Esme, who was just about two, was clutching the bars of her crib, crying, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy. By the looks of her sagging diaper, it seemed she hadn’t been changed in a while. And when Ronnie touched her forehead, it was warm. Was she sick? She cursed her long hours at Kittens. She should have never left Esme alone.

“Come on,” she whispered, reaching in to pick up Esme. “We’ll get you changed. And some Tylenol.”

Then she heard a click. She swiveled around, catching sight of the cold, silver tip of a rifle at her back. Jerrod stank of alcohol, the toxins seeping from his pores.

“What’re you doing here?” he slurred.

“Please,” Ronnie whispered. “Put that down.”

Jerrod pushed the rifle forward. It was an old hunting rifle, heavy and stained, crusty with dirt and animal blood. Ronnie swiveled and set Esme back down, which just sent the baby whimpering again. “Please,” she repeated. “Jerrod. Esme.”

Jerrod lowered the gun and set it on the bureau. A strange smile tugged at the corners of his lips, showing off his grayish teeth. When he came toward her, she knew what he wanted. She’d seen the look on his face plenty of times. She felt trapped. He placed his big, rough hands on her shoulders. Ronnie froze. Slowly, his hands moved from Ronnie’s shoulders to around her breasts. She wanted to scream, but she was worried about the gun.

“Yeah,” Jerrod said, a smile in his voice. “You’re up for it, aren’t you? Pretty slut like you, shaking your ass for everyone in town.”

He pushed her so that she was facing the wall, a movement so fast and powerful Ronnie had no chance to get away. He held her there with one strong arm at her shoulder blade as his other hand fumbled for the button at his jeans. Ronnie must have made a strange sound Jerrod decided was a moan. “You like that, bitch?” He chuckled. “Course you do.”

Something inside her snapped then. She couldn’t let him do this. Ronnie whirled around and brought her knee up hard. It landed square. Jerrod jolted back with a howl, which gave Ronnie just enough time to grab the rifle and whip the butt end into his jaw. She had no idea if it was loaded or how to cock the thing, but it was heavy and solid, and when it cracked against his bone, it made an impact.

Jerrod sank to the ground. Blood spurted at his lip. He clutched his face, writhing, and Ronnie knew he’d be up again if she didn’t act fast. She raised the butt of the gun high in the air and brought it down at his temple. The crack was deafening.