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Nor is it any louder than the other strung-out couple three doors ahead, loud moaning and grunting coming from their room.

“Go away!” Francesca calls from the other side, followed by a fleshy slap.

“You stupid bitch, that right there is why we’re in this situation! You can’t keep your fucking hands to yourself!”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” she hisses back. “What about all my girls, huh? You think they’d tell you that you kept your hands to yourself?”

“You shut the fuck up right now, or I’ll kill you.”

“Do it!” she screams. “We lost everything anyway, Rocco. We haven’t heard from Claire for damn near a month now, except to be told we can’t leave the goddamn country. We’re running out of money because we can’t fucking access our cards, I’m tired of this stupid-ass wig, and this motel has cockroaches!”

My hand is suspended in the air, ready to knock again, but I must admit, that little pity party entertained me.

“Room service!” I call again, smiling when Francesca screeches loudly in response.

Sibby would be proud.

That telltale sign of her heels stomping towards the door wipes the smile off my face. For a moment, I forget to breathe as I’m transported back into that house, dreading every step that pounded through the wooden floors.

The door is swinging open, snapping me out of my nightmares, only for them to materialize before me.

She’s seething, breathing heavily like a bull with her wide eyes locked on me.

“Hey, Francesca. Miss me?” I ask, forcing a broad smile on my face. Seeing her is affecting me far more than I anticipated, but it doesn’t minimize the murderous rage I feel toward her.

If anything, it heightens it more.

Rocco comes up behind her, his jowls wiggling as he walks. Francesca is frozen in the doorway, a stricken look on her face, while I stand equally paralyzed.

Breathe, Addie. They can’t hurt you anymore.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Rocco says, snapping Francesca and I both out of the stare down we found ourselves in.

She goes to slam the door shut, but I’m throwing my shoulder back into it, the wood reverberating off the door stopper.

Zade took EpiPen dispensers and filled them with small doses of anesthesia for me. Quickly, I grab one of them out of my front pocket and stab it into the side of her neck before her nails have the chance to claw at my face.

Francesca drops right as Rocco barrels into me like a linebacker, his body smashing me into the wall and knocking the breath from my lungs. My head knocks against it, learning the hard way that the walls are concrete. Stars explode in my eyes, and all I can do is blindly knock away Rocco’s hands until I shake them from my vision. I manage to land one hit to Rocco’s throat—weak as it is—and swerve under his arm. He chokes and hacks, providing me enough time to regain my bearings.

The last time he raped me was also the last time he would ever see me helpless.

Growling, he whips around, swinging out his arm as he does, aiming towards my face. I duck, and land a kick to his stomach, taking him by surprise. Before he can recover, I kick out once more. This time between his legs.

He shouts, eyes bulging and tipping over from the pain. I grab the other dispenser and jam it into his neck, his groans soon fading into silence.

Rock ‘n’ roll plays loudly from one neighbor, and the other has the news channel blasting from the TV. Thankfully, neither of them seems inclined to check on us.

Panting, I turn to find Zade leaning in the doorframe, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. A mixture of heat and pride swirl in his yin-yang eyes, and I can’t help but feel on top of the fucking world.

“Good job, little mouse,” he praises, his voice deep and smooth as butter.

“Didn’t want to join in?”

He smirks. “My girl had it handled.”

My chest swells. Having Zade’s love feels like a dream, but having his trust and confidence feels like a dream come true.

“Thanks,” I breathe, a bead of sweat dripping down my back. I plant my hands on my hips, peering down at the duo passed out on the floor.