If only

shut behind him.

She scratched his face with her nails, pulled in a breath to scream, and he backhanded her across the face.

As pain burst in her cheek, tears flooded her eyes, blurring the room. Shock held her immobile.

“Now that I have your attention…” The sloppy smirk on his face gave him away. He’d been drinking. He shoved her toward the couch.

Her insides tightened. Frank was a mean drunk. During their negotiations before he moved in, she’d made him agree that if he drank, he’d stay somewhere else for the night. She hadn’t thought alcohol would become a problem…but then he’d lost his job.

She touched her burning cheek and felt liquid. Blood. The skin had been torn by his ring.

Her heart started to hammer. Okay, smarty, how do you get out of this? Gritting her teeth, she shoved her emotions down, a talent she’d mastered as a child and never lost. Men didn’t want an emotional woman, no matter what those stupid Feebs said. “What did you want to say to me?” she asked politely.

And why the hell didn’t she have something useful like a baseball bat or stun gun in her living room. Definitely shortsighted.

“There. That’s my sunny girl.” He smiled at her, proud he’d made her do what he wanted.

And he had. Could she hit him with the lamp? No, the cord would slow her down. Her cell phone was in her purse.

“Stay there.” As he headed for the kitchenette, he bumped into the armchair—and that set him off again.

Sally winced as he kicked the chair across the room. “Stop it!”

He didn’t even seem to hear her. The coffee table followed and hit the wall with a crunch. One leg broke. Beside the couch, her cup lay on the carpet next to her Kindle. Frank glared at the e-reader. “That thing. Always more important than me.” He lifted his foot to stomp on it.

Not my books! “No!” She shoved him away.

Losing his balance, he staggered sideways and tripped over the overturned coffee table. His landing shook the floor.

Oh shit.

With her foot, she slid her Kindle under the couch. “Frank, you need to leave before you get in all sorts of trouble. Remember where I work?”

He sat up. “You hit your Master.”

Her father had turned that purple color when enraged, but he’d never hurt her. Much. Frank, however… Fear slid cold ice into her belly, but living with her father and brother had also taught her—never show fear. Her voice came out level. “I’m sorry, but you’re not my Master any more. Remember?”

Ominously silent, he pushed to his feet. He stood between her and the door, blocking her escape. “You need to learn. Need to learn…”

She retreated. Not much choice. He was a foot taller and outweighed her by a hundred pounds. Why the hell hadn’t she picked self-defense for one of her electives?

A grizzly bear in a black T-shirt, he lumbered toward her, leaving destruction in his wake. The pictures on the television stand, candlesticks…each item that she’d saved up to buy, carefully chosen.

He’d break her next.

Not enough space to get past him to the door. No chance to get to her phone. Her heart pounded wildly, trying to escape the cage of her ribs. She’d misjudged—he wouldn’t stop until he hurt her. She had neighbors. Maybe…

She yelled with all her might, “Get away from me! Help!” And then she screamed, high and long.

He lunged for her, and she dodged. Then dodged again. Stall.

“Frank. Listen, we need to talk about this.” She sounded hoarse. Terrified.

Stopping, he panted and glared. “Don’t think so.”

Maybe she could circle around toward the door. The blood seemed to be pounding in her head as she backpedaled toward the back where her bed was.

He lunged, sweeping his arms before him. The crash of her television made her pause. A second too long.

She ducked a punch aimed at her face. Stepping forward, she punched, trying to hit his throat. Arms too short. He grabbed her hand and nailed her right in the stomach. The shock hit first—she couldn’t inhale—and then the pain exploded.

As she staggered back, he grabbed her. No. Blinded by tears, she punched. Got his shoulder. Tried to knee him.

Rather than hitting his balls, her knee thumped his thigh. With a roar, he threw her across the room. She tried to catch herself. Her ankle twisted with a horrible stab of pain. As she fell, her back smacked into the side of her desk.

Half sitting, she shook her head. No birds tweeted like in the cartoons; she heard only a roaring in her ears.

He stalked toward her, his hands opening and closing into fists. “Cops won’t get here in time for—”

The pounding on her door halted his advance.

“Sally? Sally! You okay?” Harvey’s voice came from the hall.

“Get the manager. He’s got a key.” Joanna’s voice was high and terrified.

The old lady across the way quavered, “I called the police. They said—”

“Fuck!” Frank kicked.

She twisted so his boot smashed into her left hip rather than her ribs. Sobbing with pain, she rolled blindly. Escape. Get away.

Voices spilled into the room. Grabbing the lamp from the end table as a weapon, Frank shouted at her neighbors, keeping them from entering the apartment. No one was big enough to take on the brute.

Yelling and yelling. A standoff. Frank sounded more and more out of control.

She needed to do something before her friends were hurt. “Don’t—” She tried to push to her feet. A knife seemed to stab into her ankle, and her leg gave out. She landed on her right side so hard that her head went all blurry.

“Let me pass.” The unfamiliar voice had an effect.

The shouting died away into silence.

Sally lifted her head.

A uniformed police officer stood in the doorway, confronting Frank. Her neighbors had retreated. “Sir, you need to—”

“Get the hell out of here,” Frank roared, brandishing a heavy iron lamp. “My girlfriend and I are just talking.”

He’s lying. Don’t go. Don’t leave me here. “No.” Her voice came out only a whisper.

The police officer held up his hand. “I’m sorry, sir, but you—”

“Fuck diplomacy.” Dan pushed past the cop and walked into the room. Frank swung the lamp like a baseball bat.

Dan blocked, grabbed the lamp, and used it to swing Frank at the two men who’d just walked in.

The darker one sidestepped.

The other—Vance—caught Frank, twisted gracefully, and slammed him face-first into the wall so violently that the pictures rattled. The lamp dropped to the floor with a nasty thud.

“Nice catch, Buchanan,” Dan said, pulling out a set of handcuffs.

Sally’s breathing faltered as she took in the miracle of a rescue.

Despite his position, his face pressed against the wall, Frank yelled. “Fuck you. She’s mine. Fucking cops.”

Chills swept across her body as she listened. As she tried to find some strength to move.