13. Astrid
13
ASTRID
Like my nerves had been severed from my brain, I felt nothing. I’d become desensitized to both Bolton and my unfortunate circumstances. When I came home, I made dinner like the good wife that I was. Bolton and I sat at the dinner table and had an unremarkable conversation about our day.
We watched TV on the couch afterward. He picked the show, and I just zoned out the whole time. A bottle of wine was with me wherever I went. I’d become a drunk and then, almost immediately, a functioning alcoholic.
Bolton didn’t seem to notice.
When I went to sleep, I passed out from the wine in my belly and got up the next morning to start again.
It was the same day over and over.
My circumstances with Bolton hadn’t changed, so I didn’t know why the fight had left me. Even if Theo hated me, I still needed to leave and start over. Just because Bolton was the biggest mistake of my life and Theo was a different kind of mistake didn’t mean I didn’t deserve happiness. That I didn’t deserve a man to love me the way I should be.
But I just didn’t care.
I expected it to pass, for the storm to disappear and the flames to be rekindled, but nothing changed. My Technicolor world had darkened to shades of gray. Whenever a new shipment of artwork arrived, I barely looked at it. When customers came in, I couldn’t show any enthusiasm for the work at all.
I set the table and placed the dish on the trivet in the center of the table. A new bottle had been uncorked, and I filled my glass nearly to the top without offering Bolton anything.
He sat across from me and stared.
I dished the food onto my plate and started to eat, even my taste buds numb. Food was mush in my mouth, just a means to an end.
Bolton continued to stare at me. “Baby?”
I didn’t even care when he called me that. Baby. Astrid. Sweetheart. What difference did it make? “Hmm?”
“I’m worried about you.”
“Why?” I continued to eat, my eyes down.
“Look at me.”
I immediately obeyed, not caring enough about anything to be stubborn. “Why?”
“I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Like what?” I asked. “I do as you ask. I make dinner. I keep my mouth shut. I don’t run or fight. What more do you want from me?”
His throbbing eyes stared at mine. “I want us to be what we were.”
I released a frustrated sigh. “This is the best I can do, Bolton. Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Let’s try marriage counseling.”
“What’s that going to do?” I refilled my glass because I’d already had so much of it. “This marriage is dead, Bolton. This is a captor and captive relationship now. I’ll do what you say so you won’t hurt me. That’s what you asked for—and you got it.”
Another week went by, and nothing changed.
I was still dead inside. The only surge of life I felt was when I remembered what Theo had said, that he was seeing other people. Women who were lucky enough to feel him between their legs every night, while I suffered a passionless existence. He could have been mine. If Bolton hadn’t manipulated Theo or if Theo hadn’t taken his deal, I could have a very different life right now.
I could have a man too good to be real.
But I’d made the wrong decision, and now I was trapped.
Maybe I deserved this. For being so na?ve and stupid. For getting involved with a man who killed people for a living.
I did something I hadn’t done in a long time and went to the cemetery to visit my parents. They were buried under the same headstone, my mother on the bottom and my father on top, and their names were carved into the marker.
My father gone just one month after my mother.
I’d shown my father grace by accepting his decision without resentment, but now, I felt differently. If I’d had a family of my own, a father in my life, perhaps I wouldn’t have needed to search for love elsewhere. I wouldn’t have been desperate, so I would have taken my time, not been impressed by Bolton’s handsomeness and his security. Most people had help from their parents all throughout their lives, something to fall back on when they hit hard times, but I never had that.
I’d been on my own far too young.
I wanted to air out my grievances to my father, but the dead couldn’t hear the words of the living. Part of me was jealous that he was there and I was here, breathing the cold winter air. A wedding ring on my left hand that felt like a chain. Miserable down to the bone. If that was the only way out, I might take it.
Maybe I should.
A hand landed on my shoulder.
A jolt moved through my body at the surprise, and for some inexplicable reason, I thought it would be Theo. That he’d tracked me down to apologize. That he understood the same kind of loss.
But it was Bolton.
I almost skirted his touch, but I didn’t have the energy.
His men had followed me and notified him I was there, grieving parents who had been dead nearly ten years now.
He removed his hand, like he could see the discomfort on my face. He slid it back into his pocket and looked at the gravestone for a moment before he looked at me. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“About your father.”
“He’s been gone a long time. It’s fine.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I—I don’t know.” Women talked to their mothers. They talked to their aunts. They went to their fathers when they needed help. I literally had no one. I didn’t have friends who would understand. I didn’t have anyone who loved me enough to care the way my mother would. Theo would probably care, but that bridge had been burned to the ground.
He stared at the side of my face for a long time, watched me stare at the tombstone. “I wish I could take it all back.”
I turned to look at him.
“You used to run to me with your problems, and now you come here.”
I looked at the headstone again.
“I really do love you, Astrid.”
I didn’t have the fire to melt his words. I didn’t have the energy to repeat everything I’d already said before. It wasn’t worth my time. A conversation should lead to choices and change, but since I was locked up in an invisible cage, there was no incentive.
“Astrid—”
“Please just leave me in peace. I came here to see my parents.”
He released a sigh and didn’t move. “I want you to talk to me?—”
“And I want you to die.” An explosion of fire came out of nowhere. “Every time you leave, I hope you don’t come back. I hope your target sees you coming and puts a fucking bullet in the back of your head. Why was I given this shitty hand when everyone else seems to have it all? I could have been with a man who actually gave a damn about me, but I chose you. I chose you like a fucking idiot, and now I’m a tiger in a cage that wishes she were dead. I look at this headstone and want to add my name to the list. I’m jealous of dead people, Bolton. Because being with you is that fucking unbearable. Because you sealed my misery the moment our eyes met across that room.”
Bolton was gone for a couple days.
He didn’t tell me he was leaving. Didn’t tell me where he was going or how long he would be gone.
He just left.
Maybe he thought space would cool my rage, but no amount of space could cure my misery. Being in the house alone only amplified the despair and echoed it back at me. The walls were covered with mirrors, and I was forced to look at my hollow appearance night and day.
He finally came home and hung his coat on the rack by the door. His bag was placed on the floor next to his shoes.
I continued to drink my wine like I didn’t notice him.
He slowly walked to the table and took the seat at the head, close enough to touch me if I would allow him. He stared at me.
I stared back.
“I know I should let you go.”
My heart woke from its deep slumber for the first time.
“But I can’t.”
And just like that, it was dead again.
“Because I believe in us. I believe it’s still here…if you would just try.”
“I’m not going to try, Bolton.”
“Please—”
“I can’t try because I don’t love you.”
He flinched slightly, like those words were a knife across his throat. “You forgave me before. You can forgive me again.”
“The indiscretions aren’t comparable.”
“I’m not going to let you go, so you may as well try?—”
“Why do you want a woman so badly who doesn’t want you?” I snapped. “Look at you. You can get any woman you want with a face like that. Your bed could have a different woman every night. You can live the ultimate bachelor life. Why the fuck do you even want me, Bolton?”
“Because I don’t want anyone else but you. I see that now so fucking clearly. Just give me another chance, and you’ll see that. I will be the best husband there ever was. You just need to let the past go.”
“I can’t keep having this conversation. It’s giving me a fucking migraine.” I grabbed my glass and took another drink, downing all of it before I snagged the bottle to refill it.
He pulled it out of my hand. “No more, Astrid.”
“I won’t be able to tolerate you without it.”
He kept the bottle out of reach as he sank into the chair. He stared at me during a bout of silence, a depression in his eyes like a stormy sea. Seconds turned into minutes, and he still didn’t speak.
I waited, eyes tired from the wine and the bullshit.
“You’re going to try, Astrid.”
“Bolton—”
“I’m speaking.” That tone had returned, the malevolent one he’d used before. “You’re going to try. And if you don’t…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the implication in his words was red ink on a white page.
Disassociating from reality and hiding in a corner of my mind had gotten me through the last two weeks. But now he took away my refuge, stripped away everything in the room until it was empty. I had nowhere to run. No table to crawl under.
“Don’t make me hurt you.”
It was a hard week.
Disassociation had many different compartments. I had no idea the mind had so many different floors and endless hallways. My mind seemed to be separated into two distinct halves. There was the version of me at the gallery or home alone, back to my wine and my regrets. And there was the version of me in his company, the one that engaged like I cared, that asked questions without listening to the answers.
Bolton made good on this threat. When he felt like I was being disingenuous, he would twist my arm until it was about to snap, or he would grip me by the throat. He demanded sex from me, and when I resisted, I was forced.
It only happened the one time, and instead of going through that subjugation again, I chose to accept it rather than face those consequences. I’d already had sex with him, so what did it matter? At least, that was what I told myself.
I clipped my diamond earrings into my lobes, looking at myself in the vanity, a woman I didn’t recognize anymore.
“Ready, baby?” Bolton called to me from downstairs.
My hair was pulled back in a low updo, showing off the diamonds Bolton had given me. I left the vanity, slipped on my heels, and then walked downstairs.
Bolton was waiting for me, dressed in all black, texting on his phone.
I grabbed my coat from the rack.
He slid his phone into his pocket and helped me get my jacket on. “You look beautiful.”
I smiled, the most painful smile I’d ever worn. “Thanks.”
He smiled back, fooled by my lie. “Let’s go.”
We drove across town to the Brotherhood, the place he’d taken me to before. It looked like a bar to most people, but downstairs, it had a whole section off-limits to the public, where people paid for their nice homes and fancy cars with blood. It was blocked by a metal door and armed bouncers.
When Bolton appeared, they immediately let us pass without question.
We entered the underground bar, loud music playing over the speakers with topless women serving drinks. I never used to care about the time Bolton spent down here, but now I wondered how many of these women he’d fucked.
I swallowed the resentment.
It was a birthday party for one of the guys, someone I’d met but hardly knew. Bolton didn’t bring me to a ton of his work events, but now, he kept me close, treating me like a trophy for the first time in our relationship.
We took a seat at one of the round tables, and he ordered us each a glass of wine. His arm was over the back of my chair, publicly claiming me in a way he never had before. The only time I’d seen him do it was in front of Theo. Now, he seemed proud to call me his. Seemed to be in love the way I had been in love with him before he lit our marriage on fire. It was fucking delusional.
But I let it happen.
Bolton continued to drink with his friends, and the room got rowdy with laughter and jokes. He’d had many glasses of wine and moved on to the harder stuff, and soon, the music from the speakers was drowned out by the sounds of the guys having the night of their lives.
And I just sat there, his hand on my thigh or tucked underneath my dress, always showing his possessiveness.
But I felt like his favorite doll, a toy he loved one moment then chucked across the room the next. I had to compartmentalize all my emotions to make it through the day, but he seemed to compartmentalize everything naturally, loving me one moment then hurting me the next like it was perfectly normal behavior. “I’m going to use the restroom.” I left the chair, feeling his hand slide off my thigh.
Bolton was wasted. “Baby, you know where it is?” His arm moved over the back of the chair as he looked at me over his shoulder.
“Yes, I’ll find it.” I walked off and moved between the tables of men with topless women in their laps, living it up at two in the morning, cigar smoke so thick it was like a London fog. This dress would have to be taken to the dry cleaners to get the stench out. Bolton didn’t smoke that much at home, but it was common for him to smell like a chimney when he walked through the door.
I passed another group of rowdy men then stepped into a hallway, the walls lined with stone and sloping sideways. The floor was uneven, so my heels were a bad idea. Now I understood why the bartenders wore flats. I walked down the dark hallway, and toward the end, two men were talking, leaning against opposite walls as they faced each other, smoking their cigars as they had their quiet conversation.
I turned to the left and opened a door, but it was a closet stuffed with guns.
A quiet whistle came from the guys down the hallway.
I stepped back and looked at them.
One of the guys pushed himself off the wall and pivoted his body toward me. It was dark and he was a distance away, but the tattoos on his face were unmistakable. Black ink all over, the color matching his eyes. “To the right, sweetheart.”
My heart dropped like a stone while a shock slid down my spine.
He leaned against the wall and continued his conversation, clearly not recognizing me.
But I sure as hell recognized him.
I stood in the cramped bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror.
Panic made my breaths increase. Adrenaline made me sweat. My hands rested on either side of the small sink, covered in dirt and hair because no one ever cleaned this place. But I didn’t care, needing a crutch as I processed what I just learned.
Flashbacks of that night struck me like a gunshot. The sound of the door busting open. His fucking head as he stuck it through the crack to look at me. The excitement in his eyes because it was all a fucking game his boss paid him to play.
The fight I heard on the other side of the door when Bolton came to my rescue, just a bunch of stunts like a televised wrestling match. The reason Bolton had gotten there so quickly was because he was parked in his car down the street, waiting for me to call.
“Why didn’t you pick up, Theo…” I released the sink and stepped back, seeing a woman so small she looked like a child. Someone I was ashamed to be. Someone I didn’t know. The attack that traumatized me wasn’t even real. The marriage that had made me so happy wasn’t real either.
Theo could have saved me several times, but I shouldn’t need him to save me.
“Fuck this. I’m gonna save myself.” I left the bathroom and returned down the hallway. The assholes were still talking and smoking. I opened the door and saw the same guns I’d seen minutes before. I found a big rifle with a strap. I tried to grab that one, but it was too heavy to hold as I balanced on my heels.
“Sweetheart, you lost again?” It was the guy with the tattoos.
“Nope.” I grabbed two handguns instead. I wasn’t a proficient shooter, but Bolton had taught me the basics. I made sure the safety was off both of them before I walked out and shut the door.
“What the fuck is she doing?” the other one asked.
“Sweetheart.” He started to come closer, walking down the dark hallway, coming right toward me like I wasn’t a threat, despite the two guns in my hands. “Those aren’t toys. You could really hurt yourself?—”
I pointed at his leg and shot him.
“Ahhhh!” He gripped his leg and fell to the floor, the sound of the gunshot like an explosion against the stone walls. Even over the music and the laughter, everyone had to have heard it.
I stood over him and stabbed my heel into his leg. “Remember me, asshole?”
The other guy took several steps back.
“Shoot the bitch!” He tried to kick me off.
The guy continued to back up and raise his hands in the air. “It’s the boss’s wife.”
The man on the floor tried to pull himself away, still gripping his wound. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
I gave him a hard kick and made him squeal before I walked off, still holding both of the guns. Voices began to come down the hallway as men started to run, to try to understand all the commotion.
I leaned against the wall, my guns hidden behind my back as they ran past.
Then I kept going, taking a different way back because I knew Bolton would come to check on me. The ceiling dipped low in one of the hallways, so I chose that one, knowing the men wouldn’t take this passage if they had to stoop down. When I exited the hallway, I found the bar, mostly cleared out because the men had gone to investigate.
Bolton’s seat was empty.
I hurried to my chair, grabbed my big coat, and threw it on, putting the pistols inside the pockets where they couldn’t be seen before I headed for the exit. I left my phone on the table so he couldn’t track me.
When I made it to the doors, the bouncers let me pass without questioning me at all, assuming I was just a whore fleeing the violence. I took the stairs and made it to the ground floor. When I stepped into the night, it was bitter cold…but it smelled like freedom.
I made a snap decision and turned right, walking as fast as I could in my heels. I turned right again as soon as I could, knowing I needed to get off the road because Bolton would comb the streets for me the second his men told him I was the one who pulled the trigger.
“You think you can run from me, baby?”
I gave a shout as I jumped in my heels and almost toppled over.
He stepped out of the alleyway, like he’d somehow known I would turn down this street and cross his path. He must have taken another exit to the surface. There were sewers and passages all underneath the streets. He obviously knew his way around in case he ever needed to escape a rough situation at the Brotherhood.
He raised his phone from his pocket. “It’s not your phone that I track.” He returned it to his pocket then tapped his ears.
The earrings he gave me.
“Phone is too obvious.” He stepped toward me, moving his hands to his pockets.
I stepped back, my hand gripping the gun in my pocket.
The evil smirk slowly disappeared, but his eyes remained just as dark. “Things were going well. It seemed like we were happy. And now I have to do this. I have to do something I absolutely don’t want to do.”
I gripped that gun like my life depended on it.
“Choose the easy way or the hard way. It’ll determine everything that comes after.” He held his ground like he had no idea I had a gun in my pocket, but he must have known I was armed and it would have been stupid for me to leave the guns behind before I ran for it. “I thought we were happy.”
“No, Bolton. I became obedient because I got tired of being tossed around like a fucking rag doll. This isn’t real. We’re just playing pretend. For the love of god, let it go.”
He stared at me with tired eyes, hardly blinking as he stood with me on the sidewalk, no one around because it was past midnight. I’d tried to get off the street as quickly as I could because I knew I was on display. But he was too fast, too smart, too paranoid. “We promised forever—until death do us part.”
A shiver moved up my back like a snake that slithered up my spine. Even though the book had run out of pages, our story continued. He’d grabbed another book off the shelf, a different tale from a different author, but he read it like it belonged to us—because he’d lost his goddamn mind.
“We promised not to fuck other people too. You can’t pick and choose what you want, Bolton. This is marriage is over. I’m leaving.”
He wore the blankest stare, like he hadn’t heard a word. “Don’t make me do this.”
“Just let me go.” My voice softened with a plea. Even though I wanted him dead, I didn’t want to be the one to do it. I didn’t want to live with the blood on my hands. But if I didn’t shoot to kill, this would never be over. “Please, Bolton. If you love me, you’ll let me go. You’ll treat me like a human fucking being.”
His stare didn’t change. The man was made of stone. “You’re my wife?—”
“Stop it.”
“And you’re going to stay my wife?—”
I pulled out the gun and aimed it right at his face. I took a step back, making sure he couldn’t lunge at me and knock me to the ground.
He had no reaction, as if he’d been expecting this.
“You think I won’t do it.” The gun was steady in my hand, my finger ready to squeeze the trigger and end this once and for all. “If this is the only way out, trust me, I’ll take it. I shot your man back there, and I’ll shoot you too.”
He stepped toward me.
I stepped back, my gun still trained on his face.
Then he made his move and rushed me.
I had a second to think, so I pulled the trigger, unsure exactly where I was aiming. At his chest. His arm. His stomach. I didn’t know because there was no scream.
His body hit mine, and a fist struck me so hard in the face, I fell to the concrete and smacked my head against the cold pavement. My world spun for a moment, and I couldn’t move, just feeling the ice-cold concrete against my skin, the adrenaline in my heart. I tried to push myself up and run, but my body wouldn’t respond.
Footsteps sounded. A car pulled up to the curb. There was a commotion.
“Put her in the car,” Bolton said with a grimace. “Send the doctor to the house. I need stitches.”
I was lifted from the ground by two men, and once I was upright, the world spun again from the punch to my face and the blow to my head. But I saw Bolton strip off his shirt while one of his guys tied it around his arm. There was lots of blood.
I’d shot him, but I missed my mark.
I was put in the car, but it felt like a cage. My safety belt was fastened for me because I was in such a daze.
“Should we take her to the hospital?” one of his men asked.
“She’s fine,” Bolton said. “A walk in the fucking park compared to what I’m about to do to her.”
My head rested against the window, and then my eyes closed.
“She’s got another gun in her pocket.” It was the last thing Bolton said before I slipped away.
When I woke up, I was on the bed upstairs. Still in my clothes and jacket. Even my heels were still on. I opened my eyes, and I was instantly struck with a massive migraine that made me regret opening my eyes.
I sat up then felt my head, finding the massive bump on the right. It was so tender, I couldn’t even touch it without wincing.
On the nightstand were two pills with a glass of water.
I took it without asking what it was. It could be Fentanyl, and I’d still take it. Prefer it, actually. It wouldn’t just get rid of the migraine, but it would get rid of this misery too.
I took my time getting to the edge of the bed. My body could only move an inch at a time because everything hurt, like Bolton had pulled on a pair of boxing gloves and wailed on me while I was passed out.
I took off the heels and stripped off the heavy coat.
My hand went into the pocket, even though I knew the gun was gone.
There were no guns in the house, and there probably weren’t any knives either.
I finally made my way downstairs and found Bolton on the couch, shirtless, with a white bandage wrapped around his bicep. Sunlight brightened the room as it came through the windows. It highlighted the hollowness of his face, the gaunt look that showed how much blood he’d lost.
I felt no remorse.
He knew I was there without looking at me. “Sit.” There was a bite in his voice, like the growl of a rabid dog.
I continued to stand there.
When I didn’t obey, his eyes flicked to me—and he looked deranged like Lucifer. “Sit.”
I obeyed, knowing I couldn’t take more pain than I already felt with this migraine. I sat on the other couch, wanting to cry because none of this had felt real until the afternoon sun forced me to look at it.
He set his coffee mug on the table beside him. “You shot me.”
My eyes turned away.
“Look at me.”
I sucked in a breath before I obeyed.
“You fucking shot me.”
“Just wish I aimed a little higher,” It was a stupid thing to say in my predicament. My captor was the leader of the Brotherhood with a whole army of men to do his bidding. He could easily lock me up here and never let me step outside the front door. I could easily die here…at his hand. But I’d lost all reason to live, so I basically didn’t give a fuck anymore. Maybe he would kill me and end it all.
Rage bubbled on his face. “I’ve informed your boss of your resignation.”
I’d seen that coming.
“He’s sad to see you go,” he said. “You aren’t going to leave this house ever again. Try, and see what happens.”
I felt no sadness. Felt no tears. If I could do it all over again, I would have done everything the same—except I would have aimed higher. I would have aimed right between his eyes and watched the life drain from his face. “What’s the point, Bolton? Every conversation will be forced. Every fuck will be coerced. How can this possibly be what you want? I’m an empty shell of who I used to be. A ghost in the hallway. A living memory. Why would you settle for that?”
He stared at me from across the couch.
When he didn’t say anything, I looked away. “I shot you, for fuck’s sake.”
He continued his stare.
“There’s no coming back from that. You think a couple months will go by and this will be a funny story? Whatever your plan is, it’s not going to work. Nothing you’ve done has worked thus far.”
“You’re still here, aren’t you?”
“But look at the circumstances?—”
“I don’t expect to travel back in time. I don’t expect roses to grow from our bones. But if I can’t have you, then no one can.”
The chill was so cold, a wisp of vapor left my mouth. Our fairy tale had slowly descended into madness. Bolton was a handsome prince who had erased all my problems with his love, but his skin had melted away and revealed the true fiend underneath. A monster that lived in a cave by the sea. That ate the bones of the women who scorned his love.
“So you can either try, or you can wait to die.”