For once, it was a rainy evening in the Outer Banks. People had gone inside; the beaches were empty, not a single boat in sight, and only one or two cars drove along the highway in the distance. But something was wrong. Two popular boys, no older than eighteen, were outside—walking home, whistling, laughing, and joking around. They had their money for selling their drugs and didn’t care how they left their costumers daugther behind.

Because somewhere, beneath the palm trees swaying in the wind, on the wet sand, lay an almost motionless body.

She lay on her side, her hair clinging to her skin as she winced and shivered. Tears mixed with the rain and spilled onto the sand, the trails leaving faint marks across the bruises on her face—marks her hair could never fully hide.

JJ was on his way back from a kiosk, beer cans rattling in a plastic bag. It was hard to see far through the rain, so he chose to walk along the beach, where he knew his way around. He watched as a parasol was nearly carried away by the wind, so he didn’t notice her at first. But once he did, he didn’t hesitate—because he would recognize her anywhere.

He ran to you and dropped to his knees beside you. His rage ignited instantly, but his hands were gentle as he brushed the hair from your eyes.

“Who did this to you?” His voice trembled. “Tell me. Please.”

He helped you sit up, wrapped his jacket around your shoulders, and held you close.