Stopping on a dime when going over a hundred miles an hour isn’t an easy task, even for my car. But with a squeal of brakes, I force the stop and jump out, sprinting toward the smashed car as smoke starts to rise. My heart is in my throat. Madison!

It’s dark, but in the small flame’s light, I can see someone approaching the car. I don’t know who the suited man is, but Tiffany’s words echo in my mind, and I realize it must be Madison’s ex, Rich.

I run harder, my shoes slipping on the cool pavement, and I wish I was wearing anything but dress shoes and slacks right now.

It seems like I’m running in slow-motion as the scene plays out in hyper-speed in front of me. I watch in horror as Rich reaches into the car and Madison cries out. He pulls her out of the car, and I have a flare of joy that she’s alive and free, and fighting back like a she-devil even though she’s in bad shape. Her left leg is smoking, she has a forehead gash that is dripping blood down her cheek, and her voice sounds rough and crackly from the smoke as she yells. The flames from the engine compartment of her wrecked car rise higher, reaching into the night at an odd angle because the car is almost completely flipped on its roof. She struggles, but he grabs her hard by the throat and drags her closer to that black car of his. I know with every fiber of my being that I have to stop him before he gets her in that car.

I dig deep for more speed but feel a punch to my gut as she sags in his hands. Rich catches her under the arm, but before he can take two steps, I’m there.

I don’t give him any warning. He doesn’t deserve one. I hit them both in a tackle, pulling Madison into my arms as I roll to the ground, cushioning her fall before getting back to my feet to defend her unconscious form.

“What the fuck!” Rich groans, holding his head as he rolls over and bounces to his feet. His eyes land on me, and his face transforms from confusion to utter rage. “You. Thought you could take her from me? No! She’s mine.”

Spittle flies from his mouth as he yells, all façade of decency washed from his mannerisms. He’s a dog with a bone, a predator with its prey. But Madison is none of those things. Not to him. Not to me. Not to anyone.

“She isn’t yours. She never was. And if you can’t recognize that she’s a strong fucking woman who stands on her own, that’s your mistake,” I growl, stepping forward.

A flash of silver appears in Rich’s right hand, and I see him snap out a knife. He holds it in front of him, waving it back and forth, looking comfortable with the blade. “She is mine. I made her what she is and she needs me.”

I’ve fought before. Chase and I have brawled on more than one occasion. But we’ve never used knives. And a cotton dress shirt doesn’t exactly do a lot for protection.

“She doesn’t need you. She doesn’t need anyone. She’s the strongest person I know.”

In that simple truth about Madison, Rich’s Achilles heel comes to me. He’s arrogant but weak. He needs to dominate someone to feel powerful himself. The insight gives me an angle to manipulate. “That’s why you gave her so much shit . . . to break down her defenses, thinking if you could tame her, you’d actually be worth something. But you couldn’t do it. You know why?” I ask condescendingly.

He stalks around me, swinging the knife in wide arcs that get closer and closer. He doesn’t answer, so I keep talking, watching intently for an opening. “Because you’re weak. She doesn’t need to be tamed. She is beautiful in her powerful independence, just as she should be.” I see a flicker of recognition in his eyes and know he already knew that and just got off on squashing her spirit. I go in for the verbal kill. “The truth is . . . you went to battle with her, and she won, fair and square, because you’re weaker than she is.” He reacts just as I’d hoped he would, and I’m ready for his attack, but he’s slow. My God, he’s so slow. I see the knife coming from what seems like a mile away, and as he arcs toward my face with the steel, I catch the inside of his elbow with a chop and the knife clatters to the ground.

Rich punches back, and I take it on the left cheek, the pain blooming across my face and firing me up with a fresh shot of adrenaline. I hit him with a hard one-two to the ribs in return that makes him wheeze as his breath whooshes out in a gush. I shove him back, and he hits his car, bending backward over the hood as I grab him by the lapels of his jacket.

“Don’t . . . ever . . . lay . . . a . . . hand . . . on her!” I grunt, accentuating each word with a bounce of the back of Rich’s skull off the hood of his car. Rich gets his knee up between us and pushes me back, and I stumble as my shoes slip on the pavement and I lose a few inches of ground.

“She’s mine!” Rich howls as he pushes off the hood to tackle me. We roll across the pavement, but unlike my teenage wrestling matches with Chase, there’s absolutely no restraint. We volley punches, brawl for position, and I end up on top, my hands locked on his throat as I start bouncing his head again.

“She’ll never be yours,” I shout, letting go with one hand to cock my fist back. “And you’ll never hurt her again.”

I let my fist fly, and I hear a satisfying crunch as I connect with Rich’s nose. His head sags, and I drop him to the pavement, unconscious and bleeding.

Once I know the threat is incapacitated, I scramble off him. He’s unimportant right now.

Instead, I rush over to Madison, who still hasn’t moved. “Maddie?” I ask her, shaking her shoulder lightly. Panic grips me again as she doesn’t respond. “Madison? Madison!”

I check, and she’s not breathing. Reaching into my pocket, I grab my keyring, thanking my pain in the ass of an insurance company for insisting on a ‘panic button’ for my car. One push, and I’ve got full 9-1-1 support rolling to my GPS location, letting me focus on Madison.

A coldness drops over me, a thin veneer that I’ve felt before whenever I’ve been in high-stress situations. It’s what allows me to remember the CPR classes I took at work, letting me clear her airway and check for a heartbeat before giving her rescue breaths and starting compressions.

I’m still working as the police show up, three squad cars squealing to a stop with sirens and lights flashing.

“Sir . . . sir, we’ve got her,” one of the cops says. “An ambulance is right behind us.”

I collapse to my knees next to Madison, and the cop takes over as I exhaustedly beg him to save her. Another officer asks me questions, and I give a quick, disjointed accounting of Madison’s history with Rich and what happened tonight. They write it all down, handcuffing Rich when the black car comes back as his and slipping the knife they find on the ground into a plastic bag.

“Sir . . . we’ll need a complete statement downtown,” the officer says as the ambulance is about to pull off. I nod and head toward the rig. “Sir!” he yells out behind me.

“I’m going to the hospital with Madison. Meet me there if you want, or I’ll come downtown later,” I reply, climbing in. The paramedics look at me, then at the cops, one of whom climbs in. It’s a tight fit, but we’re on the road. “How is she?”

“Heartbeat is steady and stable now. She’s had some trauma to her throat from the strangulation. We’ve had to intubate her, but the fact that we could is a good sign,” the paramedic says, cold but kind.

I grab her hand, watching worriedly as we fly down the road, praying we get to the hospital quickly enough.