The air in Mary Jane’s lungs evaporated. Her throat clamped tight. She glared into the eyes of her tormentor. Peter wanted her to submit to him. She’d rather die than submit. Aside from his eyes, nothing was the same. The Rottweilers—Kane and Knight—had mauled him so severely that the skin grafting he’d received was not enough. His face was a nightmare, rumples of grayish plastic-like skin. His usual Tom Ford suit, which always draped over a perfectly toned body, was gaunt and fit like cheap drapes. In the darkness, she saw a glint of the knife as the smooth steel grazed her chest. Her wrists were bound above her head.

They’d returned to the torture room with black walls in Beasley’s mansion.

“I own you, Mallory.”

Though her throat was dry, she spat out a weak spray of spit. A swift backhand to her face sent Mary Jane’s body swaying; her knees still didn’t buckle.

“You know who you are now, Mallory?” He chuckled softly. He pulled the stool from next to the examination table and sat down. “My little trick…I’ll keep screwing with you.”

Mary Jane endeavored to retreat within her mind. Sure, he could trick her past memories, but he didn’t have control over the here and now. Tune him out, she told herself.

“I’ve had wives before you. But you?” He shook his head. “I loved you. I couldn’t allow you to die. What a mistake that was, right? Since you ruined our lives. We were supposed to be happily married, but you allowed your sister to defile what we had. That fucking unchangeable temperament of yours kept you longing for family. I WAS YOUR FAMILY!”

“Kill me,” Mary Jane gasped. She knew it was a dream. She didn’t believe dying in dreams meant death in real life, yet it scared her all the same.

“No,” Peter replied selfishly. “You’ve been the adulterer. I have something for you and that asshole. Wulf stole you away from me. But I’ll separate the two of you if it’s the last thing I do!”

Mary Jane’s eyes popped open. It was midday; she had a hard time sleeping at night already and hated herself for being so groggy recently. Sleep never recharged or invigorated her anyway. It just left her with more questions.

Peter knew about Dylan Wulf?

How?

Wulf and Peter’s lives hardly intersected while Peter attempted to feed her to those blood-hungry dogs. They hadn’t even spoken to each other, had they?

“Your mind is playing tricks on you, MJ,” she mumbled to herself. Yet, even in her sleep, there was no getting away from her ex-husband. Peter meant to torment her all her life. She concentrated on the fact that the nightmare was just a residual from the horrible time in her past. My future will be much better. She snuggled closer to Wulf, pulling his heavy, muscular arm around her waist.

“No waking up early in paradise,” Wulf murmured.

“Tell me about a happy memory with your dad?” she asked. The words seemed foreign to her ears. Though they’d both shared their stories, Wulf’s had been told in broken bits, like he hadn’t been a part of it.

He grumbled inaudibly.

“I know you said the only thing he bought you was a fake-ass boy scouts uniform so that you could survey rich homes. But did you guys ever have any good days before Child Protective Services caught up with you?”

His strong, heavy body turned over. Wulf rubbed a hand over his eyes and scratched along his bristled jaw. “I guess we had a few good times. My dad taught me how to play dice and dominos. Oh, and we went fishing sometimes. We’d catch fish with our bare hands.” He pawed at her ass at that tidbit.

“Fishing?” She giggled. “With the ocean in our backyard, that would have been nice for you to teach me.”

He chuckled. “Not sure if I remember how. But we can try.”

On the Blackwoods last night in town, Mary Jane and Wulf agreed to meet for dinner at the resort where they were staying. Mary Jane noticed that Wulf seemed surprised about her willingness to meet with the newlywed couple again.

They both knew she was a pessimist. But for that one night, during their first encounter, Mary Jane felt a connection to the human race—aside from this innate trust she had for Wulf. And, she had a question to ask Amy Blackwood.

When they arrived, Mary Jane rang the doorbell. Wulf had a plastic bag filled with ice, surrounding the bass he caught.

“Hey, guys,” Tom said, opening the door.

“We brought bass,” Wulf said.

“Oh, great. The grill is fired up. You two went fishing? I didn’t take you guys for the outdoorsy type after you declined a trip in our RV down the coast.”

Wulf laughed. “Well, technically I went fishing.”

“I was bitch-slapped by the fish’s tail,” Mary Jane stated, dropping her bottom lip, pretending to be in shock. She pushed her hip against Wulf before walking into the house. “It was rather traumatizing.”

“Yeah, MJ has finished that chapter in her life,” Wulf said behind her. “Besides, my woman has had quite the appetite these days.”

“Hey, I work out to eat, and I eat to work out,” she scoffed before entering the living room. The traditional couch, table, and chairs, and sporadically placed paintings in bland brown hues were common for the resort. A melody from a Spanish acoustic guitar floated from the surround system. There were bottles of Corona on the patio table, while hotdogs and hamburgers roasted on the grill. Tom added the fish to the grill.

A while later, Amy came out of the bedroom door in a wrap and a sombrero, which made her look even more like a gringo. “Hola, mis amigos,” she said in a fake Spanish accent.

“Hola,” Mary Jane replied. In full Spanish, she added, “You look lovely. How was your trip to the Yucatan Peninsula?”

“Uh…uh…” Amy’s cheeks turned red. Tom called her a goofball and took off another hamburger patty from the grill in order to give the fish more space.

“You know Spanish?” Wulf whispered to Mary Jane as they added lettuce and tomato to their burgers.

Mary Jane chewed her bottom lip. The words were an automatic response. Even with two lifetimes worth of memories, she didn’t recall ever learning Spanish.

“That’s just high school stuff.” She waved. She took a seat at the patio table next to Amy. With her own astonishment of being bilingual in the back of her mind, Mary Jane restarted the conversation about the Blackwoods recent sight-seeing trip, this time in English. Tom went on and on about every detail of their lives. He didn’t miss a single thing, from the time they awoke, to recounting some of the jokes the tourist guide gave while a tour bus traveled along the coast of Mexico.

While the guys sat in the living room watching baseball, Mary Jane and Amy stepped off the patio at the oceanfront resort. They stopped a few yards away from where the water had receded into the ocean and sat on the damp sand. Off in the distance, clouds cluttered around a blood moon. For a while, the women were comfortable in the silence. Mary Jane shifted sand through her fingers. A year had come and gone since she had formulated any new friendships; that had begun and ended with Glenn, as he was the only loyal friend she’d made besides Wulf.

The Blackwoods could teach her a thing or two about returning to society and life…for Wulf’s sake. In her mind’s eye, speaking with Amy was the equivalent to a therapy session.

She expected Amy to carry on where Tom left off. She’d then have the opportunity to squeeze in and mention that Amy was so happy. Now, where the hell is the happy juice? I would like some too. Yeah, Mary Jane assumed that would be how she ushered herself into the conversation. But Amy was quiet. During both of their dinner encounters, the Blackwoods carried the conversation, jokes, everything. And now, when Mary Jane most needed to learn how to be content with just herself and not due to Wulf—but for Wulf’s sake—she couldn’t.

“It’s not every day that I see love, true love,” Amy began while looking at her. “The way I see it in you and Dylan. May I ask, why do you call him Wulf? It seems so formal.”

Mary Jane smiled. “I… guess it all has to do with how we met. Wulf thought I was a drugged-out stripper when I drove into the back of his police cruiser. Being the straight-and-narrow cop that he is, he was angry that my owner, a man named Beasley, was coming to bail me out of jail. So, our relationship started quite unconventional.”

Amy laughed so hard Mary Jane decided on not telling her that it wasn’t a joke. Her head cocked to the side. “Wait, Amy, you said love. Me and Wulf…you think he loves me?”

The tears of laughter disappeared from Amy’s cheeks with a rub from the back of her hand. “Yes, it’s obvious.”

A voice with a thick Mexican accent broke through the darkness, “Lalina?”

A wave of alcohol met them as a man in shredded jeans and a holey shirt walked along the shore. He was muttering in Spanish.

“You are La Luna?” he asked, his dirty nails pointed toward Mary Jane.

“Wh-hat?” Amy scooted closer to Mary Jane, visibly shaken by his intoxicated speech.

Mary Jane stared into his eyes and couldn’t speak, although she understood him clearly. Silently, she came to her feet.

“We–yes… oh… la luna is the moon.” Amy struggled to understand, pointing at the rust-red orb behind the transient. “Yes, it’s a blood moon.” Visibly shaken, she stood up with Mary Jane’s help.

They backed away from him as the reek of alcohol assaulted them.

Again, he murmured, “Lalina . . .”