“Who are you?” she demanded as his entire head turned purple. When he couldn’t answer, she reluctantly lessened the pressure.
“Get the fuck off me.” Blood sprayed from the man’s mouth as he snarled, leaving a scarlet splatter pattern on Jo’s white T-shirt.
Jo added a knee to his groin and crouched over him like an animal. “If you don’t start talking now, I’m going to rip your head off.” She was going to. She could feel it. She imagined the tendons popping one by one as she separated his head from his neck. She was going to make him suffer.
“Jo.” It was Art’s voice. He’d regained consciousness. “Don’t kill him. Lucy needs you.”
She could hear the wail of sirens in the distance.
Jo didn’t need answers from the man. She knew everything. She could see it all, and felt it as keenly as though it had all come to pass. She knew who had sent him, and she knew why he was there. She lowered her face down toward the man’s. “Do you feel this?” The heat flowed through her arms like molten lava. She put her hand on his face and heard his skin sizzle. “I’m marking you. Because when they let you out—and I know they will—I’m going to find you and kill you,” Jo said. “And I want you to give Spencer Harding a message. I’m going to rip that motherfucker’s intestines out and shove them into his eye sockets and out through his mouth. Make sure you tell him. And remind him that I know where he lives, too.”
Then the police were inside. It took three of them to pull her off the man, whose face had been branded with a perfect print of her palm. Blisters would later form on the officers’ hands where they’d made contact with Jo’s skin.
Jo sat on the front steps with her bare arms wrapped tightly around Lucy. Inside, the house was a whirlwind of activity, with cops, technicians, and photographers studying the scene. The neighbors had come out to gawk from their lawns. But all Jo could see was her eleven-year-old daughter lying bound and gagged on the rainbow sheets she’d loved since kindergarten.
“Nothing like this will ever happen again. Do you hear me?” Jo said, putting the universe on notice.
“I know, Mama,” Lucy whispered. “I’ll be okay.”
Jo held her even closer. Though her child’s life was no longer in immediate danger, lasting damage had been done. The three of them would live with the memory of that night for the rest of their lives. With luck, Lucy’s recollections would grow hazier in time. But Jo knew she and Art would always be stalked by that image of their daughter—and the thought of what might have happened next. The men responsible would be punished. But Jo would never be able to forgive herself for leading Spencer Harding straight to her family.
Art appeared on the stairs with his old army surplus duffel in one hand and Lucy’s suitcase in the other. His eyes were bleary with exhaustion.
“Where are we going?” Lucy asked.
“Dad’s taking you somewhere safe,” Jo said.
Lucy’s eyes went wide and wild. “No, Mama! We can’t leave you here by yourself! Dad, she has to come, too!”
Art looked off into the darkness. “Your mother says she has to stay.”
For the first time in years, Lucy broke down sobbing, and Jo felt her heart breaking. It made no difference how strong Jo grew—Lucy would always be her kryptonite. That’s why they’d gone for her. They knew Jo’s child was her weak spot. If something happened to Lucy, it would destroy her. That had to be why superheroes never had children.
“Listen to me, sweetheart.” Jo kept her voice calm. She’d cry when they were gone. “You and Dad are just going on a quick trip. As soon as everything’s settled here, you’ll come right back, I swear.”
“But where are we going?”
“Somewhere fun,” Jo promised. She and Art had decided to keep the destination a secret from everyone until he and Lucy were settled. They were heading to his brother’s lake house in Vermont. It had always been Lucy’s favorite place.