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He grunts but continues squeezing.

Again, princess, I hear Hudson say.

I draw back, swing it forward a second time.

Again, baby girl, I hear my dad say.

Dylan curses, and his grip loosens enough that I draw in much-needed air, giving me the strength to swing a third time.

It collides with his temple in a sickening crunch, and I watch in horror as his eyes roll back in his head before he collapses on top of me.

And that’s when I hear the shouting.

Thirty-Five

Dash

The panic in my chest threatens to consume me.

All I can think about is getting to Willow before it’s too late.

I don’t care how many laws I break or what the repercussions might be but I don’t knock, don’t stop, don’t think about anything but getting to Willow.

“Willow!” I yell her name as we—Banks, Royal, and Atlas refused to let me come alone—race through the massive foyer, oblivious to the sirens in the background or Atlas’s admonishment to “be careful—he might be armed.”

Because he knows I’m not.

But it doesn't matter.

I’ll die before I let him hurt her.

Not now.

Not ever again.

I hear what sounds like a scuffle and pivot in that direction. The French doors leading to an office are open—and I see movement on the floor. Dylan is sprawled on top of Willow, choking her, and my vision blurs red.

“Willow!” I’m poised for a fight but before I can reach them, I see her hand holding something silver—and bashing him repeatedly in the head.

“Babe.” This time my voice is a hushed whisper as I pull Dylan off her and she wilts in relief.

Dylan isn’t out cold, but he’s definitely woozy, blood oozing from multiple wounds on his head.

Jesus, she did a number on him.

Despite everything, I almost smile.

She fought back.

“You all right, Willow?” Banks is kneeling beside her now.

“I-I’m okay… I think.” She looks up and…she’s bleeding.

She’s fucking bleeding.

I’m going to end him.

I’m going to make him wish he’d never been born.