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An exhale rattles out of my chest. It’s difficult to imagine Dakota and another man. We moved on. Made no promises and yet…
I don’t know how I could lose a good woman I never laid claim to. Just one mistake out of many.
Swearing, I shove up to standing. I want to hold her, pick her up in my arms and tell her it will all be okay, but I’m vibrating. I pace.
I can’t decide if I’m going to kill him slow or kill him fast. Break his knees or break his fucking neck.
“I can’t pay for that wall if you punch it, Hotshot.”
I stop mid-stride, realizing I’ve balled my hand up into a fist. A chuckle shakes out of me. I hate how well she knows me.
I turn and pin her with a look. “What happened tonight?”
I want all the gory details so I can plan how badly to hurt him. Pain for pain. Eye for an eye. And then I kill that motherfucker.
Her wary gaze falls to the ground.
“You escaped,” I prompt.
“Yes.” Tears well up in her eyes. “I had been planning to leave for a while. When he realized I wasn’t at home, he came to the bakery.” She shudders. “It’s a blur. We fought. He hit me. There was a pan on my stove. It caught fire and took the stove first, then the ceiling.”
I shake my head, horrified at the nightmare she’s just been through. “Jesus, Koty.”
“He was screaming at me to help him, but I…I ran,” she whispers. “I saw my chance, and I took it.” More tears drip onto her legs. “I let my bakery burn.”
Working with cops, domestic disputes aren’t anything new to me. I’ve seen nightmare scenarios play out in Resurrection in real-time. Dead of night escapes. Richter shuttling women to shelters. An officer telling a partner to take a walk around the block to cool off and then being called back to ID a body. I know how fast they can escalate. The thought of how close Dakota had come is enough to give me an aneurysm on the spot.
“You did the right thing. You got out.”
“I had to,” she whispers.
“Who?” I press, fury clawing its way into my veins. “Tell me his fucking name, Dakota.”
“Please.” There’s a hitch in her voice that tells me she’s close to breaking down. “Don’t make me tell you. I can’t. Not now. I just want to go home. I just want my life back.”
“How long has this been going on?”
She hesitates, then says, “The last two years.”
Christ.
A thought occurs to me. “Would he follow you?”
She nods. “Yes.” A shudder of a breath shakes her frame. “He won’t stop. He’ll kill me.”
That fucking piece of shit will be dead before he touches her again.
“Does he know about your hometown?”
“I don’t know,” she says, hugging her hands tighter into her stomach. “I’ve spoken about it in passing. In an interview maybe. But I never went into detail.” A pink flush stains her cheeks. “I kept my hometown in the past.”
Fuck, but I can’t pretend it doesn’t sting.
So many more questions. But they can wait. All that matters is getting Koty back home safe. And then I plan to never fucking ever let her out of my sight.
She’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it.
I cross the room and kneel in front of her. Careful of her bruise, I cup her cheek and stroke a rough thumb over the high arch of her cheekbone. “What else do I need to know? Is that it?”
