He was right. I didn’t.

I thought I knew him. We’d been dating for six months. Six months of romantic dinners, cozy nights in, whispered secrets, and shared dreams. Six months of building a fragile little world together. But now, staring into his twisted face, I realized I knew nothing about him.

Who was this man? This monster?

Suddenly, a new sound cut through the air – a sharp, metallic click. My heart leaped into my throat.

A cold, hard object pressed against Mark’s temple.

“Let go of her,” a voice said, low and menacing.

My vision swam. I craned my neck, trying to see who was behind him.

The man holding the gun was tall, imposing, with a steely gaze that could cut through steel. He wore a dark suit, impeccably tailored, and his face was grim, etched with lines of authority. He looked vaguely familiar, like someone I’d seen on television.

“Who the hell are you?” my attacker snarled, his grip on my hair loosening slightly.

“Someone who doesn’t appreciate men who abuse women,” the man with the gun replied, his voice unwavering. “Now, I’m only going to say this once. Let