty-four hours, but I understand that you’ll rest better in your own bed.” She turns her attention to King. “She needs to stay inactive, mind and body, for at least a week. Her bumps and bruises will heal fine, but the concussion is serious, so she needs to stay in bed. No tv, no phone. Just rest.”

  I watch King as she’s talks to him, watch how his hands clench and unclench. He doesn’t say anything, but he tips his chin down, confirming that he’ll do as she asks.

  The doctor turns back to me. “I’ll schedule you to come back in four weeks to check on your wrist. But plan to wear the brace for at least six.”

  “Okay,” I whisper, vaguely recalling her telling me about the brace already.

  She looks to King. “Did you have comfortable clothes brought in?” He bends and picks up a bag from next to his chair. “Good.” The doctor seems to be used to his overwhelming silence in the room. But I’m not. It’s oppressive. Stifling. “Would you like me to send in a nurse to help––”