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When I go outside, I move my truck out from behind Emma’s car—I left the engine running this entire time. Emma’s keys are still in her car. I park it at the curb, facing away from the house—so she doesn’t have to see what I’m about to do next.

I position the Charger closest to the house with the back doors open. I’m thankful as fuck this house is at the end of a dead end with the nearest neighbor at the intersecting corner.

I’m reacting. Strategizing. Problem-solving’s become a survival instinct. I’ve been forced to think my way out of many intense situations in my life. None like this. But shutting down and compartmentalizing comes easily.

Emma hasn’t moved an inch by the time I return to her, other than closing her eyes. She probably didn’t realize I was gone.

“Emma.” I coax her to the present. Her lids flip open. “I need you to get in your car. You’re going to follow me, okay?”

Color slowly rises to her waxen skin. “Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry about anything. You just need to follow me.”

I peer into her dazed brown eyes and silently assure her. She complies, using the banister to stand—sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth.

I grab hold of her arm when she teeters a bit.

“Are you okay? How bad are you hurt?”

“I’ll be all right.” Emma moves away from my touch and retreats down the stairs.

I wait until she approaches her car before I take off my shirt and return to the unconscious body.

I don’t focus on him. The blood. The split skin. The swollen flesh morphing his features. Disconnecting from everything that makes me human, I concentrate on getting him down the stairs and out of this house. He’s not a big man, but it’s still not easy lifting him from under his arms and dragging him without injuring him more.

I drop him in the back seat and go around to the other side to slide him across—propping him upright to keep his airway open. I watch for his chest to rise and fall before closing both doors.

Returning to the bathroom, I rinse off the blood. I pull my shirt back on and lock the door behind me.

I drive the Charger to the end of the street, making sure Emma’s following. The mirror is focused on my hardened, black eyes. I stare into them before I adjust it. “What the hell did you do?” I swallow the bile that burns the back of my throat and blow out a breath.

When we reach Mick’s Place, there are only a few cars in the parking lot, more than I’d hoped. But better than a line of motorcycles. No one’s outside. I use the towel I stole from the kitchen to wipe everything down: the keys, the steering wheel, the doors. I leave the car unlocked and walk over to Emma’s Accord idling near the exit.

“Drive,” I say as soon as I shut the door. Emma stares out the windshield, pulling the car back onto the road. “Want me to drive?”

She shakes her head. Neither of us says another word until she turns off her car in Rachel’s driveway.

“Jonathan, is he dead?” Her voice is quiet, like she didn’t want to ask but forced herself to.

“No.” I try to sound confident. “He needs to go to the hospital, but he’s not dead. Someone will find him.”

“Will he come after us?”

“No. You don’t have to worry about him ever again. I promise.” He doesn’t know where Sara lives. Emma doesn't share Rachel's last name. As long as Emma stays away from this house, he’ll never find her. And I made sure he won't be motivated to hunt any of us down.

Emma doesn’t look convinced.

I reach for the screen door. Her mouth opens in a gasp. “Your hand.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The knuckles on my right hand are split and bloody. I can’t feel them. I can’t feel anything. “We need to get some ice on your face to help the swelling.”

Emma shakes her head. “You need to wrap that. I think we have something in the bathroom.”

She’s adamant about fixing me first. Seeing my self-inflicted wounds woke something up in her. I follow her up the stairs to the bathroom and rinse my hands while she gathers supplies from the closet.

After I dry it off, she raises my hand to inspect the damage. I take in the concern on her face and the tenderness as she’s about to apply the ointment. I pull my hand away. “I’ll be fine.”

“Jonathan.” Emma reaches for my hand, but I hold it above my head. When she looks up, I’m right in front of her. Our gazes lock. She doesn’t move, only remains transfixed.