Hannah spotted the baseball bat leaning next to the back door and grabbed it, her fingers wrapping around it in a white-knuckled grip. “Sophie? You with me?”

Sophie, eyes blazing, held up the knife. “Let’s get this fucker.”

“Go,” Hannah told Gloria again. She turned and ran with Sophie into the dining room.

Every cell in her body was screaming “run.” Run out the back door and never stop. Run until she was someone else with no history. But she couldn’t start this new life by running away. This was her mess. Her problem. And he was hurting her friends.

It was her turn to make a stand.

The realization unfroze her. She ran back to the kitchen and grabbed the first thing she saw—the cast iron skillet on the stove.

She didn’t think, just let her feet carry her into the dining room. She took in the scene, not knowing if milliseconds or minutes passed.

Glenn was on top of Harper on the floor, a hunting knife to her throat. Hannah was winding up for another swing with the bat, and Sophie was kicking him in the ribs, screaming, “Drop the knife, you crazy fuck!” And then Gloria was flying in slow motion. Glenn lifted his gaze to hers. Their eyes locked for an eternity frozen in time. Years of history passed between them. Of victim and abuser. Of woman and man. Of all they never had. Gloria saw the sick hatred, the desire for violence in his dead eyes, and swung with all her might.

He wasn’t human anymore. But she was. She deserved a life without a monster.

She didn’t know she’d hit him until she felt the vibrations of cast iron hitting skull rolling up her arms as his body collapsed onto the floor.

Everyone was screaming except for her. She was unearthly calm.

“Holy fuck!” Sophie shouted.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” Hannah chanted.

“Get him off me!” Harper groaned, her voice raspy. “He’s crushing me.”

Still numb, Gloria grabbed Glenn by the collar and, with Hannah’s help, shoved his dead weight onto the dining room rug.

Lola belly crawled up to Harper. “My sweet girl,” Harper whispered, stroking the dog’s fur, causing her rear end to wiggle.

Gloria stared down at his unmoving body. The knife now harmless on the floor. There was a thin line of blood on Harper’s throat. One more second. One more millimeter.

“Tape him up!” Sophie ordered, producing a roll of camo duct tape from God knows where.

Hannah bravely straddled the monster and yanked his arms behind his back.

“Get it up higher into his arm hair,” Gloria suggested. Her breath returned, coming in short ragged gasps. She collapsed against the wall, the skillet still in her hand.