My mouth is as dry as a salt mine when I turn onto Convent Street and tuck into the alley behind her house.
But my self-centered worries incinerate as soon as I spot the dark vehicle parked on the alley, hidden from view from Stella’s back yard by the thick ligustrums. I stop. Kill the engine. Open the door and shut it behind me soundlessly.
I don’t feel the ground beneath my feet as I close the distance. I might as well be flying. As soon as I clock that it’s the matte black Camaro, I’m tearing up the alley.
The motion light is on behind Stella’s house. The back gate hangs open. I register it’s beenpriedopen.
Motherfucker.
I want to tear out of my skin when I see Stella’s French doors. They gape open, too, the deadbolt mangled.
I’m about to charge through the door, roaring her name when I see them. I freeze.
Just inside her room, Stella—my love, my heart—stands in her robe—in nothing but her robe—blocking his path. He’s a head taller than she is, and she’s glaring up at him as though daring him to come for her.
Fearless. Flawless. Beautiful. Irreplaceable. My Stella.
And that monster? That cretin has his fists balled at his side and a fucking crowbar in his right hand.
“Tell me where she is.” He raises the brute weapon, taking aim at the woman I love. “Or I’ll hurt you.”
I. Explode.
My brain maps out what to do as I leap over the porch steps. I’ll launch myself through the French doors and knock him on his face. He’ll drop the crowbar. I’ll pick it up, and I’ll pound him until there’s nothing left.
I get a foot away from the doors when my approach catches Stella’s eyes. They widen. Doucet wheels.
And he drives his left shoulder into my sternum before we go down.
Air rips from my lungs, my diaphragm spasming, the pain unreal. I’m both enraged and immobile. Worst of all? Beneath me, Doucet still has the crowbar. I register that fact less than a second before he brings it down on my hip. Stella screams.
I’d grunt, but I have no breath. My dead weight on top of him is my only advantage. I want to tell Stella to run, to get Maisy and run, but I can’t inhale.
“Are you fucking her? Are you touching my Nina?”
Thwack!This time it lands high on my leg. I see stars and then spots.
“No!”Stella shrieks, and when I expect another blow—this one to land on my spine or take out my knee—it doesn’t come.
Fucking breathe!I curse myself.
Doucet thrashes beneath me. “Fucking bitch!”
And then I see. The crowbar hasn’t struck me again because Stella is gripping its crooked end with both hands, trying to yank it from him.
I wheeze in a sip of air. My hands find purchase on his shirt before his left fist comes between our bodies and slams my chin.
The clack of my jaw guarantees a chipped tooth. My skull rattles, but I’m lucky. If he had more range of motion, I’d be out.
I get a full breath the same instant Doucet rips the bar from Stella’s grip. He rears back, aiming the forked end at her bare foot, but I catch the bar mid-swing and wrench it back. In the next instant I have both hands on the bar. So does he.
I dig a knee into his quad and yank back, trying to disarm him, and it’s only when his hips come off the ground I realize my mistake.
I pulled when I should have pushed. Pushed the crowbar down across his windpipe. But with the strength of a man fighting for his life—and I’m pretty sure Kaleb Doucet gets I’m not above killing him—he barrels up. I go over. My back hits the floor and he’s pinning me.
“WHERE’S NINA?” he shouts, spit flying. His face is twisted in rage, purple with fury. From over our shoulders, an ankle boot smacks the side of his head before bouncing off my eye.
“Ah! Sorry!” Stella cries.
