Francie moved with such speed that Sara did not see him throw the punch, only saw Tony’s head rock with the force of it, the sound, like a hammer on meat, echoing off the gable walls of the houses. He staggered against the wall, his shoulder sliding along it for a few steps, his mouth open, blinking. Francie followed him, swung another fist, an uppercut to the jaw that lifted Tony off the ground. Sara cried out when she heard the crack of his head on the pavement.

“Stop,” she said, her voice lost in her chest.

Francie loomed over Tony, swung his boot into his flank. Tony didn’t move, a pool of blood spreading from the back of his head. Francie kicked him again, and a third time.

“Stop!” Sara screamed.

The passenger door tore open, and Damien reached inside. She tried to slap his hands away, but one gripped her arm while the other snaked around to undo the seat belt. He pulled her down from the van as she screamed at Francie to stop, leave Tony alone, not to hurt him. She tried to resist as Damien dragged her towards his car, but he was too strong.

Sara called for help, but the words were lost in her sobs and the sound of Francie’s boot against Tony’s unconscious body. Damien opened the BMW’s passenger door and bundled her inside. She tried to climb out, but he slammed the door, trapping her leg between it and the sill, the metalwork hacking into her shin. A cracked howl erupted from somewhere deep inside her, and he shoved her back inside before shutting the door. He ran around to the driver’s side, climbed in, and started the engine.

As Damien turned the car, Sara snatched one glance at Tony, motionless on the ground save for a jerk each time Francie Keane’s boot collided with his ribs.

Sara spent the journey back to their house—Mary’s house—with her face buried in her hands, weeping, the tears slicking her palms. Every few minutes, Damien told her to shut up, quit her yapping, and she tried, but the sound of Tony’s skull meeting the pavement kept ringing in her head.

When Damien pulled up in front of the house, he shut off the engine, removed his key from the ignition, and turned in the seat to face her.

“Look at me,” he said.

She kept her face hidden.

He seized her wrist, pulled her hand away, and said, “Look at me.”

She raised her head and saw him staring back, dark rings beneath his glistening red eyes. His shoulders rose and fell with each furious breath. His voice trembled with his rage.