I clench my fists. My fingers itch to claw my way into the softest part of him and squeeze until he explodes in a rain of death and blood, until he feels the weight of the pain he caused her over the years, the weight of the grief and the result of what she’s become.

“Tank,” she murmurs in her sleep, and I watch on as she twitches and lashes out at some unseen demon.

“I’m here, Princess,” I whisper back. Ivy jolts awake. Her eyes blink sleepily at me and then they open wider, as if she’s afraid closing them will drag her under again.

“You’re okay.” She gasps, and then covers her mouth because it was far too loud. I can see the soundproofing foam on the walls, but it hasn’t worked, not entirely. I can still hear the sick fuck when he walks around upstairs, and the muted noise of the TV, but best of all I hear it when he leaves.

“I think he’s out. I heard the front door.”

She sags against the mattress with a sharp exhalation and scrubs her hands over her face. “Babe, listen. I’m gonna need you to find something to help me out of these cuffs.”

She just shakes her head and then her tears start, and these great howling sobs echo through the room. She sounds like hell; her voice is croaky from crying and screaming and the drugs he syphoned through her system. She’s likely dehydrated too, and the wound on her abdomen is seeping plasma from its scabs. It’s infected. If the puss and the angry red swelling around it didn’t tell me that, her fever-flushed cheeks and glassy eyes do.

“Ivy, I’m gonna get us out of here, but I need your help.”

Her sobs turn to tremors, and they frighten me more than her infected abdomen. One hit. That’s all it took to undo all of the progress she’s made. It might not be cocaine, but heroin is so much worse, and so much harder to kick. I’ve seen more people die from that shit than I’ve seen buried with bullets. Nothing’ll put you to ground quicker than a bad batch of BTH. And if you’re an addict, there’s no comin’ off that shit. You can fool yourself into thinking you can quit, but she’ll always be there, tempting you.

“Babe, listen to me. Can you stand?”

She draws in a deep breath and exhales slowly. Her whole body trembles as she rolls over and carefully manoeuvres around the rope that tethers her leg to the bed as though she were a dog tied up in the yard. She takes a few shaky steps towards me and almost collapses on her rail-thin legs. “Careful.”

She nods and takes another few steps, and then when she’s almost within touching distance she reaches the end of her tether, and I reach the end of mine. “Fuck,” I hiss, and her face crumples.

“I can’t do this, Tank.” She sinks down on the floor, curling into herself and staring at the wall beside me.

“Hey, we got this, Warrior Princess. You and me are gonna get outta here, and before you know it we’ll be knockin’ back beers on my front porch.” She shakes her head, and in all the years I’ve known her, through addiction and withdrawals, drying out, and hurting so much her body looks as though it wants to shut down, I’ve never seen her look so helpless. I’ve never seen her defeated, but that’s what she is in this moment—defeated. Because of him. The one person in the entire world who is supposed to build her up and love her unconditionally. He tears her apart piece by piece, and then he tapes her back together again, only to slash through the bandages and rent her soul to ribbons.

“I want to die. Why won’t he just kill me already?” she asks, and there’s no emotion in her voice. No light. No pain. It’s inhuman, and it’s heartbreaking. “Hasn’t he done enough?”

And when she looks at me, there’s nothing in her gaze either. I’ve never wanted to hurt someone so bad in all my life as I do right now.

“No one is fuckin’ dyin’ down here. You got me, babe? You don’t get to die down here. You’ll die happy in our bed when you’re fuckin’ ninety-eight, and I can’t breathe on my own any more. You’ll go peacefully in your sleep, holdin’ my goddamn hand, and I’ll follow you. But before any of that can happen we gotta get the hell out of here. I’m gonna need you to help me. You don’t want me to die down here, do you?”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head as saltwater tracks down her cheeks. “I need you to find me something to undo these cuffs with. I can’t help us, I can’t get us out of here without my hands free.”

The creaking on the top of the stairs outside draws both our heads up and the heavy footfalls follow soon after.

Her eyes go wide with fear, and my own mirror the expression.

“Fuck, go,” I whisper and she stumbles to her feet, but she’s not quick enough. The locks slide free, the door opens, and she trips on her leg rope before she can make it back to the bed. That fucker is a black slash across the room. He yanks her head back by her hair, and he slams it into the side of the bed.

Ivy doesn’t even scream, just lets out a small guttural cry as he pulls her to her feet. Her pupils are huge and dazed.

“I’m gonna rip your fuckin’ head off,” I say through clenched teeth, tugging as hard as I can against the iron pipe. Slowly, with his hand wrapped tightly around the back of her neck, he turns to face me.

“Really?”

“Yeah, that’s right, motherfucker. You lay a goddamn finger on her again and I’ll gut you from balls to throat.”

His only response is a harsh barking laugh that makes my hair stand on end. Not because I’m frightened of him, but because I’m frightened of what he’ll do to her. It doesn’t seem to matter that she’s his only daughter. I’m bettin’ she stopped being anythin’ but his plaything a long time ago. He presses the tip of his nose to her throat and inhales, his tongue darting out to lick the creamy white flesh of her neck and the abraded skin where the rope had been choking her.

“I’m glad you’re awake. We can have ourselves a little chat.”

“Leave her the fuck alone and we can chat all you like.”

“I did a little digging on you earlier, Tank.” He spits my name as if it were venom, as he shifts them both forward. “Death. Did you know that’s what everyone calls you?”

I did, though no one had ever said it to my face.

“The executioner for the Savage Saints, and the Angels before them. Ryzhanov was very interested in hearing about how I found you right next door to his Mosman home. It’s a shame I didn’t have the foresight to pick up your friend, though. I hear Lagransky has a beef to settle.”

Crazy. That cunt-fuck got away. Which means if he hasn’t been arrested, there’s still hope that Prez and my brothers might find us.

“You know, there’s a lotta men that would give everything to be in my position right now,” he says, and I smirk, because I know exactly how many men would give their nutsack to get me alone and in a position where I don’t got the upper hand.

“They all sick bastards who rape their daughters, too?” I deadpan. It’s reflex. I didn’t mean to provoke him, but he makes Ivy pay for the slip-up by grasping her delicate throat in his hands and choking her.

I jerk against the cuffs. Later, I’ll likely feel the pain from the gashes caused by the metal burrowing into my flesh, but for now I don’t care. I have to get to her. I have to try.

He releases her and she hunches over, gasping for breath. “So … Death. Wanna know what it really feels like to die?”

“No.” Ivy recovers, and she rears her elbow back into her father’s stomach, winding him momentarily. She feints to the side as he lunges for her, attempting to catch her up by the hair, but she’s faster than him. Not that it does her much good, because just as she’s scrambling away from him the leg rope yanks her back and she lands hard against the concrete, with nothing but her skinny arms and frail body to break her fall.

“Guess you forgot about being tied up, bitch. Next time I’ll leave a little less breathing room.”