And then, as if by magic—as if by fate—the kind doctor was there, waiting under the shelter of a taxi rank out front, his suitcase in hand.

I hesitated, but only for a second, before I charged over to where he stood.

I could tell you what we spoke about, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters was that he agreed to help me, and that he did.

That night, I returned to Grandma’s house renewed, my spirit soaring. I had finally found something to live for—not Elliot, not victim’s guilt, not the endless desert plains that smothered me every time I looked out of the window.

Vengeance, plain and simple. I decided, then and there, to destroy Dornan’s club and systematically wipe out his family, and I knew exactly how to get under his skin.

Grandma was surprised to see me. “I thought you’d stolen my car,” she said, her face crinkling into a smile.

“I did,” I said cheerfully, dropping the keys onto the table. “I filled the gas tank, though.”

She was always a shrewd woman, smart and observant like her grandson. “You look different,” she said to me, her southern accent making me hang off her every word. “Happy.”

I smiled, my heart thudding excitedly in my chest.

“I’ve decided life is too short to keep moping around,” I replied, balling my shaking hands up into fists to keep them still. “It’s time to start living again.”

“I’m so happy to hear that,” Grandma said, closing the gap between us and putting her thin arms around me.

“You should call Elliot,” she said, patting me on the back. I froze.

Grandma stepped back and ruffled my blonde hair. “He’ll come back for you, girl,” she said softly.

But he never did.

“What are you planning to do with that stuff, anyway?” Elliot asks, changing the subject abruptly.

I break out into a wicked grin, one that I can feel all the way up to my eyes. “It’s a surprise,” I reply.

He just shakes his head, but a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, threatening to turn into a full-on smile. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

Something about that saddens me so much, my eyes well up with tears. I turn my face away, annoyed that he has to see me like this.

“What did I say?” he asks, reaching out to brush my cheek with his finger.

I shake my head. “Nothing, it’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

He’s wise not to press me; he knows when I don’t want to talk.

It’s silly, really. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. It’s all a lie, though. I’m not doing this because I’m strong. I’m doing this because I’m scared of the monster in my head.

The monster in my bed, the one who killed my father.

The monster who destroyed me.

I’m doing this because I just want to be able to sleep at night without seeing his face.

That’s not strength. That’s desperation.

Elliot drops his anger, his face morphing into concerned. And that’s almost worse. He draws me close again, his arms the safest place I’ve ever known, and I fight a battle within myself. “I don’t need your pity,” I say, even as I cling to him, my tears seeping into his jacket.

“It’s not pity,” he murmurs, one hand stroking my wild hair, the other clutched tight around my shoulders. “It’s love.”

He draws me closer, speaking softly into my hair. “We may not have worked together, but don’t ever think I’ll give up on you, girl. That’ll never happen.”

My heart just about fucking breaks.

It’s as if someone’s taken an icepick and jammed it into my ribcage. My chest burns with the pain of unrequited love. The sad thing is—or maybe it’s not sad at all—is that I did love Elliot. I still do. I love him for rescuing me. I love him for saving my life. I love him for sticking around for three hellish years.

But I don’t—can’t—love him like that. The way you love someone when they’re your whole world. I loved him for everything, but hanging in that artificial existence where he was my everything, I still hadn’t been able to give myself to him entirely.

After all, my heart belonged to someone else. Someone who made my breath catch in my throat. Someone who I had loved so fiercely from the moment I had laid eyes upon him, it had almost hurt. Someone who lit up my entire world, even as he believed that mine had ended at the hands of his family.

“Got you a present,” Elliot says, breaking away from me to dig into his pocket again. He pulls out a brand new, hot pink iPhone, complete with a set of earbud headphones.

“You shouldn’t have,” I say, fingering the phone delicately. I love it.

“I’m listed as Tattoo Guy,” he says, pointing at the screen. “Just in case that was unclear.”

I laugh, scrolling through the music he’s already loaded onto the phone. There’s a whole bunch of stuff. “What’s this playlist?” I ask, tapping the button as I read each song title.

“Janie’s Got a Gun? Red Right Hand? What the hell kind of music collection is this?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious,” Elliot asks playfully. “It’s your revenge playlist. If you insist on doing this, you really do need a soundtrack.”

I just shake my head and smile. “I remember now why I like you so much,” I say, beaming as I slip the phone into my pocket.

“My extremely large penis?” Elliot jokes as we begin to walk back to the fence.

I push him playfully. “Because no matter what happens, you can always make me laugh.”

“Dornan,” I say gently, tracing the deep lines etched beneath his eyes with my fingertip. “We need to get dressed. The service starts soon.”

It is just after eight, and the funeral procession and motorcade for Chad will be starting in a few hours. I am equal parts excited and terrified, a newfound determination to get this thing finished settled in my gut like a layer of concrete: heavy, pressing, and always there to remind me what it is I need to do.

I’m growing impatient. I have six men left to kill, and I’ve already been here for almost a month. Killing them one by one is going to become inefficient at some point in the very near future but for now, I am stuck with the methods I’ve got and this is the best I can do.

Dornan opens his eyes, raking his gaze over me.

“You’re wearing gym clothes to a fucking funeral?” he asks me, his gravelly voice scratching at my skin from the inside out.

“I went for a run,” I explain. “I’ll jump in the shower now.”

He grabs hold of my wrist, pulling me back towards his face. “I didn’t say you could leave.”

I lay my hand on his cheek. “I just ran around the block a bunch of times,” I say, pressing my lips to his forehead briefly. “I was never more than a hundred feet from you. The boys were counting my laps for me.”

It’s a lie, but one he buys. He releases his grip and closes his eyes again, sinking back into his pillow. I’m unsure what to do at this point. I can’t stand to be around him, but I have to play my part.

I have to finish this.

And I still have to find that fucking videotape, the one that will ensure that the world will know what Dornan Ross and his sons did to me and to the people I loved.

I undress and walk naked into the en suite, glancing behind me. It’s at this point that Dornan would normally drag me back into bed, but this morning is different. I stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching silently as Dornan pulls on jeans and shrugs into a shirt.

He is almost at the door when I reach down and grab his leather coat.

“Dornan,” I say quietly. He turns, slowly, wearily, and a small thrill shoots down my spine as I see the total devastation etched onto his face.