I act on instinct. Grabbing Abby’s collar, I jerk her toward me, away from the snake. He lunges, hissing fiercely. I drag her backward so fast we trip and fall on our butts. The snake lowers its head and crawls into the thick grass around the rock garden.

“Abby!” Getting onto my knees, I twist her around. “Did it bite you?”

My hands go over her body, looking for twin holes. A part of me is eerily calm, while another part is dangerously close to falling apart.

“It hurts, Mom! It burns!” She presses her fists against her pinched eyes.

I give her a shake. “Did it bite you?”

“No!”

Thank God. Oh, thank God. “Did it spit you?”

“Yes! Mom, it hurts,” she bawls.

My head functions on autopilot. My heart is shocked to a standstill. I push to my feet and haul Abby with me. “It’s going to be all right, honey.”

I say it for both our benefits as I guide a screaming Abby to the garden table where I left my phone. Pushing her into a chair, I unlock the phone with shaky fingers, getting the damn code wrong twice. On the third try, I manage to dial Hilda.

“A cobra spat Abby in the eyes,” I say when she picks up.

“I’m on my way.”

Thank God she’s home. Thank God it’s not a bite, but Abby can be blind. Refusing to think about it now, I take my daughter’s hands and squeeze them tightly in mine.

“Mom! I can’t see.”

“Hilda’s coming. She’s a doctor.”

Hilda comes running down the hill, her doctor’s bag in her hand and a woman in a housekeeper’s uniform following on her heels.

“Get some milk,” she tells me in a calm voice when she reaches us.

I run into the house, bumping my shin against the corner of the coffee table, but I barely feel the pain.

“You’ve got to help me,” Hilda instructs when I return with a bottle of milk. “Hold her hands down so I can rinse her eyes.”

Abby screams louder when I peel her fists away from her eyes. It hurts me with every ounce of feeling inside to pin her arms at her sides while the housekeeper grabs her head and tilts it back. Hilda pries open one eye between a thumb and forefinger and pours a stream of milk into it. Abby fights like a tiger. It’s hard to hold her down. Her crying and screaming rips me open. Hilda rinses the other eye and then repeats the milk bath for both eyes.

By the time she’s done, Abby is still crying, but not yelling the roof off.

“I can give her something for the pain,” Hilda says, taking paracetamol from her bag.

It’s a struggle, but we get Abby to swallow down two pills with the milk.

“She needs to get to a hospital,” Hilda says. “The hospital best equipped to deal with snake venom is The Willows. It’ll be faster to drive her than to wait for an ambulance to come out here. Would you like me to drive you, so you can sit with her in the back?”

“Yes, please,” I say gratefully.

The housekeeper motions at my laptop. “You better lock that inside before you go.”

“Who’s going to steal it out here?” Hilda asks.

Her eyes dart in the direction of the compound where the migrant workers reside. “You never know.”

My laptop is the last thing I thought about, but she’s right. It’s a company laptop and it contains confidential information. I gather my laptop and phone, almost dropping the laptop in my haste. “I’ll get my bag.”

“I’ll bring the car around.”

We bundle Abby into Hilda’s Land Rover. I buckle her in and take her hand. Hilda’s breaking the speed limit, flying over the gravel, but she’s handling the vehicle well. Abby has stopped crying and is moaning softly. I’m a ball of anxiety.

Please, God, don’t let her lose her eyesight.

Hilda glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Did you get a look at the snake?”

I know a cobra. I know the way they stand upright and spread their flanks, but I don’t know the different species. This one had a brown body with yellow markings.

“It was definitely a spitting cobra.”

“Brown and yellow?”

“Yes.”

“Mozambican Cobra.”

I don’t ask how she knows. I’m too focused on Abby and that after the Black Mamba, the Mozambican Cobra is the most dangerous African snake.

“The hospital will ask you what type of snake it was,” Hilda continues. “Call and warn them we’re on the way with a spitting Cobra victim.”

Letting go of Abby’s hand, I fish my phone from my bag and do as she suggested. Thank goodness for Hilda’s levelheadedness. All I can think about is how much Abby is suffering.

A team is waiting for us when Hilda pulls up at the emergency unit twenty minutes later. From the way she greets the doctor on duty by name, they know each other.

“You did right to drive them,” he says as a male nurses help Abby into a wheelchair. “All our ambulances were out on calls.”

“Did you get the info?” Hilda asks, her face tight. “Mozambican Cobra.”

“Got it,” he says. “Let’s go.”

They rush Abby to an examination room where the doctor introduces himself as a medical toxicologist. His colleague is an ophthalmologist.

“We’re going to take a look at her eyes,” the ophthalmologist says, “to determine the extent of the damage.”

In other words, if my little girl has permanent vision damage. I clamp an arm around my stomach.

The doctor peers into her red, swollen eyes with a light. “Did you rinse her eyes?”

“With milk,” Hilda says.

“A saline solution is better. I recommend using one liter with pressure, but we’ll have to sedate her. It’s very painful.”

The toxicologist is preparing a hypodermic needle. “Next time, rinse the eyes out with running water. Twenty minutes at least.”

There won’t be a next time. I’ll make sure of that.

The nurse holds a clipboard with a disclaimer to me. I take it with trembling hands.

“If you’ll be so kind as to sign that and fill out your contact and medical fund details at reception?”

“Of course.”

“The nurse will show you the way.”

“That’s all right,” Hilda says, “I’ll accompany her.”

“Thank you. When you’re done, you can wait in the reception area. I’ll call you when we’ve finished the examination.”

I hold Abby’s hand until they’ve administered the sedative and throughout rinsing her eyes. When the ophthalmologist applies local anesthetic eye drops for the pain and Abby is calmer, I leave them to finish their examination and allow Hilda to walk me through the hallways and up and down staircases. I fill out the paperwork and send Francois a text to let him know what has happened. A reply comes immediately.

I’m on my way.

In the waiting area, Hilda fetches me a Coke from the vending machine and makes me sit down next to her in the plastic chairs.

“Here.” She hands me the can. “Drink this. Sugar is good for the shock.”

“You knew what kind of snake it was.”

She looks past me at the other people who are waiting like us. Waiting for a verdict. “We’ve had some on the property.”

“Some?”

She sighs. “A lot. It’s the snake that’s the most common in our area.”

“The most common?” I ask on the verge of hysteria.

“It’s the dam. The frogs and mice attract the snakes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before I signed the lease?”

“I thought you knew.”

“How could I know?”

“Oh, come on. You’re a savvy woman. Where we live is practically the wilderness.”

“You should have told me. I would never have rented the cottage if I’d known.”

I shouldn’t have let Abby hang out the washing. I shouldn’t have given her chores. Dear, God. Can I fail any more as a mother? I feel sick. Like vomiting. Bile pushes up in my throat.

“Has anyone ever been bitten on your property?”

She scratches the back of her neck. “A migrant worker.”

My gut turns to stone. “What happened?”

“He didn’t make it,” she says softly.

I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want to believe someone died on our beautiful, rented property. “Didn’t you bring him to the hospital?”

“It was too late.”

“Too late? How long do you have if you’re bitten?”

“Jane…”

“Answer me, Hilda. How long?”

“It depends.”

“On fucking what?”

“Jane, calm down.”

“I won’t calm down. My daughter could’ve been bitten. She may go blind! On what?”

“The age and size of the snake. The younger they are, the more potent the venom. Where on the body they bite. The closer the bite is to an area of high blood circulation, the faster it spreads. It also depends on if multiple bites were given. In the case of the worker, he didn’t come to us immediately. He rushed to the compound where they stayed. It took the overseer fifteen minutes to drive him back to the house. Twenty was already too long.” Her voice softens. “Believe me, this case was an exception. Fatalities are rare.”

“Tissue damage is not. Neither is neurological damage. Am I right?”

She sighs. “Neurotoxic effects are slight, but yes, the local tissue damage is serious. It often requires skin grafts.”

“We can’t stay there. I’m not risking my daughter’s life. I want out of the contract. I’m not giving three months’ notice, and I want my deposit back.”

“Jane, you’re not thinking rational, right now.”

“I assure you, I’ve never been more rational.”

My phone pings. I glance at the screen in case it’s Francois, but it’s Brian.

Where are you?

Damn. He must be at my place. He was supposed to come over for lunch with Sam. We agreed it was a good time for Sam and Abby to meet. In my panic, everything else slipped my mind.

I type a message to tell him about Abby and where we are.

“I’ll let you think about the cottage,” Hilda says. “It’s not a decision you should make today. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She pats my hand and gets up. “I’m going to call Gustaf to let him know where I am in case he gets home early for lunch.”

“You don’t have to stay. Abby’s father is on his way. He can give me a lift home. I appreciate that you brought us.”

“I want to stay. It’s the least I can do.”

She’s not back yet when Francois and Debbie charge into the reception area. Francois glances around the room frantically. For some weird reason, I can’t raise my hand and signal him. I’m simply too tired for even the mundane task, and I want to crawl into a hole and hide in shame. I let this happen to Abby. It’s my fault she’s in pain. It’s my fault she’s suffering. God forbid, if she loses her eyesight, I’ll never forgive myself.

It’s Debbie who spots me first. “There she is.”

They rush to my side.

Francois’ face is white. “Where is she?”

“In the examination room. The ophthalmologist is examining her eyes.”

“What happened?” Debbie asks.

“What I told Francois in my text.”

“I know, but how?”

“She was hanging up the washing…” I bite my trembling lip, unable to continue.

“It’s all right.” Francois touches my shoulder. “It’s going to be all right.”

I stare up at him, tears blurring my vision. “It’s my fault. It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t moved there. I…” I battle to speak past the knot in my throat. “I shouldn’t have made her hang out the washing.”

Covering my face with my hands, I let the tears flow. I can’t stop them. I don’t want to stop them, because I deserve the emotional pain. If I could take Abby’s physical pain, I would.

“None of this would’ve happened if you didn’t have to move,” Francois says. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“It happened,” Debbie says. “Let’s focus on dealing with the situation instead of wasting energy on blame.”

The toxicologist enters the waiting area just as Hilda steps back from outside.

I jump to my feet, but I can’t speak.

It’s Francois who asks the question. “Will she be all right?”

The doctor glances at me as if he’s waiting for my permission.

“This is Abby’s father and his fiancée,” I say.

“Yes,” the doctor says. “The good news is that there shouldn’t be permanent damage. I prescribed an antibiotic ointment.”

“Thank God,” Francois says.

“Her eyes will be scratchy for a couple of days,” the doctor continues, “but it should clear up within forty-eight hours. I suggest letting her rest. She’s ready to go home if you don’t have further questions.”

“Nothing for the moment,” I say. “Thank you.”

When the doctor walks off, I introduce Hilda to Debbie and Francois.

“I’ll let you go,” Hilda says. “I know you’re anxious to see your daughter. Now that I know she’s all right, I’ll head back home, unless you want me to wait for you?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you.”

We say our goodbyes to Hilda and hurry to the examination room. Abby’s sitting in a chair with patches of cotton wool over her eyes.

“Hey, honey,” I say. “How are you feeling? Your dad and Debbie are here.”

“Daddy?”

She holds out a hand, which Francois grips.

“How are you?” he asks.

“I’m okay,” she says meekly. “It still hurts.”

“It’ll be over in a day or two,” he replies in a soothing voice.

I want to say how sorry I am, but the door flies open, and Brian all but falls into the room, dragging Sam by the hand.

His face is tight, and his voice strained. “How is she?”

Abby stills. She turns her head in the direction of Brian’s voice. “It’s all because of you. It’s all your fault!”

“Abby,” I gasp.

“If you didn’t choose the place my mother wouldn’t have moved there. I hate the cottage. I hate you!”

“Abby!”

My daughter is distraught. She went through a traumatic experience, but I can’t allow her to speak to anyone like this, not even under these exceptional circumstances. It’s not how Francois and I raised her.

“It’s all right.” Brian holds up a hand when I open my mouth. “I’m sorry for what happened, Abby.” He nods at Francois and Debbie in greeting. “I’ll wait for you outside, Jane.”

The door closes with a click behind him and Sam.

“I’m not going back to that place,” Abby says.

“I understand, honey. We’re moving. I promise.”

“Dad, can I stay with you and Debs for a while?”

Francois looks at me. The court granted me full custody. Francois has visitation rights every second weekend, which is the norm in divorces cases in our country. Francois didn’t contest due to the third-party breakup of our marriage. Doing so would’ve meant dragging Debbie into a drawn-out and scandalous court fight. If Abby wants to stay with Francois for a while, I’m not going to stop her, even if it shreds my heart to pieces.

I give him a nod.

“No problem,” he says. “I’m sure Debs will be happy to have you.”

Debbie hugs my daughter. “Of course, sweetheart. You know your room is always ready. And Dusty will be happy.”

“Can we please go?” Abby asks. “I just want to get out of here.”

“I’ll get a nurse to bring a wheelchair,” Francois says.

“I’ll drop off some of Abby’s clothes later,” I offer.

When the nurse arrives with the wheelchair, I say my goodbyes to my daughter and watch her leave with her father and Debbie. It’s as if a part of me leaves with her. I don’t feel completely whole.

Brian is pacing the hallway of the waiting area, and Sam sits on a chair with her hands clamped between her knees. The minute he sees me, he rushes forward and pulls me against his body. A wall inside me breaks. Sobs shake my shoulders. The shock and horrible experience leave me feeling sick, tired, and empty.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers in my hair, kissing the top of my head.

His arms are warm and strong around me. I submit to his soothing, taking courage from his strength.

After the worst of my tears have subsided, I manage to calm myself somewhat. “I’m sorry for what happened in there.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. Where’s Abby?”

“She’s staying with her father for a while.”

“Jane.”

The one words holds so much meaning. It’s an apology. It’s understanding. Sympathy.

“It’s all right.” I sniff. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Come on. Sam and I will take you home.”

Home.

I don’t know where that’s supposed to be.

“You can’t stay here.”

I hand Jane the cup of tea and sandwich I’ve prepared for her. Sam sits next to her at the dining room table in Jane’s cottage, holding Jane’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Jane,” my sister says.

Jane gives her a brave smile. “It’s all right, honey. I’m sorry about lunch.”

I lost a baby brother who hadn’t been born, and it ripped my heart out of my chest. I can only imagine how Jane must be feeling.

“Lunch isn’t important.” I take a seat opposite them. “I don’t want you staying here.”

“I don’t want Abby staying here, either. I’m going to look for a new place. Today, still.”

Guilt eats into my gut. “How long is Abby staying with your ex?”

“We didn’t discuss it. Probably until I’ve moved. I doubt she’ll want to come back here.”

“I don’t blame her,” Sam says.

“Eat your food,” I order. “This is a grown-up conversation.”

Sam bites into her sandwich obediently.

“I should stay with you.”

Only, I can’t. I can’t, and it burns a hole into my soul. I can’t leave my mom and Sam, and I can’t ask Jane to move in with us. There’s not enough space for the three of us as it is. I don’t earn enough to afford an extension to the house, yet, and I can never move in with Jane.

I can’t.

Those two little words strangle me. It’s as if I’m chained up. Helpless. My life is fucked-up. What do I have to offer Jane? A sword over my head with Monkey’s threat and an alcoholic mother who can’t leave the house. How can I leave Jane here on her own in a state of shock? I hate it, and there’s nothing I can do. It’s the first time my mother’s condition makes me feel caged in. I’ve never resented the situation we find ourselves in until now.

“I’ll be fine,” Jane says.

I motion at her sandwich. “Eat. You need your strength.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Drink your tea, then.”

At least she does that.

My phone lights up with a message from my mom. Something’s wrong. Jasmine never sends me a text message otherwise. “Excuse me, but I’ve got to check this.”

The police are here. They want to question you. Tron’s been arrested.

Double damn. Why now? Why today?

Getting to my feet, I round the table and place my hands on Jane’s tense shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” I can’t express how much. “I have to go.”

Sam lifts her eyes to mine quickly. “Is Mom okay?”

“She’s fine. It’s just something I need to take care of.”

I kiss the top of Jane’s head. “Call me, no matter what. Understand? I’ll come back later tonight.” I don’t give a shit about Clive’s animosity. He’s going to babysit, and that’s that. If all else fails, I’m bringing Jane home with me. I just need to get rid of the police, first.

“Really, Brian, you don’t have to. I said I’m all right.”

I tilt her head and kiss her lips. “Later.” That’s not up for discussion, either.

Detective Cowan sits in our lounge when I get home. My mother is on the edge of her seat, her hands wrung together. She jumps up when Sam and I enter.

“You all right?” I ask her softly.

She nods. Her hair is a mess, and she’s wearing her velvet robe and slippers. Dark circles mar her bloodshot eyes, but that’s the state of her eyes more or less permanently these days. What’s new in them is the fear and pain of memories stirred up by Cowan’s house call. The first time he questioned me was after my brother’s murderers were found dead. No doubt his presence wakes a night best forgotten, like the dead.

I keep my voice gentle. “Why don’t you go dress?”

She nods again and escapes to the hallway.

“Sam, have you forgotten your manners?”

Sam holds out a hand. “Good afternoon, sir.”

Cowan accepts the shake with a smile. “Aren’t you all grown up.”

“Go put on the kettle. I’m sure Detective Cowan will appreciate a cup of coffee.”

My sister stares at us as she leaves the room. With my family out of Cowan’s way, I take my time to study him. He doesn’t look different, except for the extra pounds around his waist.

He settles deeper into his seat on the sofa bed, running his arm along the backrest. His jacket falls open, exposing his holster and pistol. “You don’t look surprised to see me.”

I expected Cowan. I always knew he’d be back. He was just waiting for a reason, and now that idiot Tron gave him one.

Taking the seat my mother has left, I keep my face neutral. “My mother said Tron was arrested.”

“So he was.”

He studies me, his eyes penetrating, but I know how to hold the gaze of a man with a gun. I know how to look them right in the eyes while their weapons are potent, and I know what their eyes look like when their weapons lay useless on the ground, because I’m not afraid of looking.

“What did he do?” I ask.

“Beat a guy nearly to death.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He chuckles. “Trust you to ask that question. It’s always about the justification for you, isn’t it?”

“Tell me.” I shrug. “Don’t tell me. It makes no difference.”

“He claims the man broke into his shop.”

“Theft.”

“That’s what he says. The dog got to the intruder first, and then your neighborhood watch.”

“It’s not my neighborhood watch.”

“It’s your neighborhood.”

“What do you want with me?” I ask, even if I know.

“Everyone knows everybody in Harryville.”

“I don’t know who’s part of the neighborhood watch, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He smiles. “Of course, you don’t.”

“Then maybe you should do your job and catch the real criminals like the murderers and rapists instead of sitting here wasting your time.”

“Why so angry, Brian?”

“Why aren’t you after the other assholes who broke into Tron’s place? Or is it your job to protect the perpetrators?”

“It’s my job to make sure justice is served.”

“Like it was served when my mother’s attackers walked free?”

“Is that why you killed them? You think you should take justice into your own hands because the system failed you once?”

“Fuck you. If you’d done your job, those motherfuckers would’ve been in for life.”

“I was doing my job, until someone blew their intestines out. I was on the verge of nailing them for first degree murder of a family of four.”

“Sounds to me like justice got to them, after all. Are you moping like a pissy because the glory of nailing them wasn’t yours?”

“I’m saying if every dick takes justice into his own hands, we’re all like them. We’re no better than criminals.”

“Here’s a news snippet for you. When you live in a fuck-ass neighborhood, your cushy, uptown moral arguments aren’t worth shit, because it’s about survival. It’s about your life or theirs.”

“Is that why you shot those men?”

Motherfucker. The bastard is clever. He’s baiting me, knowing exactly how to rev me up.

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“I’m going to find the murder weapon, one day, Brian, one day when you don’t see me coming.”

“Good luck to you. There’s nothing to find.”

Sam enters with a tray of coffee just as he stands and buttons up his jacket. “How’s your mom keeping up?”

I get up, too. “You saw for yourself.”

“She’s a fine woman. I’m sorry for what happened to her.”

“So am I.”

“Here, little lady. Let me help you with that.” He takes the tray from Sam and leaves it on the coffee table.

“I’m not a little lady,” she says.

I raise my voice in warning. “Sam.”

“I guess not.” Reaching for a mug, Cowan downs the whole, steaming hot lot in one go and puts the mug back on the tray. “Thanks for the coffee, Sam.” To me, he says, “I’ll see you around.”

Through the window, I watch until his car is out of sight, and then I go look for my mother. She sits on her bed, still dressed in her pajamas.

“Did he go through the garden?” I ask.

“He parked in the street and came straight to the front door.”

Good. He didn’t discover the cellar where my unlicensed gun is hidden.

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. He told me why he was here and then we didn’t speak.”

“Did you leave him alone at any stage?” I won’t put it past the motherfucker to plant bugs.

“No. We sat in the lounge the whole time until you arrived.”

“I’m going to see Monkey about Tron.”

“He’s not home. He’s down at the station with his lawyer to try and bail out Tron.”

“How do you know?”

“Ingrid called.”

I know who else I can go see. “I’ll be back in an hour. Can you keep the fort?’

“Yes,” she whispers, looking away.

Dammit. I want to bite my tongue. I’ve just told her in not so many words that she’s incompetent and I can’t trust her. “I didn’t mean–”

“I know. Go. I’ll make dinner.”

Albert and Eugene are cleaning out the pigeon coop when I arrive. Albert is a keen participant in pigeon racing.

“What’s the deal with Tron?” I ask through the mesh.

Albert chucks a spade-load of bird shit into a wheelbarrow. “The police have been to your place.” He spits tobacco from the corner of his mouth.

A pigeon flies down from the perch, flapping its wings. The birds coo from deep in their crops. A smell of shit and wet feathers stirs the air as more pigeons fly to the floor.

“I told Tron those beatings were trouble.”

Albert stops scraping the spade over the concrete to look at me. “What was he supposed to do? Leave the door wide fucking open for the thieves with a welcome sign?”

“He should’ve left it to the police to handle. It’s a war now. Those thieves are from the gangs in Sunnyside. They’ll be back for revenge.”

“They can come. We’re ready for them.”

“Pa,” Eugene says, “Brian’s got a point.”

“Shut your mousetrap,” Albert snaps. He walks over and puts his face in mine. The only thing that separates our noses is the mesh. “You get to pull the trigger, but Tron doesn’t get to swing the whip?”

“Nobody saw me pull a trigger. It’s speculation. Even if I did pull that trigger, the gangs aren’t coming after me. I didn’t start a war. Have you ever asked yourself why Monkey is doing this? Maybe he wants to start a war. If there’s a war, there’s a fight, and if there’s a fight, someone’s going to win, and someone’s got to lose.”

He curls his fingers through the mesh. “What the fuck are you saying?”

“Think about it. What does Monkey have to gain if he instigates a fight?”

“Sunnyside,” Eugene says.

Albert turns on him, lifting the spade. “I said shut the fucking fuck up, you dickhead.”

Eugene cowers, bracing his head with his arms.

“Sunnyside,” I repeat, “and we fight the battle for him.”

“Are you siding with the police now, Clive?”

“It’s Brian.”

“What the fuck ever. Answer the question.”

“I’m not siding with anyone. I’m just saying you’ve got to open your eyes.”

Albert is not the only member of the neighborhood watch I’m worried about. He recently initiated Eugene into the sinister operation.

“We take care of our own.” Albert spits again.

“Like you took care of Jane when you showed us a property infested with Mozambican Cobras?”

“She’s not our own.”

“She’s mine. That makes her every bit our own, same as you, Katrina, and Eugene.”

He laughs. It’s an ugly laugh with hardly any sound, but it shakes his bony body. “From what I understood, the only woman who’s yours is Lindy. Rumor is you’re getting married in a year’s time. That means you’ve got to put your dick stamp on her. I don’t know anything about uppity-ass bitches, but that woman you’re keeping from uptown isn’t going to hang around when you dip your dick in another girl’s cunt.”

I’m gripping the mesh so hard it rattles, sending the birds scattering all over. “Keep your filthy mouth off her.” I don’t care that he’s Eugene’s father and that I’m supposed to show respect. “You can be glad you didn’t say her name.” I swear to God, Eugene would’ve had to pick Albert off the birdcage floor like the rotten rag he is.

“Go to hell, Clive Claassen,” he spits. “You’re not fit for anywhere else, you fucking traitor.”

“Been there, and it’s Brian.”

I walk back to my truck with long strides. When I get there, I check my phone. There’s a message from my mother saying Tron didn’t get bail.

Fuck.

The war has begun.

Whether I like it or not, it’s everyone’s war, because they won’t stop until one side is dead.

After dropping off clothes and toiletries for Abby, I return home, feeling only dread. It’s late afternoon on a weekend, but I call the estate agent who made me visit the security complexes out east, anyway. I don’t want to wait a minute longer than necessary. All I want is for Abby to come home, and therefore I have to find a new home. I don’t care where it is or that there’s no garden and the view is a brick wall. I’ll take the first thing that’s available, which happens to be a duplex townhouse in a new development. They’re still building all around. The agent warns me there’ll be dust and noise, but I promise to be in on Monday to sign the lease. At least there are no pet restrictions, so Abby can bring Dusty. With nothing else to keep me busy, I start packing.

It’s long since dark when Brian arrives. I haven’t kept track of time. The grumbling of my stomach tells me I haven’t eaten, but I don’t have an appetite.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Brian says, his gaze going over the open boxes and crockery wrapped in paper. “My mother cooked dinner. It would’ve been rude not to eat.”

“That’s all right. We didn’t have a date. Who’s staying with your mom and Sam?”

He rounds the boxes and stops in front of me. “Clive.”

“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. I’ll understand if you’d rather be home to take care of your family.”

“Are you implying you’re not important to me?”

“No, but your mother has a problem, and it worries me every time you leave Sam there alone. What if something happens to your mom? Sam’s too young to deal with this.”

“I said Clive was there.”

“Clive can’t always be there. I’m sure he has a life of his own.”

“I’m fucking winging it, all right?” he says through clenched teeth.

I blink at him. I’m not going to say I don’t deserve the outburst. Maybe it’s what happened to Abby today that makes me feel extra protective over Sam, or maybe it’s that I feel so damn guilty all the time for taking him away from his family that made me push the issue tonight.

Tilting his head toward the ceiling, he rubs the back of his neck. There are lines of tension in his face and a deep frown on his forehead. “I didn’t mean to swear at you. That was unforgivable.”

I touch his hand. “Are you all right?”

He drops his arm to take my wrist. “It’s been a shitty day.”

“We can both do with a drink. There’s cold beer.”

I turn for the fridge, but he doesn’t let me go.

“Brian, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He jerks me against him. “And everything.”

His expression is alight with too many emotions to discern. Concern. Love. Lust. It’s everything and nothing. What’s between us has the power to be amazing, beautiful, and that big, elusive everything I’ve never had. It also has the power to fall flat like a cake in the oven. No words are needed to explain it, because I feel it. All these fragile emotions can disappear faster than flour scattered to the wind. We can lose it so easily. We’re in that delicate stage between everything and nothing, waiting to see if the cake is going to rise or fall flat.

I’m short of breath from fear and exhilaration. “I want everything.”

“What?”

His mother, my daughter, I’ll take it all. I’ll deal with whatever I must for us to be together. I love him. It’s the moment he becomes more important than my own life. I’ve given him my body, trust, and heart, but now there are no barriers left. The last of the walls I’ve constructed around myself fall away, leaving me open and vulnerable. I’m giving him everything.

My voice is throaty. “Everything. All of me. All of you.”

His eyes darken. His fingers tighten on my wrist. He grabs hold of the other one before backing me up to the wall. My body hits the stones with a thud. He pins my wrists at my sides and lowers his mouth to mine, our lips a hairbreadth from touching.

“Then take it,” he says in a clipped voice.

With him holding me like this, I can’t take anything, but he offers it to me when our mouths finally meet. Our teeth and tongues clash together. It’s rough and tender. He devours me with a sweetness I’ve never tasted. He places my hand on his shoulder and goes for the zipper of his jeans, not bothering to undo the top button. My gaze is drawn down when he frees his cock. His long length juts through the open fly, the head broad and wet with pre-cum. I slip my hand down his side so I can move the hem of his T-shirt up to expose the trail of blond hair that runs from his navel down into his waistband. I sweep my palm lower, not touching his cock, but weighing his balls through the thick fabric of his jeans. Golden hair cushions the base. It’s strangely erotic, seeing him naked through only his open fly.

Bunching my dress in a fist, he pushes it over my hips. The crotch of my panties is damp. He moves the elastic aside with a finger and runs the tip through my slit. Satisfied that I’m wet, he bends his knees, positions his cock, and drives home in a hard thrust.

The impact knocks the air from my lungs. My body shifts up the wall as he pulls out and thrusts again, harder this time. He’s splitting me in two, penetrating too deep, but pleasure is already gathering in my lower body. Gripping my thigh, he pulls it around his back, opening me wider. He sucks the skin of my neck, kissing and nipping his way to my jaw while he pounds into me with a pace that soon has my knees go weak. He’s jostling my breasts and body. He grips my hips with bruising force to keep me in place while he fucks me like this is our last moment. I don’t have enough strength to defy him, not that I want to.

My pleasure is building. There’s friction on my clit where he penetrates me, but before it can accumulate into something substantial, he pulls out and pushes me to my knees. His cock rubs against my lips. I open to take him.

“Taste your cunt on me,” he says, spearing his fingers through my hair.

He goes straight for my throat. I barely have time to swallow. My eyes water, and I try to breathe through my nose as he takes me deep. When he gives me air, I lick over the head and down the underside of his cock. My taste on him is like rain before the storm. His taste is powerful, like the wet earth after the rain.

He makes a grumbling noise in his chest. “Goddammit. Yes.”

I’m hungry. Eager. I want more. I reach for the button of his jeans, but before I can undo it, he rips himself from my mouth, gripping the base of his cock hard.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

In a second flat, we’ve reversed positions. I’m pushed up against the wall once more and he’s on his knees, his teeth and tongue on my pussy. It’s too much. I’m too close. When he clamps his lips over my clit and sucks, I come violently, shaking in his hold. The aftershocks are barely over before he flips me around with my cheek pressed against the stone bricks and spreads my legs. I’m expecting him to push in from behind, but he’s smearing my wetness around my anus.

“Not like this.” I start to wiggle. The position is not ideal.

The slick head of his cock is already nudging my tight entrance.

“Brian.”

“Shh.”

He pushes up a little, breaching my barrier. It hurts, but not as much as I expected. It’s a pain I need, a darkness I embrace.

Painstakingly slow, he buries himself deeper. My body is soft from the climax, making his passage easier. He’s breathing hard. There’s a fierceness on his face as I glance back at him. Another thrust makes me moan in a mixture of ecstasy and agony. Towards the end, it’s harder to take him.

“You’re mine, Jane.” Another inch. “No matter how. No matter why.”

He shoves home. I cry out. My muscles tense involuntary. Our bodies are flush together, his balls pressed against my pussy. I can hear the crunch of his teeth as he grits them hard.

“Jesus, Jane, you’re tight.”

I try to relax with deep breaths, but it’s impossible when he starts moving. He’s careful, but his length is grueling.

“Say it,” he says with a thrust of his hips. “Tell me who you love.”

“You. I love you.”

His pounding turns harder. My nipples scrape over the rough surface of the wall through the thin fabric of my dress. The breath leaves my body with every shove until I’m nothing but erotic gasps and a dark, forbidden kind of need.

“Brian.”

It’s a plea. I can’t take more but I need so much.

His hand moves between my body and the wall. Cupping my sex, he sinks two fingers inside. My back arches from the sudden and instant pleasure, giving him my ass at a different angle. If at all possible, he penetrates me deeper. My scream must’ve been heard all the way to the main house. The pleasure starts again, more intense, this time. I’m too full. His cock and fingers work in sync to bring me to a second orgasm, one that starts from a darker part and that I instinctively know is going to shatter me. It’s when his thumb moves in circles on my clit that the first spark starts. It burns closer and closer. My senses are scrambled. I can’t tell pain from ecstasy or breathing from drowning. I close my eyes. Brian is punishing my body. He’s fucking my ass with brutal force, his fingers in my channel no less forgiving. His thumb is relentless on my clit. It feels as if he’s going to push me straight through the wall. My legs won’t carry me, any longer. Only his body holds me up as he demands even more.

“Give it to me, princess.”

I’m helpless to stop it. I only hope I’ll survive. I don’t have enough air left to cry out. It’s building, building, until I’m sure I’ll drown. It goes up and up, and I’m five years old in a rollercoaster and scared to death.

“B–Brian!”

“I’ve got you. Let it go.”

I can’t, because my pleasure is a monster that won’t be dictated. Heat diffuses in my lower body, burning down to my folds and clit. It spreads through my thighs to the back of my knees and the soles of my feet. If it’s meant to prepare me for what’s coming, like the swell of a tide before the freak wave, it fails miserably. Nothing can prepare me for the pleasure that finally rocks me. It sizzles through my insides like an electric torrent, locking every muscle in place. Vaguely, I’m aware of Brian cussing madly. I’m much more aware of how hard his fingers grip my hip, and how his cock seems to swell and pulse in my ass. He jerks, crushing me against the wall with his weight. His hips roll, and his cock stabs one last time, and then he collapses over me, bracing his hands next to my face.

One by one, my muscles relax. If Brian didn’t wrap an arm around my waist, I’d be sliding to the floor. He kisses my nape, whispering tender words and telling me to take a deep breath and relax.

“I’m sorry,” he says with genuine regret before he pulls out of my ass.

I hiss at the burn of his cum on the skin he fucked raw. There’s a rustling of fabric and pieces of clothing dropping to the floor. I’m not capable of agreeing or protesting when he scoops me into his arms and carries me to the bathroom where he swiftly undresses me. He keeps one arm around my waist while he turns on the water and waits for it to warm. There’s no place to sit, except for on the floor, and that’s what Brian does, pulling me into his lap. He washes my hair and body, his touch gentle, and after he’s cleaned himself, he lifts me to my feet and makes me bend over with my hands resting on the wall.

“Can you stand like this without falling over?” he asks.

I don’t have to answer. My legs are shaking too badly. I’ve never been fucked so hard. I’ve never come so hard. He holds my waist again, making sure I don’t slip on the tiles, and removes the shower nozzle from its holder to point it at my ass. I gasp when the first jet of water hits my dark entrance.

“Sorry.” He kisses my back. “I have to wash the sperm out. It’ll help for the burn.”

I let him tend to my most private parts until the water starts running cold. He first wraps me up in a towel and then himself before carrying me to the bed. Lying on his side, he pulls me tight against him. I snuggle deeper, absorbing his heat and the comfort of his arms. There’s a quiet accord between us while the night outside is loud. Crickets chirp in a choir of agreeable harmony while frogs croak out of tune. A lonely bird calls from somewhere, strange for this hour of the night. Maybe a lizard is stalking its nest. It’s the hushed discord, the words that aren’t spoken, that breaks the peace.

Don’t go.

An hour or more passes before Brian quietly gets up. I clutch the pillow to my chest. If I pretend to be sleeping, will it be easier? Will it be easier to hear the sounds he makes as he sees himself out than hugging and kissing him at the door, letting the full force of the loneliness he’ll leave slap me in the face? Finally, I can’t bear it. I pull on a robe and walk through the dark house. He’s dressing by the light of his cell phone in the lounge, picking up pieces of clothing from the floor. I was so out of it, I don’t even know when he undressed. All I remember was his cock through his fly, his body clothed, and my soul naked.

He pauses when he sees me. “I didn’t want to wake you. You needed the rest.”

“What time is it?”

“Just before midnight.”

“You have to go.”

Regret again. “Yes.” In the blue light of the phone, his expression is pained.

“Stay for another hour. I’ll make us something to eat.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

He walks to me barefoot and wraps me up in his arms. “Didn’t you have dinner?”

“Not yet.”

“Jane.” His voice is angry. “You didn’t have lunch, either. You have to take care of yourself.”

Going on tiptoes, I kiss his cheek. “Keep me company. Please.”

His eyes soften. “What do you feel like?”

“I have steak in the fridge, and I can throw together a salad. Will you join me?”

“I can always eat.”

Taking his hand, I lead him to the kitchen that is littered with half-packed boxes and uncertainty.

Tonight, I’ve gained one more hour.

Jane is standing in front of the pan, a spatula in her hand.

“Food’s ready,” she says just as I put the salad on the table.

Taking the spatula from her hand, I serve the steaks on our plates and leave the dirty pan on the stove before I pull her onto my lap.

She smells of fried meat and fat, and I find it oddly disturbing. I don’t want the dirty smells of the world clinging to her. I don’t want my secrets to soil her, but it’s too late. I’ve dragged her under the day I wrapped my hands around her waist to lift her onto her pull-up bar.

I hug her tighter and nuzzle her temple. “I don’t like that you work so hard. You should’ve let me do the cooking.”

“You call frying a steak hard work?”

“It’s not just that.” I motion at the boxes. “You don’t touch another one until I’m here to help.”

“I’m not made of glass.”

“I know. Still.”

“Still, what?”

“I want to take care of you. I need to take care of you.”

She kisses my cheek. “You are taking care of me.”

Keeping my arms wrapped around her, I cut her meat into pieces, pierce one with the fork, and bring it to her lips. It gives me huge joy to do this, to take care of her. More than I can explain.

“Your food’s getting cold,” she says.

“My food will be just fine. Open.”

She obeys, letting me feed her until her plate is empty. While I eat, she makes tea. I know what she’s doing. She’s delaying the inevitable goodbye. Fuck knows, I don’t want to go. I want to be with her every minute of every day. I want to be with her in the office. I want everyone to know, but there’s a lot of sewerage water that needs to run under the bridge before than can happen.

When the tea is gone and the dishes done, I order her back to bed.

“I’ll see you out,” she says.

“I’m not done with you.”

Her cheeks flush a little. “I’m not sure I can take more, tonight.”

Guilt rides me hard for the way I’ve lost control. “I know you can’t. Go to the bedroom and bend over the bed.”

She watches me nervously. “Why?”

Taking her hand, I lead her to the bedroom and leave her by the bed while I go through her bathroom cabinet. I return with a tube of vaginal anesthetic cream.

“Oh,” she says when she sees the tube.

She bends slightly at the waist, watching me from over her shoulder. Putting a palm on her lower back, I push her down all the way and lift her robe over her ass. Her ass cheeks are creamy and soft. Just seeing them makes me want to plant my dick between them again, but I know she’s sore.

“This’ll be cold,” I warn.

I lubricate my finger with a generous amount of the cream and sink my finger slowly into her tight asshole that took my cock so prettily. She jerks.

“You all right?”

She nods, biting her lip.

Twisting my finger a couple of times, I make sure I get the soothing lotion everywhere, before I pull out and give her a gentle slap on the cheek.

“All done.”

She yelps and straightens. The color on her cheeks has deepened to a bright red. It amuses me. She’ll let me bury my cock up to my balls in her ass but blushes when I rub cream into her with my finger. I pull her robe down and kiss each pretty red cheek before washing my hands and putting the cream away.

When I take her in my arms at the door, our kiss is soft. It’s like we’re always doing things in reverse, the foreplay coming after the fucking.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, princess.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Will you welcome me at the door?”

“If you wish.”

“With a kiss.”

“With a kiss,” she agrees.

That’s the sweetest promise anyone has made me. No lover has ever waited for me at the door.

The week is spent signing a new lease contract, cleaning the cottage and new townhouse, and packing. It’s the second time I move in a few weeks. The shed snakeskin I find between my jerseys only confirms I’ve made the right decision.

The exams have ended, and school has finished. Abby got special permission to do oral exams, since her vision is still not one hundred percent back to normal. The doctor assures us her eyesight will return. She’s still living with Francois and Debbie. I can’t wait to bring her home, especially since it’ll be Christmas soon, and we agreed she’ll spend her first Christmas with her father. I miss her. I want to see as much of her as I can before the holiday.

Brian takes charge of another move, but this time Clive isn’t there to help. When I’m not working overtime to save my Monroe account, I’m unpacking. Brian is there every night, unwrapping crockery, washing the plates that have been wrapped in paper, and cooking dinner.

It feels like forever before everything is once more in its place and I can call Abby to let her know her new room is ready. Francois offers to drop her and Dusty off on Friday after work. I gladly accept. It gives me time to cook a special welcoming meal.

I put flowers on the table and let the chocolate mousse set in the fridge. The schnitzel is just done when the bell rings.

Rushing to the door, I open it wide, but there’s only Francois.

I peer over his shoulder to where his car is parked in the driveway. It’s empty.

“Where’s Abby?” I ask.

“With Debs.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We need to talk.” He walks past me into the house.

I follow him sheepishly into the lounge.

He faces the window with his back to me for what seems like the longest time before he turns.

My stomach tumbles and drops like a stone. “Francois, talk to me. What’s going on? Why isn’t Abby with you?”

His expression is grave. No, beneath the mask he’s furious. “Abby says Brian touched her. Indecently.”