Jessica's POV

I step out of my car, inhaling deeply as I approach the house. My heart is pounding, but I keep my expression blank. I already know what’s waiting for me inside, and I refuse to let him see any fear.

As I push the door open, I spot Michael sitting on the couch, a half-empty bottle of bourbon on the table in front of him. His fingers lazily swirl the amber liquid in his glass, his gaze dark and unreadable.

But it’s not the alcohol that makes my stomach tighten—it’s the whip and the gun lying beside the bottle.

I exhale through my nose. So this is how...