Her pulse quickened. She was riveted in place, held captive by the storm of emotions whipping between them. All that energy uncapped the fear, confusion, and anger she’d been holding back, and it bubbled up to the surface, threatening to tumble past the painful lump in her throat. She couldn’t let him see her fall apart and choked out, “I’m gonna shower.”

She hurried down the hall on trembling legs, making a beeline through her bedroom, into the bathroom. She turned on the shower and angrily, shakily struggled to tug off her boots and socks and strip off her clothes. She wanted to burn those clothes, to get as far away from what had happened as she possibly could.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, tears welled in her eyes. A butterfly bandage stuck out from under her bangs, covering the gash over her left brow. She had scrapes on her cheeks, bruises on her arms, and she was sure there were some on her back and hips, too. But it was the fear in her eyes that pummeled her, too reminiscent of the weak girl she used to be. The person she vowed never to be again. She was not weak. She was not helpless.

Anger roared inside her as she stepped into the shower, trembling so badly her teeth chattered. The warm water stung the cuts and wounds peppering her arms, back, and legs. Fear and pain swamped her. She crossed her arms over her chest, willing herself to be strong. She closed her eyes, memories of the attack slamming into her, drawing the tears she’d been holding back. She could still feel their hands on her flesh, still hear their voices cutting through the night. Tears fell like rivers as she poured bodywash onto a washcloth and tried to scrub the memories away. She scrubbed her arms hard despite the stinging and the pain, sobs escaping as she tried to scrape the feel of her attackers off her flesh. The pain was immense, but the heartache of feeling like in one night those men had obliterated all the progress she’d made was even more devastating. Anguished cries tore from her lungs, and her legs gave out. She crumpled to the shower floor and tucked her knees to her chest, rocking as the water rained down on her and giving in to the pain, the anger, and the grief of a night she hadn’t seen coming.

DIESEL PACED THE living room, emotions raging through him as he waited for Tracey to finish her shower. He never should have let her take the trash out. What if he hadn’t heard her scream? What if he’d been a second later? Fuck. He couldn’t go there.