The text that saved Harper Reed’s life contained only eight words.

He broke my leg. Please come before he returns.

She meant to send it to her older sister.

Instead, she sent it to Chicago’s most feared man.

Harper did not know that yet.

All she knew was that the linoleum beneath her cheek felt colder by the second, her right leg was bent at an angle no human leg should ever make, and Tyler would be back as soon as he figured out what story he wanted her to believe.

The apartment door had slammed less than two minutes earlier.

Tyler always left after hurting her.

He called it giving her time to calm down.

As though she were the dangerous one.

As though his fist had not split her lip.

As though his work boot had not struck the side of her knee after he caught her packing a suitcase.

As though the sickening crack that followed had come from somewhere else.

Harper pressed her palms against the floor and tried to drag herself toward the coffee table. Her phone lay near an overturned beer bottle, less than four feet away.

Four feet might as well have been four miles.

The smallest movement sent a white-hot blade through her shin. Her stomach clenched. Black spots crowded the edges of her vision.

“Don’t pass out,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

She dug her elbows into the floor and pulled.

Her fingertips finally struck the phone.

Harper grabbed it, leaving a red smear across the screen from the cut on her palm. She did not search her contacts. She typed her sister Sadie’s number from memory.

Or thought she did.

He broke my leg. Please come before he returns.

She pressed send.

For several seconds, the apartment was completely silent except for the failing air conditioner rattling in the window.

Then the phone vibrated.

Unknown Number: Who is this?

Harper stared at the message.

She checked the digits and realized she had reversed the final two numbers.

Wrong number. Sorry.

The reply arrived almost immediately.

Unknown Number: You said someone broke your leg.

Harper’s fingers hovered over the screen.

Please ignore it.

Unknown Number: Is he still there?

No.

Unknown Number: Will he return?

Harper looked toward the apartment window.

Through the thin blinds, she saw Tyler crossing the parking lot toward the convenience store. He had not taken his truck. He was only buying enough time for his anger to cool into tears.

Then he would come upstairs carrying ice, painkillers, and apologies.

He would tell her he loved her.

He would say she had frightened him by trying to leave.

He would promise it would never happen again.

And if she refused to believe him, he would make her regret it.

Yes, Harper typed. Soon.

The three dots appeared.

Unknown Number: His name and your address.

Something about the message frightened her.

There was no panic in it.

No comforting language.

No suggestion that she call the police.

It sounded like an order from someone accustomed to being obeyed.

Who are you?

Unknown Number: Someone who should have received a different message tonight.

That answer should have made her delete the conversation.

Instead, Harper saw Tyler leave the convenience store carrying a plastic bag. His face was turned toward the apartment building.

He was coming back.

Tyler Bennett. 614 West Harrison. Apartment 3C.

Unknown Number: Lock the door.

I can’t reach it.

The response came five seconds later.

Unknown Number: Then stay away from it.

Harper heard Tyler’s boots in the stairwell.

Her heart began pounding so violently that the pain in her leg seemed to pulse with it.

The knob turned.

The door opened.

Tyler stepped inside wearing his blue mechanic’s shirt, his dark hair damp from the light rain outside. He held a bag of frozen peas and a bottle of whiskey.

His expression softened when he saw her.

Not with compassion.

With calculation.

“Why are you still down there?” he asked.

Harper tightened her grip around the phone.

“I can’t move.”

“Come on, babe. Don’t do this.”

“My leg is broken.”

Tyler placed the bag on the kitchen counter. His eyes dropped to her leg, and the color drained from his face.

For one brief second, Harper saw genuine fear.

Then the fear became anger.

“You’re exaggerating.”