“Again?” His arm flew up and to the right across my face. “You have one fucking job you dumb bitch, and you can’t even do that right.” His words slurred and he stumbled back a few steps, clear signs he’d had too much to drink.
I didn’t say a word because I learned over the years that anything I said, even agreeing with him, would only make him madder. Instead I turned to the sink and cleaned the prep dishes.
Suddenly two hands were around my throat, squeezing so hard I was sure I’d pass out. “You’re such a worthless bitch, you know that?” Marcus’ voice was dark and angry. Really, really angry. “I ought to let all the prospects have their way with you, fuck you in every hole, beat you however they want, pump you full of smack and turn you out.”
My vision started turning black around the edges and I knew from previous instances I’d pass out soon but then his grip tightened and it was different. Everything about this was different. Darker and more dangerous.
“You’d probably like that wouldn’t you? Fuckin’ slut.” He spat the words and squeezed my neck even harder, so hard it actually hurt, and a deeper fear crept in. He pressed his lips to my cheeks in a loud smacking kiss and that’s when I knew. Tonight was the night I died.
“Marcus,” I choked out, smacking at his hands.
He laughed. “It’s too late for that, Chloe. It’s too fucking late.” He squeezed tighter and tighter, and I felt myself go in and out of consciousness before he let me go.
I fell to my knees, gasping and choking beside the dishwasher.
Marcus towered over me, raising one booted foot to kick me in the ribs. He kicked me twice before bending down to whisper in my ear. “You’re mine to do whatever I want with. If you live or die, it’s because that’s what I want.”
My gaze flicked to the knife resting in the dishwasher and before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed the black-handled kitchen knife and plunged up into my husband’s neck.
No matter how many days—twelve hundred and forty-two—passed, I couldn’t stop seeing the shock on his face when he realized what I’d done. What it meant for him. There was a hint of almost pride, a small smile quirked his lips as he reached for the knife handle.
Marcus had stumbled back and dropped to his knees before he fell to his back, and I had stood there watching as the life slowly drained out of him.
A hand gripped my shoulder, and I shot up with a gasp and let out a blood-curdling scream that pounded throughout my body until my throat burned. I turned quickly and jumpedback to put space between me and my attacker, hurling the open bottle of water at him.
“What the fuck?” the voice was familiar and suddenly I was right back inside the cabin.
“Will?” Oh shit. Will. I took another step back and then two more. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” The nonsensical words trailed off because who else would it be? “Sorry.” I took another step back just to be well out of his reach. My heart pounded in my chest, the same fear response I’d lived with for more than a decade. I waited for him to explode, to raise his hand, to tell me I was worthless.
Instead he gripped the hem of his wet t-shirt and pulled it over his head, wiping his face with it before letting it fall to his feet. “I called your name a bunch of times,” he explained. “I thought you fell asleep sitting up. Looked hella fucking uncomfortable.”
That was… thoughtful. “I was just, um, thinking.” How could I tell him the truth? The answer was easy, I couldn’t.
“It’s late,” he said while his gaze searched my face.
“I didn’t realize I had a bedtime,” I shot back in a rare moment of bravery that caused me to take another step back until I hit the wall.
Will’s jaw clenched tight, and his eyes slid shut as he visibly reached for patience. “It’s late and you’ve had a long day,” he said, trying again.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
He didn’t need to know that I never slept more than three hours a night and never all at once. He didn’t need to know, and he wouldn’t care if he did.
Will nodded and rested his hands on his hips, drawing my attention to the way his abs bunched and flexed with each breath. His chest was perfectly sculpted, lightly dusted with dark hair that formed one single, tantalizing line that eventually disappeared behind his waistband.
What?
I shook off that thought and returned my gaze to his face.
“Did you sleep at all?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“At the risk of sounding like your mother, you need to sleep.”
A bitter laugh escaped. “I don’t remember my mother. She died when I was a kid and before that, Faith took care of me.” Hell, I must be tired if I was sharing the sordid details of my life with him.
He studied me for a long minute, shrugged and disappeared back upstairs, unaware of how my gaze tracked his every move. The way the fabric of his pants tightened across firm ass cheeks and molded to his muscled thighs. He didn’t stop, didn’t turn back, didn’t worry about me.
