Turning, I grab the tea towel and dry my hands, then I hang it back on the hook beside the stove. I’m about to head back to bed when something catches my eye from the doorway. My blood runs cold. My heart beats faster. My head swims.

Not here. Not now.

Terror has me frozen to the spot. Dread glues my feet to the slate tiles. Panic seizes me head to toe, because it isn’t just that it’s the middle of the night and I’m standing buck-naked in the kitchen while a shadowy figure leers at me from the glass doors, or that Butch is now up off the arm chair and barking at the intruder, it’s that I know the man who stands on the other side of that pane of glass, and I know exactly what he’s capable of.

The porch is dark, save for what little light the moon casts on it, but I see him as clearly as I would if it were daylight. You never forget the face of the devil. A scream tears from my throat, and in the blink of an eye he’s gone, and Butch is no longer barking at the door, he’s barking at me.

Rough hands seize my shoulders. I scream again, lashing out at the man holding me. My nails rake his solid, tattooed chest, and then my frantic mind sobers long enough to recognise the hard set of his bearded jaw, and his worried blue eyes that are fever-bright.

“Ivy, what’s wrong?” he asks, shaking me. My gaze is locked on the middle of his chest, as though I could see right through him to the door beyond. As though I would still see him standing there.

My breath seesaws in and out of my lungs, ragged and tainted with fear. The dog is still barking, and Tank takes his eyes off of me for a moment to yell, “Butch, shut the fuck up.”

He takes my face in his hands and coos gently, “Babe, talk to me, please.”

“He’s here.” The trembling starts in my legs and spreads to my whole body. My gut twists and I feel as if I might be sick.

Not here. Not now.

“Who’s here?” Tank asks.

“My father, he was here.” My teeth chatter. Cold creeps into my bones as fear worms its way through every fibre of my being. “He was at the door.”

“You’re sure?” I nod. He smooths a hand over my cheek and says, “Wait here.”

“No. You can’t go out there. Tank, he’ll kill you. Please don’t go out there. Please?” I claw at him, desperate to keep him from leaving me alone.

“Babe, there’s nothing out there. The alarm hasn’t been tripped,” Tank glances at the little plastic security consul on the wall beside the door. The red light isn’t flashing methodically the way it normally does. He pales, and his eyes are wide as he glances down at me. “Fuck. I forgot to turn it on before we went to bed.”

“I saw him. He was out there. He was standing right there.” I gesture wildly to the door. “He’s going to kill us, Tank, he’s—”

“Shh,” he says, pulling me firmly into him and tucking my head against his chest. He rests his chin on the top of my head, and I feel his Adam’s apple bob as he speaks. “Listen, I read about people seeing things … hallucinating when they go through withdrawal.”

“I didn’t imagine it, Tank.” I shrug out of his embrace, and glare at him accusingly. “He was here. I saw him. The dog was barking.”

“Yeah, because you’re flippin’ out, Babe. You scared the shit outta both of us.” He exhales, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I need you to go back to the bedroom and wait for me. I’m goin’ outside to check on things.”

“No!” I shout. “Please don’t leave me. Please, Tank, please?”

“I’ve gotta, darlin’.”

“Tank—”

He takes my face between his hands. “Ivy, you gotta calm the fuck down. There’s no one out there. We’re a million miles from anywhere, and sleepin’ or not, I woulda heard a car comin’ up the drive, but I’m just gonna go out and double check for myself. I’m taking my gun with me. I need you to head back to bed. When I’m done out there, I’m gonna need your sweet arse to warm me the fuck up. Got it?”

I nod, even though I have a very bad feeling about this. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and takes his gun from the table, where he left it when we came home earlier. He grabs a pair of jeans from the back of the chair that he’d hung out to dry this morning, and slides them on and heads out the door.

I wait a moment, watching him out on the deck before I pad softly down the hall. My legs tremor as I climb into bed. I shake all over. I bury my head in my hands and attempt to calm my breathing and the sick twist of fear in my belly.

I hear the sliding door leading out to the deck open and close, and heavy footsteps pound down the hall towards me.

Oh God, I wanna be sick. Please don’t let Tank be dead. Please.

“Jesus, fuck, it’s colder than a nun’s cunt out there,” he says, and I uncover my eyes and practically leap at him. His skin is freezing, but I don’t mind because I’m too warm and prickly with panic.

“Hey, not that I’m not grateful for the warm welcome but you need to calm down, babe. Your heart’s racing a hundred miles an hour.”

“Did you see him?” I ask, my voice pitched high with fear.

He slides his hands into my hair and leans down to kiss me. “Nothin’ out there but the icy cold wind, babe.”

I sit back on my heels. “But I—”

“It’s a side effect. It happens.” He takes off his jeans and climbs under the covers. “I set the alarm, I got a gun in the bedside drawer, and a hunting knife strapped to the underside of the bed. We’re safe as houses.”

I glance at him, annoyed that he’d had weapons stashed in this room, probably all over the house, and I didn’t know about it.

What I would have done with that information a week ago.

“Now get your arse in here,” he says. “My balls are fuckin’ freezin’ off.”

I rub my hands up and down my arms to ward away the goose bumps that have broken out all over my body, and then I climb under the covers. Tank rolls me on my side and pulls me against him. He’s freezing, so different for him, but I hardly feel it because the chill in my bones has already struck me to the core.

If he wasn’t here, then I hallucinated it. While that may be infinitely better than him finding me, it still means that no matter what I do, where I go or who I’m with there is no escaping my father.

Maybe this is my karma for all the shitty things I’ve done—to live in fear for the rest of my days, to have to run from not just my past, but my future too. I wish I had a hit right now. I wish I hadn’t tossed those pills down the drain, and I wish I hadn’t made promises to Tank I couldn’t keep.

Tank collapses on top of me with a groan. “Christ, you kill me, bitch.”

I laugh. “Yeah well, be thankful you only came twice. I thought by orgasm number six my clit was going to drop off.”

He groans and stirs, raising himself up on his forearms so I’m not completely squashed beneath him, and then he kisses my forehead. I close my eyes and sigh. Despite the restless night’s sleep, and the anxiety gnawing at the edges of my conscience, as if it were reminding me of something I forgot to do—hang out the washing, feed Butch, run for your life—I feel good this morning. Tank has a way of knowing just what a woman needs when she needs it.

Tank’s cock slides deeper as he shifts his weight again, and I suck in a sharp breath. He glances down at me with an eyebrow raised and an incredulous expression.

“Fuck, woman. You tryin’ to kill me?” I push my hips towards him and he growls. “You gotta give me a minute to catch my breath.”

I laugh. “Come on, old man. Surely you can go another round?”

He shakes his head gravely. “I need food before I go another anything.”

“Damn, here I was hoping you could just eat me.”

“Tempting,” he says. “Really, babe, but a man can’t live on pussy alone.”

“I’ll get you a sandwich.”