Stan sat beside his lawyer, glowering at me. He looked ridiculous in his orange jumpsuit, but somehow also more menacing.

“What is the nature of the relationship between Mr. Harris and Miss Jones, to the best of your knowledge?” The prosecutor, Perry Davis, looked straight at me and nodded, encouraging me to repeat the same facts I’d told him again and again before the trial.

“I believe they were boyfriend and girlfriend,” I said into the mic, keeping my gaze locked on Perry, a man in his forties with premature grey hair and kind eyes.

“So they were lovers,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Would you say that they had a turbulent relationship?”

“Yes. I’ve walked into them arguing before.”

“Objection, your honor,” Stan’s lawyer said. “All couples have arguments. The fact that Miss Lewis has seen Mr. Harris and Miss Jones having a lovers’ quarrel doesn’t say anything about the quality or dynamics of their relationship.”

In my periphery vision, I could see Stan still glaring at me. I could feel the heat of his anger penetrating my cool exterior. A shiver ran down my spine. The room felt cold even though we were in the middle of an unusually hot summer.

“Overruled,” the judge said.

My heart pounded against my rib cage. My fingers started to shake, and I hid them behind the wooden witness stand so Stan wouldn’t see my anxiety.

“Miss Lewis,” Perry said, catching my gaze and smiling when I looked up to see him. “How often would you say these arguments are?”

“I don’t know. Nancy never told me. I only accidentally saw them sometimes at the club’s dressing room.”

“This is the club owned by Mr. Harris, where both you and Miss Jones were working?”

“Yes.”

“How many times have you seen them fight in the dressing room?”

“I don’t keep count.”

“Would you say it’s every week maybe, or every month?”

“More like every two weeks.”

“Have you seen these fights turn violent, Miss Lewis?”

“Yes.” I stared into Perry’s eyes, ignoring the soft gasps from the audience. It was like I had tunnel vision, the way I only saw Perry clearly and everything else turned into a blur.

“Can you tell the court more about these violent altercations?”

“Once, I saw Stan’s hands around Nancy’s neck. He was strangling her.” My mouth was working on autopilot.

My mind went blank and all I was doing was reciting the testimony I’d already gone through multiple times. It was like my whole body was gripped by a cold, giant, slimy snake that wrapped itself tighter and tighter around my body, depriving my lungs of air and my brain of coherent thoughts.

“Anything else?”

“Nancy sometimes showed up to work with bruises.”

“Objection, your honor. The injuries Miss Lewis refer to may have been caused by anything,” said Stan’s lawyer in a loud voice, which almost made me jump in surprise. I’d never spoken directly with the guy, but I hated his guts.

“Retained,” the judge decided.

“Have you seen Mr. Harris behave aggressively, or violently, toward Miss Jones?”

“Yes. Stan would sometimes corner Nancy and intimidate her until she was shaking in fear.” I made the mistake of glancing in Stan’s direction as I said his name out loud, not knowing that what I was about to see was going to haunt my dreams and keep me on edge for months to come.

“You. Are. Fucked.” Stan mouthed each word slowly, wordlessly, making sure that I’d understood, but without letting anyone else realize he’d just threatened me. He held my gaze hostage and snarled, smirking cruelly when I recoiled in fear.

* * *

I try to shake off my ugly thoughts about the trial that happened last year, just before I moved to Ashbourne. I refocus my attention onto the road, but it’s hard to keep my mind still when I’m just driving through familiar streets that I already know like the back of my hand.

I’d been pretty good at forgetting my past and focusing on building a new life for me here, but that was when there were no reminders of my past walking around in town. I could pretend everything was normal, act like I was really just another underpaid teacher in a sleepy little town. Like I didn’t have a dark secret following me around.

I was already nervous when Jacob moved into town. I’d suspected him of being related to Stan somehow, but I quickly ruled that out.

Stan wouldn’t have prolonged things—that’s not his style. If Jacob were working for Stan, he would’ve overpowered me when he saw me by the side of the road last week and taken me back to Stan’s men. Instead, he fixed my car without asking for anything in return.

Sometimes I get a strange feeling like he’s watching me, but there’s no reason why Stan would just keep an eye on me instead of just kidnapping me.

Still, it’s probably a good idea to stay away from Jacob, seeing as he knows about my past as a stripper and I don’t want that information to get out. Even if he doesn’t end up taking me back to Stan, if word gets out I could lose my job in a blink.

And now, there’s Steve. A random Tinder date. Tactless, stuck up, and condescending, but not a danger. At least that’s what I thought until he brought up having seen me in San Francisco.

He seems too tame, too soft, to be one of Stan’s men. But even if he isn’t, bad things could happen if he started digging into my background. If he has, in fact, seen me at the club, he could call them to ask about me. If the club knows where Steve is calling from, it would only be a matter of time until Stan’s guys paid me visit.

I turn onto my street. As my house comes into view, I notice all the lights are off. Strange. I usually keep at least the light on the porch on. Maybe the lightbulb needs to be changed. I think I still have a spare one in the closet.

As I pull up into my driveway, it occurs to me that I usually would’ve had the light on in the living room as well, but my house is completely dark.

Could it be a power outage?, I think to myself, trying to stay positive. But all my neighbors’ houses are as bright as they usually are.

My electricity bills are paid automatically. They just withdraw the amount I owe from my bank account each month so I never miss a payment. There’s no way the electricity company has turned off my power.

I switch off the ignition but keep the headlights on, letting the beams slice through the ominous darkness. How can my house, normally a place of safety and comfort, suddenly seem so alien and sinister?

I get out of my car. Just as I’m about to grab my keys from inside my bag, I realize my front door is open. Because the door is black, I didn’t notice that before.

Shit.

My hands grow clammy as cold sweat and goose bumps cover the surface of my skin. Even though the air is clear, it’s hard to breath. I make the motions I usually do to inhale and exhale, but air wouldn’t enter my lungs. My heart races as I wonder what could’ve happened here.

I get as far as my porch before I take one look down the dark hallway and decide it’s not a good idea to enter on my own.

If it’s Stan, then I should run like hell. If it’s a burglary, they can take whatever they want—it’s not like I have anything of value in there. The only thing I’d miss…

Max.

Where could he be?

I back away from my own front door, the wooden floor of the porch creaking as I step back down the stairs. I walk toward the street, my hands shaking as I fumble in my bag, trying to find my phone so I can call 911.

“Max! Where are you?” I scream into the night, looking left and right, hoping to see a furry creature with floppy ears and a long, pink tongue sticking out of his mouth. I pull out my phone.

Panic grips me as I realize there’s not a soul on the street and nobody would even see me if one of Stan’s men were to grab me right now.

“Help! Someone!”