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“That’s how you handle a man who puts his hands on you,” she said.

So it was.

But, somewhere along the way, I guess I missed the lesson about the other forms abuse could take. To me, you were only being abused if you were being physically harmed, so I’d missed the signs in the early days of my marriage.

Then I was too deep in to get back out for a while. Especially as Perry worked so hard to chip away at any confidence I had.

I’d love to claim that I channeled my mom the night he finally hauled off and hit me. That I’d grabbed the closest item and beat him with it.

In that moment, though, I didn’t have my mother’s rage and her fire. I had cold shock and bone-deep fear.

It wasn’t until he stormed off and left the house, ranting and raving about what I “made him” do to me, that I was able to climb up off the floor, grab my purse, and walk out the door.

I didn’t take my phone.

Or my keys.

I just… left.

And never looked back.

I still kind of regretted not beating him with a hot frying pan, though.

I hoped the future version of me would be strong enough for that. But also never in a situation where I would need it.

“Did he hit you guys too?” I asked.

“No. We weren’t his kids. And our daddy was a bull of a man. If he found out one of us got hit, he would have laid that man out. Once he got out of whatever prison time he was doing,” she added with a small smile.

“Speaking of, um, criminals.” That was not my best segue, but Jill didn’t seem bothered by it. “Do you know what those bikers do around here?”

“Which ones?”

“What do you mean?”

“There are two biker clubs in Navesink Bank. There are the Henchmen, the OGs. Then there are the Vultures. Funny story, the former female president of the Vultures is married to the current president of the Henchmen.”

“Well, either, I guess. What do they do?”

“The Henchmen have always been arms dealers. The Vultures, as a rule, move into a town and get into whatever business the clubs around that area do. That’s how they got their name. They’re vultures.”

Arms dealing.

So… Cain was an arms dealer?

I don’t know why, but I could see him much more as a construction worker than someone who sold illegal guns. Especially when he used to be on the other side of the law.

“So, they’re dangerous.”

Jill pursed her lips. “I don’t know if I would say that. I mean, yeah, they could be deadly if someone fucked with them. Or their women or kids. But to the general public? No. Actually, they donate a lot of money to causes around Navesink Bank: the women’s shelter, the food pantry, pay for kids’ sports team equipment or band uniforms. They do a lot of good around here.

“I actually used to work in the diner a couple of them own. So I got to know a few of them pretty well. They were all nice. Great tippers. I once saw one of them grab a knife and hold it to the throat of a customer who had been berating his girlfriend and told him to apologize.”

“But they’re criminals.”

Jill’s gaze flicked up. “You know, I know a lot about criminals,” she said, and I couldn’t argue with that. “And one thing I’ve learned is… there are criminals, and then there are monsters. They aren’t one and the same. Even cold-blooded hitmen, for example, hate pedophiles. Mob bosses hate men who beat their wives. Just because their moral compass might be slightly askew doesn’t necessarily mean they are bad people.”

I guess a part of me was kind of hoping for a more black-and-white answer. Some legitimate reason to stop fantasizing about Cain and his kind eyes and old-fashioned chivalry.