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"What aren't you saying?"

She swallowed. "I had a roommate at the time. Shecame home, and I think if she hadn't, things would have ended…very differently."

The implication hit me like a physical blow. I fought the urge to pull her into a protective hug and promise her everything would be okay. That wasn't who I was. I wasn't the man who held a woman close to comfort her.

But I would be the man who ended the lives of everyone who hurt her.

"I had no choice. I dropped out of college, started working as a cleaner and bartender under the table. The debt was so large, I was doing anything I could to earn as much cash as possible."

The more she talked, the more my anger rose, like a deadly heat snaking up my spine.

I let her go and took a step back.

She kept telling me about every time they demanded more, adding fees for collection, and interest on the interest. She paced the room, her nerves on edge. But all I could feel was the burn of something vicious and unfamiliar inside me.

Rage. I thought I had felt it before, but this was different.

This wasn't a hot, uncontrollable fire. This was cold, hard, and all-consuming.

This rage wasn't aimed at her, it was for her.

Fueled by the trauma she had endured at the hands of others.

This rage was aimed at them.

The contradiction should have bothered me more than it did.

And I couldn't explain why.

Why did I want to rip these men apart for doing things I had done a hundred times? Hell, I had done significantly worse and reveled in it. I had only just met this woman. I shouldn't give a fuck what some other family did to recoup their losses on a bad loan.

But I did.

I cared, because she was mine.

If anyone was the monster in her life, it was me.

And yet…

From the moment I saw her, from the moment she looked up at me with those big, defiant brown eyes, I'd known. I didn't understand it then, but I understood it now.

She needed protection.

And I wanted to be the one to give it to her. It should've meant protecting her from myself. Resisting the urge to go after her, to take her, strip her naked and chain her to my bed.

But that was not how the real world worked.

Without another word, I grabbed a notepad and a pen, slamming them onto the table. "Sit."

When she hesitated, I picked her up and then forced her into the chair.

"Write down everything."

"Why?"

"Because I said so. Now. I need details. Your father's name. The names of the men who threatened you. The names of the group your father owes money to. How you paid them. Your grandmother's full name. The name of her nursing home. Everything."

"No. I can't."