Trent panicked. The wooden stick was meant for beating a defenseless woman, not fighting a trained soldier. He dropped it, lunging frantically toward the wooden knife block on the counter. He pulled out the largest chef’s knife, gripping the handle with white knuckles, pointing the blade at Alex.
“Stay back!” Trent screamed, his eyes rolling with fear. “I’ll kill you! I swear to God, I’ll gut you!”
Alex didn’t stop. He moved with a terrifying, fluid grace. He stepped inside Trent’s guard before my husband could even register the movement. With one hand, Alex grabbed Trent’s wrist, twisting it sharply upward. I heard the distinct sound of a bone snapping. Trent shrieked, dropping the knife as it clattered harmlessly to the floor.
In the same fluid motion, Alex swept Trent’s legs out from under him and drove his knee squarely into Trent’s chest, pinning him to the ground. Alex grabbed Trent by the throat, squeezing just enough to cut off his screams, leaning down so his face was inches from the man who had tormented me.
“If you ever,” Alex whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the room, “look at my sister again, I will tear you apart with my bare hands. Blink if you understand.”
Trent, choking, his face turning a mottled purple, blinked furiously, tears streaming down his face.
Alex threw him aside with disgust. He tossed the wrench away and immediately dropped to his knees beside me. The lethal, cold warrior vanished instantly, replaced by the brother who used to put band-aids on my scraped knees. His hands, though rough and calloused, touched my shoulder with trembling care.
“Chloe,” he breathed, his voice breaking. “Hey. Look at me, kid. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
I forced my eyes open, staring into his face. “Alex,” I whispered, a fresh wave of tears spilling over my cheeks. “The baby. I can’t… I can’t feel the baby moving anymore.”
A shadow crossed Alex’s face, a terror deeper than anything he had shown in the fight. He reached for his pocket, pulling out his own phone to dial 911.
“I need an ambulance and multiple units at this address, immediately,” he commanded into the receiver, his voice tight. “Domestic violence, aggravated assault. The victim is six months pregnant and in distress. Send everyone.”
In the background, Helen was weeping over Richard’s unconscious body. Trent was curled in a fetal position, nursing his broken wrist.
But out of the corner of my eye, in the dim light of the stove’s flame, I saw movement. Nicole.
She had slinked along the counter, her eyes darting between Alex and the kitchen island. She was reaching for the shattered remains of my phone—the device that had captured her livestream, the undeniable digital proof of their crimes.
She grabbed it. She looked at the cast-iron pan on the stove, still roaring with a blue flame underneath, the oil inside bubbling and popping like liquid fire. She was going to drop the phone into the boiling grease to melt the internal storage.
“Alex!” I screamed, pointing.
Nicole locked eyes with me. A cruel, desperate sneer twisted her face as she lunged toward the stove, raising her hand to drop the evidence into the inferno.
Adrenaline, pure and primal, surged through my veins, temporarily overriding the agonizing pain in my thigh and the heavy ache in my pelvis. I couldn’t let her destroy the truth. For months, they had gaslit me, told me I was crazy, made me feel that my pain was an exaggeration. This video was the only thing standing between my freedom and their lies.
I didn’t try to stand. I threw my upper body forward, sliding across the slick tile like a baseball player stealing home.
Nicole was just inches from the stove, her fingers parting to drop the phone.
I reached out and clamped my hand around her ankle, pulling with every ounce of strength I had left. Nicole shrieked as her feet flew out from under her. She crashed hard onto the floor beside me, her chin slamming into the edge of the lower cabinets. The shattered phone flew from her grasp, skittering across the floor and sliding under the refrigerator, out of reach of the boiling oil.
“You psychotic bitch!” Nicole screamed, kicking her free leg wildly. Her heel clipped my shoulder, sending a shockwave of pain through my chest.
