The only person I want affection from—no, crave affection from—is Nora, and that’s a recent development.

After the three women are done with their emotional reunion, we all head into the house. Despite the late hour, Nora and I are hungry, and we devour the meal Ana prepared for us with record speed. Then, replete and exhausted, we go upstairs to our bedroom.

A quick shower and an equally quick fuck later, I drift off to sleep with Nora’s head pillowed on my uninjured shoulder.

I’m ready for our normal life to resume.

The scream that wakes me up is bloodcurdling. Full of desperation and terror, it bounces off the walls and floods my veins with adrenaline.

I’m on my feet and off the bed before I even realize what’s happening. As the sound dies down, I grab the gun hidden in my nightstand and simultaneously hit the light switch with the back of my hand.

The nightstand lamp turns on, illuminating the room, and I see Nora huddled in the middle of the bed, shaking under the blanket.

There’s no one else in the room, no visible threat.

My racing heartbeat begins to slow. We didn’t get attacked. The scream must’ve come from Nora.

She’s having yet another nightmare.

Fuck. The urge to do violence is almost too strong to be contained. It fills every cell of my body until I’m shaking with rage, with the need to kill and destroy every motherfucker responsible for this.

Starting potentially with myself.

Turning away, I draw in several deep breaths, trying to hold back the churning fury within me. There’s no one I can lash out at here, no enemy I can crush to take the edge off my temper.

There’s only Nora, who needs me to be calm and rational.

After a few seconds pass and I’m certain I won’t hurt her, I turn back to face her and put the gun back into the nightstand drawer. Then I climb back on the bed. My ribs and shoulder ache dully, and my head throbs from my sudden movements, but that pain is nothing compared to the heaviness in my chest.

“Nora, baby…” Leaning over her, I pull the blanket off her naked body and place my right hand on her shoulder to shake her awake. “Wake up, my pet. It’s just a dream.” Her skin is clammy to the touch, and the whimpering noises she’s making pain me more than any of Majid’s torture. Fresh rage wells up, but I suppress it, keeping my voice low and even. “Wake up, baby. You’re dreaming. It’s not real.”

She rolls over onto her back, still shaking, and I see that her eyes are open.

Open and unseeing as she gasps for air, her chest heaving and her hands clutching at the sheets in desperation.

She’s not having a dream—she’s in the middle of a full-blown panic attack, likely one caused by her nightmare.

I want to throw my head back and roar out my rage, but I don’t. She needs me now, and I won’t let her down.