My mouse lingers over the file before I double-click it open. Chewing on my lip, I scroll through the paperwork. Seeing his name on these documents makes everything so real.

I can’t read it. Not word by word, but there are phrases that stick out.

Physical abuse. Blunt force trauma. Second-degree burns. Emotional abuse.

The one that stops me in my tracks is Violent response to physical touch.

I slam it closed again. Closing my hand over my mouth, I muffle my own screams. I want to walk next door and hold him. I want to prove them wrong. He doesn’t react violently to physical touch anymore. He is not broken, and this doesn’t define him. My mind goes back to the man who rode me around the island on his motorcycle, who could make me laugh, bring me pleasure, who saved a woman’s life for no other reason than because he could.

Instead of going next door, I lay my face down in my bed and cry. I can’t fix him and going next door would only undo everything. It’s up to Rafe and Ezra to fix their own problems, to heal themselves of this toxicity that’s ruining their relationships. It just feels so unfair that I’m the one to pay the price.

During the day, Vic’s gym looks like any other gym. There are paying customers working out and a boxing match going on with an instructor in the middle of the building. I see Vic right away when I walk in. He’s standing at the back of the building talking with someone who looks like a plumber or handyman.

The light from the front door grabs his attention, and his face lights up as I walk in. Leaving the man he’s talking to, he rushes over to greet me. Glancing around the room, I keep an eye out for Rafe, but I don’t see him anywhere. I doubt he’d be here during the day anyway, but I’m still paranoid about it.

“What do I owe the pleasure, sweetheart?” He asks with that dangerous smile.

“I need your help,” I say, holding my purse tighter. Nerves start to flood my brain as I look at him. I’m here, alone. I trust Vic, but for no other reason than he’s been nice to me. For all I know, he could be just as bad as the rest of them.

“I would love nothing more than to help you, but I haven’t seen your boyfriend all week.”

“This isn’t about him,” I answer, straightening my shoulders. “It’s about me.”

“Okay…” he says, looking skeptical.

I clear my throat. I feel like an idiot, but this is what I want, and Vic is the only person, outside of Ezra and Rafe, that I trust to help me. “I want to learn how to fight.”

His eyes squint ever so slightly, and his lips tilt in a small smile, almost as if he doesn’t believe what I’m saying. “Like a self-defense class,” he replies, stating it like a fact instead of a question.