I knew it then. I knew I couldn’t take it. I knew Brock couldn’t take it.

I knew I had to stop this.

And if I got hurt doing it, so be it.

But no one was going to hurt me like that, not again. And they weren’t going to hurt Brock either.

Not again.

We’d had enough. We’d both had e-fucking-nough.

“You got what you deserved,” I told him quietly and he stared at me. “No.” I shook my head again. “You didn’t. You didn’t get what you deserved. If you got what you deserved you wouldn’t be breathing.”

He moved closer to me, gun pointed at me, but I kept my eyes steady on his and moved back as he moved toward me.

“You hurt her. You destroyed her,” I told him, still moving back as he moved forward, his crazy-as-shit eyes riveted to me. “You ended her. This world isn’t right because you’re breathing and she isn’t.”

I hit the wall and had to stop and he stopped with me.

“Take off your clothes,” he said yet again.

“No. No way. You aren’t going to touch me. No way.”

“Take off your clothes.”

“Shoot me. Do it. I’d rather die than have your filthy hands on me.”

“Take off… your… clothes.”

I shook my head and kept my eyes on him.

Then I whispered, “No.”

Then I moved.

Bending double, I went right at him as the next gunshot sounded loud in the room and I didn’t know where it went. I just knew it didn’t go into me.

I hit him in the middle with the top of my head.

This was not a bright move. I should have paid more attention to all the football my boys forced me to watch. I should have caught him with my shoulder. Hitting him with my head sent my head into my neck and pain jolted through my neck and down my spine.

But I kept going, shoving him back. I felt his hand clenching in my jacket as my hand went out to his gun arm. Another shot was fired but it went wide because I was pushing his arm away. He hit the wall and another jolt of pain rammed down my neck and spine. He squeezed off another round accidentally but I had my hand on his wrist and the gun was still pointed away.

I righted and started grappling for the gun.

It sucked. He was old but he still was a match for me. Shit. I needed to do more kickboxing.

Our fight forced off another round, the gun pointed up with our arms as I pushed with all my weight and strength to keep him in the wall while at the same time keeping the gun pointed away.

Then I realized I wasn’t making any noise.