Something nags at me in my sleep. It’s not the slow-dying ache in my body from Brian’s rough fucking. It’s more like a mental nudge, like a little voice telling me I forgot to lock the door or switch off the oven. I glance at the alarm clock. It’s two in the morning. Turning on my back, I try to discern the reason for my unease. The pain of last night is a fresh wound, but it’s too all-consuming to account for the splinter of anxiety that pulled me from my sleep. I saw what I went to see. I got what I wanted. That kind of pain drenches your body and soul. It encompasses everything until you exist inside of it, and it becomes as much a part of you as your need to eat and sleep. It’s like an ache that never goes away, but your body learns to live with. It becomes your new pain threshold, pushing the bar up to an unequalled high. You feel within the black hole that becomes the universe of your heart. That’s why something else registered in my subconscious mind. Did I lock the door? I’m sure I did. My mind is playing tricks on me. Still, I can’t shake the feeling.

Throwing the covers aside, I swing my feet to the floor. The tiles are cool. It should be welcoming. My townhouse is too warm inside with all the windows closed, but I can’t stop being cold. I’ve been shivering since I left the country club. I rub my palms over my arms and pull the T-shirt I’m sleeping in over my ass before going downstairs. Enough light falls from the digital panel on the fridge through the kitchen door into the hallway to find my way. From the bedroom upstairs, the alarm clock ticks. The fall of the second hand is amplified in the silence that huddles like emptiness in the house. The smell of last night’s wasted lasagna TV dinner hovers in the kitchen as I pass the door. What didn’t end up in the bin ended as vomit in the toilet.

I pad over the cold floor to the front door. The keys are on the table in the entrance where I’d left them. I’m about to test the doorknob when a hand covers my mouth from behind.

My scream is lost in the smell of leather. Adrenalin surges through my body as a meaty arm wraps around me, lifting me off my feet. I fight for my life. Twisting, biting, and kicking, I struggle like a mad person. A bite of pain nips into my arm. I faintly register the butcher’s knife clutched in my assailant’s hand, but not even the small cuts the wrestling earns me is enough to keep me still. I throw my head back, butting him in the chest. He doesn’t even grunt. In a sickening shift of our axis, we go down to the ground. He lands on top of me with his full weight. Sharp pain explodes in my head as my cheekbone hits the hard floor. It feels as if every bone in my body is crushed. Panic sends my mind reeling. I can’t breathe. He’s cutting off my airflow. Not this. Not drowning and him pinning down my body. Please, God.

The weight eases marginally, and then I’m jerked around. The pressure is only relieved for a second before he replaces it, this time by sitting down on my abdomen and pinning my arms to the floor with his knees. It hurts enough to send tears to my eyes. He’s going to crush my wrists. His hand is still pressed over my mouth, but he frees my nose, letting me breathe. My jaw aches from biting down on the leather to no avail. The glove is thick. He’s tall and muscled. I’m no match for him. Plus, he’s got a knife. Pleading is my only salvation. I search his eyes through the balaclava mask. What I find makes my stomach drop. His pupils are dilated. His eyes are cruel. He’s enjoying this. Begging won’t work on him, because he doesn’t have an ounce of compassion. The grin of his sickly full lips confirms the hunch. Still, I owe it to myself, to the vow I took to grab this second chance with both hands, to try.

“Please,” I mumble into his hand, “don’t hurt me. You can take what you want.”

Money. My body. What difference does it make when your life is at stake?

He shakes his head slowly. He’s not here to take. He’s here to hurt me.

Oh, God.

The minute the realization sinks in, he lifts his hand. The knife is a flash of metal that slices through the air. There isn’t even enough time to scream. I want to stare him in the face when he deals me my fate, but my eyes close involuntarily as the blade comes down in my line of vision. Too close.

A blinding pain sears my cheek. I go still from the sheer intensity. The agony freezes me, hurling me into a state of mental and physical shock. I pry my eyes open. I need to measure the danger. My fate. The knife lifts and dips again. Another slash. My skin burns as if it’s on fire. Warm liquid runs over my jaw and chin. A metallic smell fills the air. Bile pushes up in my throat, but my stomach is empty.

He grips my jaw with jarring strength, forcing me to meet his eyes. When he places the knife on my chest and reaches for something in his pocket, I will myself to fight again, even if it’s only to call for help. I force the cry to my lips, but no sound escapes, except for a hollow whistle of wind. The barren sound is lost before it reaches my lips. He holds a smartphone up to my face and snaps a photo. The flash blinds me.

His voice is gravelly. “This is a message from Lindy. Stay away from Brian.”

When he lets go, my head hits the tiles with a clack. Stars explode behind my eyes. My lungs heave as he lifts off me. His boots fill my line of vision. A drop of blood drips from the tip of the knife onto the floor. Without a second’s pause, the boots advance soundlessly to the door. The door opens, the hinges not making a squeak, and then he goes, leaving the door open.

I grapple for breath, sobbing dry tears and gasping like a fish out of water.

I’m alive.

I can see. He didn’t take out my eye.

He didn’t rape me.

Rolling onto my stomach, my face lands in something warm and sticky. I drag my body through it, my progress slippery but made easier by the blood as I crawl down the hallway and up the stairs. It’s only in the bedroom that I gather enough strength to get to my knees. Grabbing the phone from the nightstand, I dial the emergency service. As the call connects, I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. There’s a flapping gap where my cheek used to be, and through it I can see my jaw and teeth.

I just got off the phone with my mom when one of Monkey’s goons walks into the study and drops an envelope on the desk.

“From Lindy,” he says with a mocking smile.

My irritation flares. I talk to my mother every morning to see how she’s doing, and today isn’t a good day. All I need is to be left alone. Especially after last night. After Jane. She came back to me. I still can’t believe it. After all that’s happened, she still feels something for me, or she wouldn’t have been there. I know she’s hurting, but I’m about to set it right. This morning. Right now. As soon as Monkey’s guard gets out of my face. I just have to be careful, that’s all. I can’t drag Jane into this mess. In the meantime, I feel like punching someone. Maybe the goon facing me with that stupid grin. The man’s saving grace is that he walks away without a word.

There’s nothing after Jane. I know it as sure as I’d known it the day the ambulance drove her away. It’s fresher now that I know she still wants me. Rawer. Will this hell I’m living ever become bearable?

I rip the envelope open. An unwelcome spell of déjà vu settles over my senses. The last time I accepted an unassuming, humble brown envelope was in Jane’s office, and the content tore my world apart. It destroyed Jane’s. A single photo drops out. As I flip it over, what’s left of my world crashes. I jump to my feet in cold rage, fury pumping through me.

No, no, no.

One minute I’m in Monkey’s study, and the next, I’m in Lindy’s bedroom. The house is quiet. Her mom’s gone shopping, and Monkey is at the office. The housekeeper is downstairs, vacuuming. We’ve finished our exams. It’s holiday. Lindy’s home. Her eyes grow large in the mirror of the dresser as I go straight for her. She jumps up. A hairbrush drops from her hand to the carpet. She backs up to the wall, but I’m already on top of her. I close my fingers around her throat and lift her off her feet. Her ballerina slippers dangle from her toes. She loses them as she kicks. Her nails draw blood on my arm, but I feel nothing.

“Who did it?” I grit out.

“Lennert,” she says on a gurgle.

The guy who dropped off the photo. I make a mental note to kill him.

“Who told you?”

She doesn’t answer.

I shake her. Her lips are turning a shade of purple. Her eyes are bulging.

“Who the fuck told you?”

“C–Clive.”

The smell of piss fills the air. A trickle runs down her leg.

There’s another gurgling sound. My phone rings, breaking my trance. I’m not sure I want to let her go. I want to kill her badly, but the ring is persistent, and it’s the ringtone I only use for Cowan. The fucker must be psychic.

I drop her with a snarl. She falls to her knees, clutching her throat. Silencing the call, I go down on my knees to put us at eyelevel.

“You don’t tell a soul about this,” I say menacingly, poking the blue marks I’d left on her scrawny neck, “or I’ll make you suffer in ways you didn’t know existed.”

She lifts her gaze to me, but instead of fear, I’m met with triumph.

“You touch her again,” she croaks, “and she’s not only ugly, but dead.”

I straighten, reeling away from the evil promise in her words. The girl kneeling in front of me is not the blabbering, blushing innocent who yacked my ear off about her roommate and nail varnish color. She’s a Monkey in the making, a true heiress to his throne. I don’t think Monkey realizes what a good candidate she is. With someone like Lindy, he doesn’t need me to take over the reins.

I back away from her in disgust. “You know I’m going to kill Lennert and Clive, right?” Let their deaths be on her conscience.

She regards me calmly. “Yes.”

I can’t look at her for another second. “Clean yourself up.”

My lip curling with loathing, I walk from her room with one purpose in mind–get to Jane. In the hallway, my phone rings again. Cowan.

“What?” I bark into the phone.

“Jane’s in hospital.”

“I know.” I’m about to snap in a dangerous way. “I’m on my way.”

“Stop.”

The single command does exactly that. It stops me in my tracks. “What did you say to me?” I’ll kill anyone standing between me and getting to that hospital.

“I said stop and listen.”

My pulse starts racing. The horror of the image plays over in my mind. I only saw her face. What if other parts of her body are mutilated? “How is she?”

“Brian–”

“How the fuck is she?” I yell.

“If you calm down, I can tell you.”

My chest heaves. I drag in as many breaths as it takes to lower my voice. “Tell me.”

“She’s stable. Got her face stitched up and she’s being treated for shock.”

“That’s it?” Every nerve in my body shakes, waiting on the verdict. “No other injuries?”

“Nothing else.”

“I know who did it.”

“Yes. That’s why I’m calling. Have you killed anyone?”

“Not yet,” I grit out.

“Are you somewhere private?”

I glance behind me. The door to Lindy’s bedroom is still open. The vacuum is still sounding from downstairs. Cowan warned me about bugs, which is why he gave me a secure phone and why I never talk in the house.

“Hold on,” I say through clenched teeth. I go outside into the vast garden until I’m outside a transmittable radius. “You can talk.”

“I took Jane’s statement. The man who attacked her was masked. He wore gloves. My men are combing her place with a fine toothcomb as we speak. So far, there’s no evidence.”

“I know who did it!”

“I can’t make an arrest without evidence. All he said was that it was a message from Lindy.”

“Lindy already admitted it.”

“We’re going to get them, Brian. I promise you the guy who did this will pay, but if you screw it up now in a blind rage, your cover is blown. Our mission will be fucked. We’ll be back to square one with nothing to go on, and Monkey and his cronies will still be free.”

I’m fuming, burning with a need to avenge what they did to Jane. “I can’t let it go.”

“We won’t, but you have to be patient. If you fuck this up, the deal’s off, and you’re on your own.”

If I fuck this up, Monkey will kill me before Cowan can slap cuffs on me and drag me to prison. I’m no good to Jane dead. Everything inside me rebels at the knowledge, but Cowan is right. The only way forward is to put Monkey away and pull down his business. I’ll bide my time. It doesn’t mean I’ll let this go unpunished.

“Fine.” The word is almost inaudible.

“I can’t hear you, Michaels.”

“I said fucking fine!”

“That’s better. Do I have a rat, or don’t I?”

“Yes,” I hiss.

“Good. Go have a drink and calm down.”

The line goes dead.

I want nothing more than to go to Jane, but I can’t see her, now less than ever. As long as these fuckers follow orders from Lindy and Monkey, I can’t go near her. I don’t doubt for one second Lindy will follow through with her threat. It was there in her eyes as she serenely sacrificed two men’s lives.

I kick a stone, sending it flying. I feel like ripping out every rose bush in the pristine flowerbed until my hands are bleeding from the thorns, but I only shove my phone back in my pocket and let another layer of steel slip around my heart. When I’m done with the Williams’, they’ll be sorry they were born.

My sutures come out one week later. My face is awful to look at, but I suppose that was the point. A scar in the shape of a V runs across my cheek. It’s an angry red and swollen. The doctor says it’ll fade some with time. He offered me the number of a plastic surgeon, but I don’t see the point. For who am I going to make myself presentable? I don’t mind looking at my disfigured face. It’ll be a reminder of what I almost sacrificed in the name of love, should I ever have an inclination to be so foolish again. I’m done with love. I gave everything I had to Brian, and that’s where it’ll stay. I can never love like that again. I don’t want to love like that again. I’ll cherish the memory like a treasure, buried in a deep, inaccessible part of my soul. The rest of me will move on.

Detective Cowan said they didn’t find anything in my house that can aid in identifying my attacker. No DNA. Not even a hair. Despite the fact that Dorothy had my place cleaned, I can’t go back there. I stay in a guest bedroom at Dorothy’s house. Abby offers to come live with me again, but I’m not going to use guilt or pity to sway her decision.

Life goes on. I receive a handsome payout from Toby, about two years’ worth of salary. I give notice to the rental agent and sell everything to a pawn shop except for my clothes. Finally, I’m left with nothing but personal belongings. No house, no furniture, no job. No husband. No child to take care of. No baggage. Just the clean slate of my future stretching in front of me.

Throwing my two suitcases in the trunk, I hug Dorothy goodbye and drive to the old house, Debbie and Francois’ house, and now Abby’s. I’ve told Abby about my plans–or rather my lack of plans–over the phone, but saying goodbye is much harder in person.

Abby wraps her arms around me. Francois is standing to the side, giving us space.

“You’re sure you’re going to be okay, Mom?”

“Of course.”

“Send me a postcard.”

“I will.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, honey.”

“I’m not going to make a scene. I’m just going to go inside before I cry.” She blows me an air kiss, a tear already slipping from the corner of her eye.

I smile at her, drinking in her profile until she disappears into the house.

Francois walks up to the car. “Any idea where you’re going?”

I shrug. “Where the road takes me.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“I need to get away for a while.”

“I understand.” He hesitates. “This wasn’t my intention.”

“It was Abby’s choice. She wants to be here when her brother is born. When she’s ready, she can come live with me again.”

He brushes his fingers through his hair before shoving his hand in his pocket. His voice is strained. “Debs is a good woman. If it seemed she wanted to alienate you and Abby, it’s only because of her insecurity. It’s not easy on her being the second wife. She was trying hard for Abby to like her. Too hard, maybe.”

“I’m not blaming Debbie. This is where Abby’s school and friends are. Right now, this is what’s best for her.”

“I appreciate that you’re letting her. I thought after the paternity test…” He shakes his head, as if wanting to rid it from an unpleasant thought.

“You’re a good father. You and Debbie will be great parents.”

“When I said it wasn’t my intention, I didn’t mean just Abby. I meant everything that’s happened–your job, your friends, your home, losing Brian…” He swallows. “Your face.”

The silence stretches, because I can’t talk about Brian. No one understands, except the ones who share our secret. I can’t let Francois in on the secret of shameful photos and the many reasons why a man would stalk a woman or why a jealous fiancée would send a butcher to make a point, but I sense he has more to say, so I wait. It’s never been easy for Francois to talk.

“You know why I left you, right?”

His hesitation stretches all the way back to the day in Kream when I asked him for a reason and he denied me. Not that it matters, any longer, but I let him get it off his chest.

“Debbie loves me in a way you never could. She looks at me like you used to look at Evan.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed.”

“It’s not your fault. I knew what I was doing the night I sneaked into your room. I knew exactly what I was doing when I slept with you without using a condom. It was a gamble. I hoped you’d fall pregnant. I hoped you’d grow to love me as much as you loved him. I’m just sorry you paid the price for the risk I took.”

“It’s in the past. We’ve moved on.”

He nods with a sad smile. “Yes, we’ve moved on.”

“Take care of Abby. Dorothy will visit her often.”

“You don’t need to worry.”

“I don’t. Call me if there’s anything.”

“Take care on the road, Jane. Oh, and I owe you an apology for Brian. I’m sorry for thinking the worst of him when Abby lied. I’m sorry if things between you didn’t work out because of that. You deserve to be happy.”

Not wanting to drag the moment out longer, I get into my car. Francois lifts his hand in a farewell as I pull away from the curb.

It’s strange how my old life seems so long ago. Back then, I had this beautiful house, a family, friends, and a good job, but it was make-belief. I may not have much now, but at least it’s real. Cutting across the quiet neighborhood, I head toward the highway. It’s not until I hit the four-way split that I make a decision.

I’m going north. I’m leaving the love I’ve found in this city behind. There was a time I believed it was a love beautiful and pure, but now I know it’s a love tainted with obsession and tarnished with lies. But sometimes an impure love is the greatest thing we’ll ever accomplish. It’s not perfection that matters, but how deep our feelings go. It’s existing at the center of someone’s world, even if just for a few fleeting minutes against the rough bark of a tree.

I drive for four hours before I hit the small mining town of Pilgrim’s Rest that dates from the gold rush era. It’s a place where I used to come on holiday as a child. Being from Cape Town, my parents didn’t seek out the beaches in summer. When the tourists flocked to Cape Town in their hordes, we escaped inland. My dad liked playing golf and fishing for trout. My mom spent her days hunting for treasures in antique shops while I basked in the sun with my books. There’s a string of touristy restaurants and pancake houses lined up in the main street, but it’s the run-down bar at the end that catches my fancy.

Seeing that the whole town is a national monument, the buildings date from a time when every man had a dream and gold nugget in his pocket. Wooden walls are topped with steep, corrugated iron roofs. The bar is no different, except that it’s more rustic. The walls are made out of rough logs and the floors are unsanded. The name is painted in pink letters over the roof. Panties. When I push the swing-doors back, I understand why. Hundreds of panties are pinned to the ceiling. It’s a rainbow of colors in all sizes and shapes, from lacy thongs to flesh-colored granny panties. I’m grinning up at the display as a female voice says, “You have to take yours off and pin it there if you’d like to enter. Tradition.”

A smile tugs at my lips for the first time in two weeks. “That’s a strange entry fee.”

The scar pulls, reminding me it’s still fresh and unsightly, but the lady behind the bar doesn’t seem to mind.

“Daisy.” She holds out a hand.

Accepting the handshake, I take her in. She has coal-black hair and arms the size of a wrestler’s.

“I’m Jane.”

“What brings you to town?”

“What doesn’t?”

“Mm-mm. If you don’t want to take your pants off here, you can shimmy out of your panties in the bathroom.”

“Are you serious?”

“Mm-mm.”

Shaking my head, I go to the ladies’ to return commando, my thong swinging from my finger. “Now what?”

“Now you pin it where you like, sweetheart. Here.” She hands me a pin. “You can use a barstool to reach.”

I take a place of honor between a hot pink French bikini and a crotchless number.

“Burger?” Daisy asks. “It comes with a free beer.”

“Sure.”

I take a place by the bar. It’s then that I see the for sale sign. My mother used to say if you follow the signs, you’ll never lose your way.

“How much?” I ask.

“Fifty rand.”

“No, I mean this.” I point at the sign.

“The owner wants a couple of million. The down-payment is half a mill.”

I’ve got one point two million in my account, thanks to my retrenchment. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what it. Besides, I’ve always preferred the countryside to the city. It’s thrillingly freeing to make an impulsive decision, to throw all caution to the wind and live flat-out in the moment like there’s no tomorrow.

It’s exhilarating to simply say, “Yes.”

Daisy puts a beer in front of me. “Sorry, sweetheart, what was that?”

“Yes. I’ll take it.”