My mom has already been staying with me for two days. The plan was to get her a place as soon as I could, but I just haven’t gotten to it yet. It’s after midnight when I wake up to get a glass of water. My mind replays the sensations of the previous day. Being with Logan so completely and so fully was better than anything I’ve ever felt. I don’t think my days of BDSM are behind me by a long shot, but learning I could be with him outside of that was important. It meant everything.

The thunderstorm outside has been keeping me awake. Every time I’m about to fall asleep, a huge crash booms through the house, making my heart pound. Rain patters hard against the roof and windows, driven so hard by the wind that it’s coming in almost sideways.

I don’t think Logan knows I spotted the guy he has keeping an eye on me, but the same white car has been parked across the street since I told him about Ronnie. Figuring it out after that wasn’t too hard. I’ve made a habit of peeking at the car. Seeing the man behind the wheel watching has become something of a comfort for me.

But this time, I see the car door is open and the man is lying on the ground a few feet from the car in the middle of the street. He’s not moving. My brain fills in the gaps with lightning speed.

The glass of water falls from my hand, shattering on the ground. Shards of glass pelt my bare feet and legs, followed by cold water.

Ronnie. He’s here. Somewhere. He’s coming for us.

My phone is by my bed. I rush toward my room as fast as I can. The first step I take brings my foot down on a thick piece of glass and I slip backwards, falling hard and knocking the wind from my lungs.

At the same moment, the kitchen window shatters and a drunken, soaking wet Ronnie climbs through. Lightning flashes behind him, illuminating the rain that sprays through the window behind him. He clumsily uses the counter to slide down into the kitchen, boots crunching on broken glass. He holds a splintered wooden baseball bat in his hand. There’s a clump of hair wedged beneath one of the splinters.

My stomach turns over. Did he fucking kill the guy outside? If he would kill a stranger in cold blood, what would he do to us?

“This has been a long fucking time coming, bitch,” he growls.

I scoot back, wincing as glass digs into my palms. My foot is an explosion of heat and pain. A trail of slick blood stretches out behind me as I back away from him.

Ronnie’s voice is slurred, and I can tell from his movements that’s he’s drunk. “First I’ll break your legs so you can’t run. Then I’ll tell that boyfriend of yours he can have you back for a million dollars.” Ronnie laughs deeply and then pauses abruptly to cough something thick up. He spits on the floor.

“Mom,” I whisper. I try to shout, but my chest feels so tight I can’t push the sound out any louder. It’s like I’m in a dream. Everything feels stiff and foggy.

He’s stepping closer. Crunch. Crunch. The tip of the bat drags on the ground, paving a path through the shards of glass. I can’t take my eyes off the clump of dark hair. I expect him to swing as soon as he can reach me, and at first, I don’t think I could stop him if he did. I feel helpless.

It’s only when he falls to his knees and comes closer that the ability to fight rises up. If he thinks he’s going to put his fucking hands on me…

My head bumps into the cabinet. I run out of room to back up just as my hand comes down on a fist-sized piece of glass. I squeeze it, not caring how it digs into my skin.

“I’ve always wondered how you would tas--”

Ronnie’s eyes bulge. His hand comes up slowly as he tips to one side, mouth open and working silently. I’m still gripping the piece of glass that I jammed into his leg when he falls. I rip it free and scoot away as quickly as I can, gasping for breath. I can’t look away from the spot where blood gushes from him, quickly forming a pool beneath his leg. I drop the glass and shakily get to one foot. I cry out as I rip the piece of glass from the bottom of my foot.

My mom bursts into the room, probably drawn by my scream. “Ronnie!” She shouts.

I watch, feeling sick when I realize my mom is probably still going to go back to him. I hoped maybe he had finally pushed her beyond her limit, that she was ready to take control of her life again.

She moves toward him, carefully avoiding stepping on glass with her bare feet. She leans down and I think she’s about to kiss him, but she pulls her hand back and punches Ronnie in the mouth.

“You stay the fuck away from my daughter. And you stay the fuck away from me. We’re done.”

I stare in amazement as my mom comes toward me and helps me up, leading me from the kitchen. Once she helps settle me down on the couch, the pain of my injuries finally hits me. And it hits like a truck. My foot is a blaze of agony and my hand is throbbing with icy hot pain from where I gripped the glass to stab Ronnie. To stab Ronnie. God. Vivid images flash in my mind from the last few minutes.

Ronnie crawling through the window like some demon, backlit by lightning. His face as he knelt down to reach for me. The way the blood oozed from his leg. My mom choosing me over him. I let my head fall back against the couch. “We need to call someone,” I say after a few moments. I doubt Ronnie is going anywhere on his own with the gash in his leg, but we can’t exactly let him just lay bleeding in the kitchen bleeding out all night, either.

There’s a loud bang and the front door swings open, doubling the sounds of the storm outside. I turn my head to see a tall figure in a suit.

“Kitten,” says Logan softly. He quickly moves inside, kneeling in front of me and gently touching the skin around my cuts. Anger boils in his features so powerfully that it almost scares me. It would scare me if I didn’t know the anger was from protectiveness and his hatred of seeing me hurt.

“Thank God you’re here,” I say. I’m about to foolishly wrap my hands around him in a hug, but he stops me with a firm hand.

“Don’t move. I’m going to get these cleaned and covered.”

“How did you know to come?” I ask, letting myself sink back into the couch.

“My PI didn’t send his hourly update.”

“Uh,” says my mom. “Mr. Steel? Ronnie is in the other room still.”

Logan stands, turning toward the kitchen door. His fists are clenched at his side and his jaw flexes. He steps through the door and there’s a long silence. My mom and I wait, eyes locked in uncertainty. I don’t know what I’m hoping for or expecting.

Logan steps back into the living room. His features are dark. “He’s going to bleed to death soon, unless we cut off some of the circulation to his thigh. His femoral artery is severed.”

I stare in confusion for a moment, wondering why Logan hasn’t already cut off circulation. I realize a second later what he’s saying. He’s asking me. He’s asking if I want Ronnie to die or if I want him to live.

I look to my mom, and to my surprise, she shrugs. I try to think through the pain throbbing in my hands and feet. I try to look past what I want right now. Revenge. Justice. Pain. I force myself to look past that and focus on what I can live with. I don’t think I could live with myself if I knew I had the power to save his life and I let him die.

“He’ll go to jail,” I say. “That’s enough.”

Logan holds my gaze for long enough to tell me he would rather kill Ronnie, but he disappears into the kitchen and I hear the sound of fabric tearing. Maybe he’s ripping a kitchen towel or something to tie off the leg. Either way, it’s over. We’ll call the police, they’ll take Ronnie away, and I’ll finally be able to focus on putting the pieces of my life back together. Except I won’t be doing it alone this time.