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“I’m right here. I’m not leaving,” I promise her.

Enzo and the scout are trying their hardest to overpower my dad, both of them knocking him around while he fights to stay on his feet. He’s not losing but he’s far from winning.

I take a second to seek out the gun. Lying discarded over by the wall, it gleams like treasure, even though I know it’s nothing but a tragedy.

One double-fisted hit to the side of Scout’s head sends him sideways, then I’m kicking the back of Enzo’s legs, causing him to collapse on his knees. My dad delivers his own blow to Enzo, laying him out, before I knock him out by stomping on that dumb face.

The sight gives me the barest hint of satisfaction. It’s not enough for what they’ve done.

I go over and retrieve the gun.

On his back, the scout holds his hands up in surrender, blabbering about his own family and how we should spare him for their sake.

I don’t listen to him though. All I hear is my girl crying as I push the muzzle into his right palm.

“No, please. No!”

“I told you you’d regret touching her,” I drone before pulling the trigger and causing bits of hand to spurt everywhere.

He can go back to his family, just not all of him.

Sera screams until my dad orders, “Woman, shut the fuck up already, would you!”

Standing over Enzo, I study him, equally wanting to put a bullet in his head and wondering if I actually can. The nickname would finally make sense.

But Kota wouldn’t want that.

I put a bullet in Enzo’s right hand, too, bringing his ass back to consciousness in the most violent way possible.

“You don’t deserve that hand anymore. That hand’s mine,” I inform him.

“Go back to your boss and tell him we’re square,” my dad says with a stiff finger toward the door.

Square? Kota’s worth a hell of a lot more than seven hundred and fifty-nine thousand dollars.

As Scout and Muscle make their escape out the front door, I question if letting them go is the right move.

Then I remember prison isn’t a guarantee. All it takes is for them to roll over on a few acquaintances and they’re back on the streets.

Better to let their boss handle them.

The bloodlust fades out, giving the fear from before a wide berth.

Kota.

Falling to my knees beside her, I say, “See? I’m still here. Right here. I told you I wouldn’t go anywhere.”

After setting the gun down, I inspect the cloth staunching the wounds. It’s bled through already. This shit isn’t gonna cut it. She needs professional medical attention. Now.

“Go get help,” I tell Sera.

Her eyes dart around the foyer, like she’s in danger, like she’s under attack.

“No one cares about you! Go get help! Now!”

I wait until Sera crawls, then sprints from the house, the only proof I’ve seen the bitch ever played softball, before returning my full concentration to Kota.

No longer crying, she’s eerily calm.