Ben called Arjan Singh as he walked toward the Lower East Side. Rats and stray dogs scuttled in the alleyways, but the streets were eerily quiet. He’d been putting off this call for days, but he’d known from the beginning he needed to make it.

“Ben?” The doctor answered on the first ring. “Is Chloe all right?”

“She’s healing. She’s strong. I’m going to ask you to do something for me that’s not strictly ethical.”

“My, my,” the doctor said in his laconic British accent. “This must be the first time anyone has asked such a thing of me, Benjamin. I’m shocked. Heartily shocked.”

“I’m going to ask you, and you have the option of saying yes or no.”

“I should hope so.”

The doctor could be flexible, but Ben knew he had a strict personal code of honor. Ben just hoped Arjan’s code matched his own in this matter.

“You took a complete medical history of Chloe, correct?”

The doctor’s voice was cautious. “I did.”

“I don’t need to know it all. Most of it is none of my business. But I want you to email me a complete list of every injury that bastard ever gave her. In detail. Do you think you can do that for me, Arjan?”

The doctor paused. “Let me call you back.”

“Fine.”

He walked quickly. Ben was crossing the Bowery when Arjan called him back.

“There is a list in your email inbox,” he said quietly. “Be wise, Benjamin Vecchio. For though a sword must be drawn to protect the needy and anger is necessary for survival, a lack of discipline leads only to death in the spirit.”

“I understand.”

“I hope you do.”

He walked toward the Williamsburg Bridge and turned left on Norfolk Street, then left again on Rivington, pausing when he reached the apartment where Chloe had lived in fear. He stood in front of the redbrick building and waited until all the lights went out, reading the email from Arjan while he waited.

There were bruises and a few cuts at first. Then…

Spiral fracture of the left radius.

Chipped front tooth.

Dislocation of right patella.

Torn meniscus on right knee.

Severe strain on the anterior cruciate ligament.

The list went on and on. Cracked ribs. Hair torn at the scalp. Most of the injuries were things she’d be able to hide until the most recent beating, but the evidence was there.

As a rule, Ben avoided violence. He had no hunger for it and no thirst to prove himself. He’d walked through too much real carnage to be fascinated by bloodshed.

But anger was necessary for survival.

And sometimes a sword needed to be drawn.

Ben wouldn’t use a sword on Tom. He’d use his fists, the same weapons Tom had used on Chloe.

An eye for an eye.

A tooth for a tooth.

A torn meniscus for a torn meniscus.

The last light went out on the second floor. Ben walked to the green door facing the street, his lockpicks in hand. In seconds, he had the door open and was walking up the stairs. He passed an apartment on the right and went to the end of the hall, stopping at the last door on the left. The bay windows in the front of the building were dark and the curtains were drawn, but a low light gleamed under the doorway.

I want him holed up in his apartment, scared shitless. I want him in his safe place when I come for him.

Ben tried Chloe’s key first. It turned, but the door didn’t open. Tom was scared. He would have put in a deadbolt. Maybe a chain. Some other barrier locks. Fortunately, Tom’s landlord probably frowned on altering the windows. Not waiting for anyone to wake, Ben walked back out of the building and quickly jumped up the fire escape. He climbed to Tom’s window and, after wrapping his arm in his jacket, broke the glass on one window, clearing it in seconds.

He climbed over the couch and into the living room just as Tom was walking out of the bedroom in his boxer shorts.

“Shit!” The man cursed and ran for the door, but the series of locks he’d installed to keep Ben out also kept him from escaping.

Ben grabbed Tom by the hair and pulled his head back, punching his throat before he could yell and alert any of his neighbors. Then he dragged Tom to the bedroom, threw him on the ground, and shut the door, shoving a sturdy desk chair under the doorknob.

“Hello, Tom.”

Tom rolled on the ground, his hands at his throat, gasping for air through his bruised windpipe.

“I’m a friend of Chloe’s,” Ben said quietly, “but you probably guessed that.”

Tom was still gasping; his body was curled into a ball. He was a tall man and his muscle tone was good, but Ben had the feeling his muscles came from a trainer at the gym and not from any martial discipline. He had just enough skill to beat up a woman who was half his size.

“I promised Chloe I wasn’t going to kill you. But if you think about reporting this—think about making any kind of trouble for her—if you even try to call her, Tom, then I’m going to make sure you’re dead.” Ben kept his voice low and calm. “I won’t have to do it myself, so I won’t be breaking my promise to Chloe. Do you understand?”

The smell of urine filled the air.

“Do you understand? Nod if you can’t talk.”

Tom nodded.

“Good. Now for a little history lesson. Do you remember the first place you hit Chloe?” Ben asked. “She does. She told the doctor. The doctor told me.” Ben bent down, pulled Tom’s head back, and slapped him hard on his left cheek.

Tom blinked in surprise and his eyes went wide with anger.

“Who the fuck—?”

Ben slapped him again. “Don’t talk. I don’t want to hear your whining. Isn’t that what you told her when she cried?” Chloe hadn’t told Ben that part, but she’d told Tenzin, who thankfully had no sense of boundaries.

Ben smacked Tom with the back of his hand, hard enough to make the big man’s lip bleed, then dropped him on the ground where his head thudded on the hardwood floor. “It’s not fun to be treated like someone’s punching bag. Is it, Tom?”

Tom spit out blood and shook his head.

“I want to make sure you know something,” Ben said quietly. “This is not a onetime visit, Tommy. I’ll be back. If you try to run, I’ll find you. If you try to report me, I’ll cut out your tongue. You can live without your tongue. They don’t bleed as much as you’d expect. Did you know that?”

Tears had come to Tom’s eyes. He was drooling blood and crying.

“Tonight I’m going to crush your knee the way you crushed Chloe’s,” Ben said softly.

Tom began to rock and groan quietly, shaking his head.

“You knew exactly what you were doing when you did that, didn’t you, Tom? She’s brighter than you. She’s beautiful and special. And you’re a little piece of shit.”

“Please,” he croaked. “Please don’t…”

Ben lifted Tom’s leg at the ankle and stomped his foot down on the knee, listening for the telltale pop of the tendons and kneecap as Tom’s leg bent at an unnatural angle.

Tom screamed and Ben dropped the leg. He threw a pillow on Tom’s face. “Stay quiet, Tom. I don’t want to have to gag you, but I will.”

The man sobbed into the pillow while Ben checked his knee. The injury was more severe than Chloe’s, but then Tom wasn’t a dancer. His knees weren’t as valuable as Chloe’s in the first place.

Ben wanted to leave Tom with one more memento from his first visit. He rolled the man to his back and remembered Chloe’s chipped tooth. Ben ripped the pillow away from Tom’s face and leaned one arm hard on his chest.

“Please,” the man gasped. “Please, no.”

“Did she say no, Tom?” Ben asked calmly. “Did she cry? I think she did. That’s all for tonight, except for one more thing. Hope you have a good dentist.”

Ben reached for a large chunk of polished marble sitting on Tom’s desk. He brought the paperweight down on the man’s mouth, hitting him precisely on the front tooth, just hard enough to make his lip break open again and crack a tooth in half.

“That looks painful,” Ben said, setting the marble back on the desk and squatting by Tom’s shaking figure. “Now remember what I said. If you make any trouble for Chloe, I’ll make sure you’re dead. Stop crying. If she could handle these injuries, so can you.”

Tom turned his head to the side and vomited. A little bit hit Ben’s shoe. He stood and wiped the vomit on Tom’s pillow before he took the chair from under the doorknob.

“Like I said, Tom, don’t try to run or hide. I’ll find you if you do.”

Ben left the apartment the same way he came in, but instead of dropping to the street, he climbed higher, lifting himself onto the rooftop just as Tom began to scream in rage and pain.

He took a deep breath and jogged across the roof. It was cool that night, and he could use a run to clear his head.