I’ve never broken a rich man’s fingers before.

I’m very tempted to now.

But I won’t have to lay a hand on Alec Holly to break him. He’s not that kind of man.

He doesn’t need blood and pain to make the fear of what can and will happen to him real. All he needs are words – words he believes with absolute certainty, because I mean them just as absolutely.

I fucking mean it when I say I'll break every finger on both hands until he talks just to make it stop, saving the thumbs for last because they’re the thickest and hurt the most to snap.

I mean that by the time that’s done, I won’t let him speak because I’ll tape his mouth shut, gagging him with a cloth that barely lets him breathe, and then force him to write what I want to know by hand with those broken, mangled fingers. I mean that I’ll find new ways to make him bleed, if the Pilgrims or the Runners or anyone else threatens Liv in this house because of him. I mean that I'll murder this shit in the most exquisite, horrifying way possible if anything happens to my Liv or my Em because of him.

I mean that he has everything to fear from me.

And nothing – not his money, not his companies, not his power, not his connections – could ever make me fear him.

He stares up at me from the couch, eyes wide and wild and pale. He’s trying to maintain some hint of that aloof composure, but it’s the chain on his tie clip that gives him away. It’s rattling ever-so-subtly, this quiet chime of fear that gives away his faint full-body shaking.

I haven’t even taken a single step toward him. I’m leaning against the door, arms folded over my chest, ankles crossed. All I’ve done is talk to him.

“Wh-what the hell's wrong with you?” he stammers.

I arch a brow. “It’s amazing the things you learn you’re capable of in service to God and country. So. Let’s get a few things out in the open.” I unfold my arms. He flinches as I lift a curled fist, but all I do is begin ticking points off on my fingers. “One. You’re an asshole. You’re also not in control of Liv’s life anymore. She is. That’s not up for negotiation.”

A second finger. Middle finger. Satisfying finger. “Two. I know you hired the Runners to take a hit out on a few Pilgrims. Stupid ass move, by the way.” My third finger flies up. “Three. I also know you do a lot of under the table business using the startups you buy to conceal it. I’d bet that business has crossed paths with the Pilgrims’ operations, including their little indentured servitude racket with their traffickers across the border.” Last finger. “Four. You’re at the center of all of this. Not random chance. Not Milah’s drug habits. So you’re going to tell me what’s really happening, and then I’m going to tell Landon Strauss and the FBI.”

Holly starts to open his mouth, then thinks better of it when I count off again on my thumb, his mouth snapping shut hard enough to make his sallow cheeks wobble.

“Fifth and final,” I add, “you’re not going to argue with me, asshole. Because believe it or not, I’m trying to keep your greedy, shitty ass alive, and the only way to do that is for you to come clean so the people trying to protect you and your daughters and my family aren’t shooting in the dark.”

He actually has the nerve to look offended, drawing himself up with false bravado. “You think I don’t care about my daughters? I would do anything to protect them.”

“As long as you can protect yourself first. I bet you’d cry crocodile tears at their funerals if their deaths got the Pilgrims off your ass. You’d be partying in Milan by morning.”

“I most certainly would not!” He sniffs. His angry face falls, and he rubs his temples. “Look, Mr. Woods...this was all a misunderstanding. A domino effect that ran out of control. I never intended for my girls to be hurt. Not for anyone to –”

“Shut up. Tell me about the first domino that fell.”

Alec Holly licks his lips, then pulls the neatly folded pocket square from his coat’s breast pocket and dabs at his sweat-dewed brow and upper lip. “Well. You see, I was quite worried about Milah. She’s been through this song and dance before, you know. And she always backslides. She always finds a new supply for her nasty habit, but her primary supply lines run through this gang. The Pilgrims.”

My eyes beam hot death at him. I nod slightly. “Go on.”

“I only wanted to make them afraid to sell to her. Milah’s skeletons are piling up so deep the closet simply won’t stay closed much longer, and I suppose I just...” His voice cracks dramatically, and he looks off into the distance. I sigh deeply while he continues, “I don’t want to see her bring any more harm to herself, or this family. So, yes, call me guilty. I hired a few men to intimidate a few of the Pilgrims’ drug runners. Murder was never supposed to be involved, but they went too far – and it was only terrible luck my Olivia was there. Don’t you see? A misunderstanding. A truly awful one.”

I stare at him blankly.

The disgust is too thick in my mouth to even speak, and my tongue weighs a hundred pounds when I finally say, “You don’t play the martyr act very well. Nor do you know anything about the criminal underworld, or how seriously a gang like the Pilgrims takes blood vendettas. And you’re leaving something out, Mr. Holly.” I survey my nails. “Are you right-handed or left-handed?”

He cocks his head like a puzzled cocker spaniel. “Right...why?”

“Because I’ll start with the fingers on your left. I’m generous like that. Let you keep your dominant hand to jerk off when all this is over or whatever the fuck.”

He goes pale, actually hides both hands behind his back. “All right, all right!”

I glare at him, undaunted. But we might be making progress.

His face is all grimacing, hateful lines as he stares me over. “You're a disgusting brute, Woods. I don’t know what my daughter sees in you.”

“I’d say that’s between me and her, isn’t it?” I push away from the door, just the slightest movement to straighten, but it’s enough to make him flatten himself against the sofa. “Talk, Mr. Holly. Or I’ll find more things to break than your stubby fingers.”

“You've made your point, Mr. Woods,” he snaps frigidly, before sniffing and adjusting his collar. “Very well. I was telling the truth when I said I wanted to protect Milah from any additional scandals, despite what you wish to believe. But I'll admit an ulterior motive in protecting my business holdings as well. You see, I...ah...”

He clears his throat, then speaks in a mild, dismissive tone, as if discussing the weather on a balmy day, nothing of particular importance. “A few years ago, I was involved in several land prospecting and investment opportunities tied to a stock trading deal. What I didn't know at the time was that the land rights were tied to a project the Pilgrims were working on with developing a strip mall for less...ah...entitled business owners. They needed their labor cheap and undocumented, the same as their tenants. The Pilgrims were happy to provide. Once it was legally binding, I couldn't pull out without involving my lawyers, audit transparency, a few other things...and considering the fact that tying stock values to this sort of deal is highly frowned on by the SEC, not to mention fiscally supporting the Pilgrims’ less than legal ventures...” He loosens his tie.

I wonder if it’s choking him more than his conscience. “Spit it the fuck out,” I snarl.

“I have a vested interest in not being discovered, considering it would be prudent to avoid jail time. And considering Milah’s connections to the Pilgrims could lead to my connections to the Pilgrims, it was in my best interests that they be suppressed.”

You little idiot, a vicious voice stabs at the back of my brain.

My leash is fraying. I can feel it, popping one thread at a time as the tension in me pulls tighter and tighter on it. “Did you tell them where we are?”

“Not this time,” he answers glibly—then freezes, teeth half-bared in a frightened grimace, as he realizes what he said.

This time.

My hands slowly curl into fists. “I want you to be very clear on what the fuck you mean by this time, Mr. Holly. You get one chance to answer. Take a second. You don’t want to know what happens if you answer incorrectly.”

“I-I-I didn’t have a choice!” he blubbers, scooting back along the couch. “They were going to shoot me! They were going to shoot me if I didn’t give them your address to find Olivia!”

Sneaking suspicion feels almost like dread. “And the night they tried to kill us at the Vancouver airfield? How did they know we'd be there, Holly?”

He can’t meet my eyes, and his voice is barely a whisper. “They swore they would just take Liv and Milah...not that they’d hurt anyone. And that they’d give them back once we’d...negotiated a suitable settlement. The girls were only supposed to be collateral! To make things fair and even!”

I can’t speak.

If I do, I’m going to say every hateful, cruel, murderous thing inside me – and then I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.

I thought I was a monster.

Fuck, no. I’m nothing compared to a demon-man like Alec Holly.

I'd never turn my kids over to animals like the Pilgrims. I'd never consider sacrificing Em to line my own pockets.

Hell, Em's why I took this job, to make sure she had a future, and yet now I feel sick at the idea that this foul bastard’s money will trickle through Landon to Em when it’s as tainted as he is. Alec Holly claims to love his daughters, but all he really loves is himself.

To him, his daughters are an extension, an expendable one he can live without if need be as long as he doesn’t have to sacrifice his power, his position, and his luxury.

No wonder Milah’s tried to drown herself in drinking and drugs with a shit like him controlling her life. No wonder Liv’s learned to make herself small, invisible, so at least she can find a moment to hide where she’s not jerked around on his string. His need to control everything for his own benefit has come one hair short of killing them both – and they’re not out of the woods yet.

All because of this selfish, stupid, shameless fucking prick.

I don’t even realize I’m moving until I am.

Until he’s small and gray in my shadow, until he’s looking up at me like a sparrow just before the hawk dives down to catch it in its claws. I snare his hair in one hand, gripping up a thick handful of it, and drag him to his feet.

Higher. Higher, until he’s practically squawking in pain, clawing at my forearm, struggling, his toes dragging on the ground as he dangles from my grip, his face stretched out of proportion as my grasp and the full force of his weight pulls on the skin of his head and skews it into a warped mockery of a scream.

“You have two choices, little man.” The black shroud is wrapping me up again, sucking away all emotion from my voice, my thoughts. I can’t feel if I’m going to keep myself under control.

But I can’t feel if I’m going to kill him without conscience, either.

And I can’t quite trust myself not to do that right now.

This is the monster in me. The one not even Liv or Em have truly seen.

They’ve seen me kill in self-defense, seen me threaten and hurt men for a purpose, but never seen me willing to kill someone simply for threatening the people I love. Simply for being the scum of the earth.

I give Alec Holly a rough shake, just enough to stop his screaming.

He stares at me, practically blubbering. I hold him dangling for several long seconds more before I bite off, clear and cold and slow, “Time to make a choice. You can either confess everything – to the police, to the FBI, and to the Pilgrims – and take full responsibility for this mess. I don’t care if hell rains down on your head. I don’t care if the Pilgrims kill you, as long as they leave Liv and Milah out of it and stay away from my family. You take responsibility for your shit, and you deal with the fallout. That’s option one.” I give him another shake, and he makes a gagging sound of pain. “Option two is that you mysteriously disappear while traveling for business. Maybe in two or three years, some hikers will find your bones in the bottom of a ravine, if the coyotes even leave enough to pick over in a forensics' lab.”

It’s not Alec who answers.

It’s Liv.

Just a sharp, shocked sound, strangled in the back of her throat.

It’s enough to tear me from the black and shadowed place and dump me into the harsh, garish light of reality, where it’s all too clear to see her standing in the doorway, staring at me with her eyes wide and filled with tears. Em’s behind her...and for the first time in her life, I see fear on her face when she looks at me.

Just like her mother.

Fuck.

What am I doing?

I let Alec Holly go. He crumples to the floor, half-sagging against the couch, moaning and rubbing at his reddened scalp and hairline. I can’t meet their eyes. Not Liv's or Em's.

I just turn around and walk out, heading out into the deepening afternoon sunlight.

I don’t go far.

I can’t go far. Not when I know there’s not even an illusion of safety in the house, and even if I need a moment apart, I also have to stay close by in case anyone trailed Alec Holly here. Or in case he tries to drag Liv out by force.

So I only make my way out into the garden, surrounded by sprays of flowering milkweed, clematis, daisies, and vine blooms left to run wild and untended until the garden is a burst of bright color too sweet and soft for my dark, brooding mood.

That look on Em’s face was familiar.

Just like Crystal.

I’ve made my own daughter afraid of me, and that’s something I can’t live with.

I drop down heavily into one of the green wire patio chairs out near the rock-lined garden pond, just staring at nothing, my hands limp against my thighs. I thought I was in control.

I thought I knew myself, thought of this other side of me as someone else who wasn’t the real me. But now I wonder if he’s more real than the Riker who tries to be a good father, tries to be a good role model, tries to be a good protector.

More real than the Riker who's learned over the past few weeks that it’s okay to let the cracks in his armor show to let someone else in.

Maybe those cracks were what let this darkness out and gave it more space to grow.

I never should've tried to be anything besides Em’s father. That was who I threw myself into being after Crystal died. That was how I tried to honor her memory, and tried to fill in that gap in Em’s life by being two parents in one.

As long as that was the only role I had to play, I could balance between myself and whatever this black, cruel thing is inside me.

But the second the chaos of Liv’s maddening, beautiful, wonderful sweetness, fragility, and odd inner strength entered my life, I was fucked.

That’s when I started losing control.

I don’t know how long I sit out there. Long enough to watch Alec Holly go slumping out of the house, alone. He casts me one furtive look, but I hardly even glance at him.

Just long enough to watch him make his way toward the paved trail that will take him at least a couple of hours to walk in those shoes, and I wish him many raw, bleeding blisters along the way. But at some point I realize there’s something on the table as reality begins to filter through my numb, bitter haze of self-recrimination.

Liv’s notebook, with that chewed-up pink pen clipped into the rings.

I shouldn’t read it.

But I need something to take me out of me, just for a little while. Maybe something to remember her by, when I know the awful decision waiting for me, the only thing I can do if I really care about keeping Liv safe instead of being no better than her father and keeping her to myself.

So I flip the notebook open to where the clip of the pen makes a bookmark, landing on a single messy paragraph scribbled and crossed out and rewritten on the page.

I skim it, adjusting to her looping, slanting handwriting – she could’ve been a doctor with writing like this – and pick up that apparently her hero is in the hospital.

The scratched-out parts have him in a car accident, but in the new writing it’s different. He’s suffering from chills, weakness, because he was brave enough and deeply in love enough to dive into the frozen waters around a small town lighthouse to save his nanny-turned-lover and his daughter from the deadly waves. The moment I see the word “daughter,” a prickle starts on the back of my neck, one that turns into a full-on tingle as I recognize the description of green eyes, of silvering brown hair, of a man shut off from the world by grief, of a cold and ruthless side used to protect those he loves. Of layers peeled away to show a warm and loving heart underneath.

She describes him as a dark knight who wasn’t meant to live, but found a way if only to give his life, his last breath, for everything he loved. His daughter. His beloved.

A dark knight.

And even as I read the last line about him promising to always be with her, even as he slips into a coma...

I realize that this truly is how Liv sees me, because somehow Liv has managed to fall in love with me, and love is more than just blind.

Love is careening toward a cliff, and when the crash comes, there can be only tears and ruin.

This isn’t just a fling to her. It’s not just incredible sex.

It’s not catharsis, experimentation, self-discovery, running out of control with this new and wild and unnamed thing. Not for her, and not for me.

What is it but pure self-destruction for both of us?

And if I don’t put an end to it, I’m going to get her killed.

I drop the journal, pressing my face into my hands. If I care about her at all, I know what I have to do.

I fish my phone out of my pocket and dial Landon’s number.