Of course, the motivations of the dead man don’t matter anymore. I know he’s dead because his body is no longer twitching. His eyes are open and his mouth is slack, a trickle of blood running down his cheek. He stinks of death too, I realize—of blood, feces, and fear. As the sickening smell registers, I scoot away, crawling a few feet to huddle closer to the couch.

Another man was killed in front of me. I wait for horror and disgust, but they don’t come. Instead, all I feel is a kind of vicious joy. As if on a movie screen, I see Julian’s knife rising and falling, sinking into the man’s side again and again, and all I can think is that I’m glad the man is dead.

I’m glad Julian gutted him.

It’s odd, but my lack of empathy doesn’t bother me this time. I can still feel the man’s hands on my body, his nails scraping my skin as he ripped at my clothes. He’d managed to pin me down while I was dazed from his blow, and even though I struggled as hard as I could, I knew I was losing. If Julian hadn’t come when he did—

No. I shut that down mid-thought. Julian did come, so there’s no need to dwell on the worst. All things considered, I’ve gotten off with minimal damage. My split lip throbs and my back feels like one giant bruise, but it’s nothing irreparable. My body will heal. I’ve been hit before and survived.

The real question is: will Rosa?

The thought of her hurt, broken and violated, fills me with rage. I want Julian to slaughter the other man as savagely as he killed this one. In fact, I want to do it myself. I would’ve insisted on coming along, but arguing with Julian would’ve only slowed down Rosa’s rescue.

For now, all I can do is wait and hope that Julian brings her back.

Spotting my little purse on the floor, I crawl over to pick it up. Every movement hurts, but I want that purse with me. It has my phone, which means I can reach Julian. And that’s important—because it suddenly dawns on me that Rosa is not the only one in danger at the moment.

So is my husband.

No. I push that thought away too. I know what Julian is capable of. If anyone is equipped to handle this, it’s the man who kidnapped me. Julian’s life has been steeped in violence from childhood; killing a scumbag or two must be like cutting grass for him.

Unless said scumbag is armed or has buddies.

No. I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to entertain such thoughts. Julian will return with Rosa, and all will be well. It has to be. We’re going to be a family, build a life together…

A family.

My eyes pop open, my hand flying to my stomach as I gasp out loud. For the first time, it strikes me that without Julian’s intervention, Rosa and I might not have been the rapists’ only victims. If I had been brutalized, knocked around some more, there’s no telling what might’ve happened to the baby.