“Oh, Rosa…” I step toward her, my chest aching, but she holds up her hand.

“Don’t.” She swallows. “Just let me finish.”

I stop a couple of feet from her, and she continues after a moment. “As soon as we got past the bathrooms, out of sight of the people standing in line, the younger one, Brian, jumped me and dragged me into that room. There was this teenage guy too, and he watched the whole thing before Sean told him to go stand out in the hallway and make sure no one came in. I think they were going to”—she stops to compose herself for a second—“going to give him a turn after they were both done.”

As she speaks, the rage I felt in the club returns. It had gotten subsumed beneath the weight of grief, pushed aside by the agony of my own loss, but now I’m aware of it again. Sharp and burning hot, the anger fills me until I’m all but shaking with it, my hands clenching and unclenching by my sides.

“I think you know the rest of the story,” Rosa continues, her voice growing more brittle by the second. “You came in just as I was trying to fight off Sean. If it hadn’t been for you…” Her face crumples, and this time I can’t hang back.

Closing the distance between us, I embrace her, holding her as she begins to shake. Underneath my anger, I feel helpless, utterly inadequate to the task at hand. What happened to Rosa is every woman’s worst nightmare, and I have no idea how to console her. To an outsider, what Julian did to me on the island might seem the same, but even during that traumatic first time, he had given me some semblance of tenderness. I’d felt violated, but also cherished, as incongruous as that combination might be.

I’ve never felt the way Rosa must be feeling now.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, stroking her hair. “I’m so sorry. Those bastards will pay. We’ll make them pay.”

She sniffles and pulls away, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Yes.” Her voice is choked as she steps back. “I want them to, Nora. I want it more than anything.”

“Me too,” I whisper, staring at her. I want Rosa’s attackers dead. I want them eliminated in the most brutal way possible. It’s wrong, it’s sick, but I don’t care. Images of the man Julian killed last night float through my mind, bringing with them a peculiar sense of satisfaction. I want the other one—Sean—to pay the same way.

I want to unleash Julian on him and watch my husband work his savage magic.

A knock on the door startles us both.

“Come in,” Rosa calls out, using her sleeve to wipe the tears from her face.

To my surprise, Julian enters the room, his expression tense and oddly worried. He’s changed clothes since this morning, and his hair looks wet, as though he just took a shower.

“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately, my heart rate spiking. “Did something happen?”