He had that snow on him because he’d thrown himself to the ground to dodge bullets aimed at him in front of my house.

My man had thrown his beautiful body to the snow to dodge fucking bullets aimed at him in front of my fucking house.

And he had his gun in his hand because he’d had to return fire.

And I knew exactly who ordered that unidentified male to aim bullets at my man.

No.

Oh no.

I did not fucking think so.

Just like I lost it when Levi was at Brock’s house, I didn’t think.

I just moved.

And what I moved to do was snatch my keys off the counter and I ran out of the house.

“Tess!” Brock shouted, but I was gone.

Down the walk and in my car.

“Goddamn it! Tess!” I heard Brock shout from somewhere outside the car.

Car on, I didn’t even look and put the pedal to the floor.

I didn’t know how I got there and it was a miracle I made it without killing myself or anyone else. But I hit University, then turned right, then turned left on Yale, then I drove like a demon through Donald Heller’s established, tidy neighborhood with its big houses on big lots. A path I had taken frequently for twelve years while dating and married to my shit-heel of an ex but had not taken once in the last six and a half.

And I went there because I had no idea where Damian lived.

But I sure as fuck was going to find out.

I screeched to a halt at the curb, shot out of my car, and raced through the snow in the yard to the front door, not noticing the headlights of the truck that followed me go out as it parked behind my car.

I banged on the door loudly, not letting up as I shouted, “Don, open the fucking door!”

A hand came from behind me, fingers wrapping around my wrist, halting my pounding as I felt warmth hit my back and heard whispered in my ear, “Tess, Jesus, baby, calm—”

Brock didn’t finish because the door opened and Donald was standing there.

His eyes flashed quickly back and forth and again between Brock and me then a tentative smile hit his mouth as his eyes started to light and he whispered, “Tess, honey, my—”

He didn’t finish because I shouted, “Where is he?”

Donald blinked, his gaze moving between Brock, who now had my wrist and arm wrapped around my belly, his with it, and me, then he asked, “Who?”

“Your fucking scum of the earth shithead asshole of a son, that’s who!” I shrieked.

He blinked again then I heard, “Tess?” and looked beyond Donald to see fucking, fucking, fucking Damian standing several feet behind him in his father’s foyer.

That was when I lost it again.