Sheryl opened her mouth, but Ziggy spoke for her.

“This is my house.”

Zoe refused to look at him. “Mom?”

“This has always been his house.”

“You told me it’s in your name.”

Sheryl looked between Zoe and Luke.

“The house is mine, little girl. Your mama is my guest.”

Anger flashed. “I’m not a little girl, Ziggy!” She made a point of using his name and setting boundaries. He may have intimidated her as a child, but she wasn’t about to put herself in the role of victim ever again. “And my mama has been holding this place together since before you went to prison. You have no right to—”

“Show some respect, little girl.” Ziggy’s smile pushed into a thin line.

“Is this his house?” she asked her mom one final time.

Her mother nodded.

“I gave you money to help with the mortgage. A mortgage I thought belonged to you.” To think all these years she’d been somehow putting money in Ziggy’s pocket hit her like a wrecking ball.

“I suppose I should thank you, baby doll.”

“Don’t talk to me. You have no right.”

“A man’s home is his castle, and I don’t appreciate your tone.”

Zoe glanced at Zanya, who’d stood in silence during the conversation. “Fine! Mom, Zanya . . . pack up.” She’d take them back to Texas, find another place in River Bend . . . anything. If Ziggy held them there because he’d somehow been able to keep the piece of crap trailer in his name all these years, then he could have it.

Zanya didn’t move and Sheryl sat on the arm of the couch.

Ziggy snaked an arm around her mom’s hips and pulled her into his lap. When her mother didn’t resist, a piece of Zoe’s heart tore into pieces. “What are you doing? Let’s go. You don’t have to stay here. I’ll take care of everything.”

No one moved.

Ziggy sat with a fucking grin on his face.

Zoe wanted to slap it off.

“Mom!”

“Your dad has changed, honey. I know you don’t understand—”

“Oh, my God. You did not just say that. He’s a piece of crap who beat the shit out of you.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Ziggy said.

Zoe released Luke’s hand long enough to toss her palm in the air. “I was there, Ziggy. I know what I saw. I know what it felt like to have you whip on me and have me lie to my teachers, my friends. Well, those days are long past. I don’t know who you charmed to get out of prison, but you’re not going to have the opportunity to hurt my family again.”

“You were always a willful girl.”

Zoe took a step closer, wanted to show him just how willful she could be. Luke clasped his hand to hers, kept her close, and spoke up. “Sheryl, Zanya. I have room at my place. You can stay with me while we figure this out.”

The heat of Luke’s frame and warmth of his voice as he volunteered his home to her family filled her heart.

“You’re the Miller boy, right?” Ziggy asked.

Luke didn’t bother looking at her dad.

“C’mon, Mom.” Why was the woman sitting in Ziggy’s lap? Had he already threatened her, found a way to force her to stay?

“You leave my wife alone, little girl. She belongs here, with me.”

The word wife made Zoe cringe. She stared at her mother. “Mom?”

Ziggy kissed the side of her mother’s cheek and bile rose in Zoe’s throat.

“Son of a . . . you didn’t divorce him, did you?”

“You don’t understand.”

“I don’t. You’re right. He’s a felon, an abuser, a piece of shit father—” She was yelling now.

“Zoe, enough.” This time it was Sheryl cutting her off. “We will talk about this another time. You’re upset.”

“He beat us up, Mom. You stayed with him all those years and watched him get drunk and use his fists on us kids. How can you even let him touch you?” Zoe purposely didn’t look at her dad or even acknowledge him being in the room.

“Discipline is a fine line these days,” Ziggy said. “So many people want to cry abuse. I might have been a little harsh with you, but I did not beat on you, little girl.”

Zoe swung her head around and glared. “I am not a little girl. I’m not your sweet pea . . . I’m not your anything. You are dead to me.”

“Zoe!” The warning came from her mom. “Please.”

It was obvious her mother wasn’t going anywhere. Worse, it didn’t look like she was being forced to stay. Zoe turned to Zanya. “Grab Blaze. We’ll figure something out.”

Zanya shook her head. “It wasn’t that bad, Zoe.”

The air in Zoe’s lungs rushed out. The desire to scream and recall in painful detail every beating she’d experienced under the hands of her father came out in a manic laugh. “Unbelievable.”

“I think you should leave,” Ziggy said.

“C’mon, Zoe.” Luke squeezed her hand and tugged her toward the door.

She turned to leave and stopped cold. Her eyes reached her mom, her sister. “He will hit you again.”

In the back room, Blaze started to cry.

In Zoe’s head, she promised herself that if Zanya allowed her son the abuse they’d suffered as children, she’d step in with legal help to keep him safe.