It Pains Me (Betrayal #5)

15. Astrid

15

ASTRID

“We’re going to dinner tonight.”

I was staring out the window as I sat at the dining table, drinking a glass of wine and reading a book. Books were all I had now. The only escape from this miserable existence. I only had one other option to leave this circumstance, but I hadn’t mustered up the courage to do it.

But I was getting close.

“Did you hear me?” Bolton asked in an irritated voice.

I lifted my head from my book to look at him. “What?”

“We’re going to dinner tonight. Be ready at seven.”

It was the only time I got to leave the house. Whenever he met someone for work and wanted to show me off like it was some kind of flex. A miserable woman with bruises on her face was no flex at all.

I covered them with makeup, but you could still see them.

I didn’t care that much about hiding them anyway. Maybe if Bolton looked at them long enough, he would start to feel some ounce of pity…but probably not. Most of the time, I did whatever he asked and stayed out of his way. But when he wanted me at night, I fought like hell because just the touch of his hand on my arm was enough to make me sick.

I used to believe that once you loved someone, you always loved them.

But now, I knew that was a load of bullshit.

All the love I’d had for this man had evaporated like a flash in the pan. What I felt was deeper than hate, but no such word existed in any language to describe it exactly. I also felt indifference, because he could drop dead, and I wouldn’t feel anything more than relief.

I had been married to this man for years, and now I wanted him dead.

It was wrong to feel this way, and I felt guilty just for having the thought…but I resented Theo for not taking my call on that stormy night. The course of my life would have been drastically different. Even if Theo couldn’t commit and he left me at some point, I would have preferred that kind of heartache to this.

I would have preferred to mourn him than wish I were dead every day.

We sat together in the back seat, the center console down in the middle seat.

My hand rested there, the diamond in my wedding band sparkling with a rainbow of color. I used to love my ring, but now it’d been tarnished by Bolton’s deceit, lies, and abuse. If I could ever escape, I wouldn’t throw it in the river. I would sell it to a jeweler in the hope someone else would buy it someday and it would get a new story. A happy one. Sit on the same finger for forty years…and then be buried.

Bolton reached for my hand and grabbed it with tenderness.

I didn’t recoil, but I certainly wanted to.

The SUV pulled over, and we approached the curb. Bolton got out first then helped me out of the vehicle.

Since I’d been sitting on the other side looking the opposite way, I didn’t see the name of the restaurant.

I stilled when I recognized it—realizing it was Scarlett and Axel’s restaurant. The one that Theo had taken me to forever ago. Where Scarlett chatted with us at the table. The terror filled my stomach, and I froze on the cobblestones, adrenaline pounding in my heart.

I didn’t want Scarlett to see me like this.

The bruises were visible on my face. My lips were swollen from where he’d punched me last night. It was obvious to anyone who saw me that I was a battered woman in an abusive relationship, but no one ever intervened. His associates pretended not to notice. Their dates didn’t make direct eye contact with me. And passersby were too scared to get involved.

But if Theo knew, that would be a different story.

I wanted him to save me, but when I’d tried to ask him, he’d ripped me apart, hurt me more than Bolton ever had with just his words. He destroyed my hope. He destroyed my dreams. He wanted nothing to do with me, so I didn’t want his obligation. I didn’t want his help.

I’d rather die this slow and painful death than accept his help.

Bolton moved his arm around my waist and walked me forward.

But I was rooted to the spot like a stubborn mule.

Bolton looked at me. “Everything alright, baby?”

It was a Thursday night. It had seemed like Scarlett wasn’t there often, and even if she were, what were the chances of bumping into her? “I’m fine. These heels just hurt.”

Bolton opened the door for me like some kind of gentleman, and after he checked in with the host, we were led to our table. It was a smooth transition, quick and easy, and that chased away my fears.

It was just Bolton and me, and we immediately ordered a bottle of wine for the table and an appetizer while we waited for whoever the fuck wanted to hire him to kill someone. Now that the danger had passed, I disassociated once more and pretended to be somewhere else.

I forgot his name the second he said it. Forgot the name of his woman too.

They talked business most of the time, details about the hit and payments.

The woman barely had any meat on her bones and picked at her salad like it was too much food.

I was starting to look the same because depression and malnourishment went hand in hand. We ordered several bottles of wine, and I was responsible for about half of what was drunk. My eyes wandered to the other tables, seeing couples having a romantic evening together, a couple of families. I stared at the table where I’d sat with Theo, seeing a new couple there.

I pictured Theo there with someone else, and it made me want to die.

I looked down at my food again and picked at it, spinning my fork in my pasta to see how big of a wad I could make, but never taking a bite. Like a child making mountains out of mashed potatoes and bridges out of the strips of asparagus, I turned my food into a toy of my imagination.

Bolton glanced at me, and when his hand moved to my thigh under the table, I knew that was a warning for me to stop.

Like the obedient dog that I was, I stopped.

“How was dinner?”

I looked up at the sound of the woman’s voice at the next table. She was dressed in all black. Black trousers with a black chef’s jacket. Her dark hair was pulled back in a low bun.

“My name is Scarlett, and I’m the head chef this evening,” she said. “I love to come around and hear what you think. I’m constantly updating the menu, so suggestions are always welcome.”

“Fuck.”

Bolton turned when he heard what I said.

His associate looked at me too then covered his reaction with a sip of his wine.

“Everything alright, baby?” Bolton moved his arm over the back of my chair.

“Uh, yeah.” I covered up my terror and eyed the bathroom on the other side of the restaurant. I could get up and go around her before she noticed I was there. We were the next table on her tour. “I—I have to go to the bathroom.”

Bolton’s arm moved to my hand underneath the table, and he leaned in close. “I hope this isn’t one of your stunts.”

“No,” I said quickly. “I just…feel a little sick.” I eyed Scarlett again, and she seemed to be wrapping up her conversation.

“You don’t look sick.” Bolton continued to speak quietly, but there was no way our dinner guests didn’t hear.

“Jesus, just let me go to the bathroom.” The timing of my outburst was terrible because the song playing over the speakers had just ended, so my words were like a siren against the backdrop of quiet.

A lot of people turned to look at us.

And Scarlett was one of them.

She stared, and it only took her a second to recognize me, judging by the way her eyes narrowed on my face.

I held her stare, locked in the trance that was too powerful to break.

Her eyes flicked back and forth between mine, and whatever judgment she had for me based on what Theo had said to her was quickly replaced by an undeniable look of concern. She walked toward us, getting a better look at the bruises on my face under the pendant lights that hung over the table.

“Excuse me.” I left the table and Bolton’s grip and headed to the bathroom, hoping that Scarlett would feel mistaken about my identity, hadn’t noticed the bruises, be too busy to pursue me—or simply not care.

The walk to the bathroom seemed to take forever. I had to pass the other diners, cross the lobby where others waited for their tables, and reach the opposite side of the restaurant where the bathrooms were located.

I stepped inside and was relieved by its vacancy. I got to stand at the counter and close my eyes for a moment, to feel a moment of relief after the adrenaline nearly put me in cardiac arrest. I inhaled and exhaled a few times until my breathing returned to normal. Then I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror.

But the sight nearly made me burst into tears.

“What the fuck did I do to deserve this?” Swollen lips. Hints of blue bruising under caked makeup. An old cut in the corner of my mouth. The more substantial damage was hidden under my clothes in places where no one would ever see…except for Bolton when he fucked my lifeless body. They said things always got better in time, but maybe that was a bunch of bullshit because my life had only gotten worse as the years went on. Didn’t think anything worse than losing my mother to cancer and my father to suicide would ever happen, but I’d turned a corner and was met with pure evil.

I turned on the faucet and watched the water run, just to have something to look at, something to focus on. I did it in the house too, focused on a picture and tried to recall when we got it. Counting the number of tiles on the dining room floor. It was the only coping mechanism—to change the subject.

The door opened, and someone joined me.

My hands went under the water, and I began to wash them, my eyes down as I pretended to be a normal person with a normal life. I grabbed a hand towel from the tray and patted my hands dry.

When I looked in the mirror, my eyes locked with hers.

It was Scarlett.

I inhaled a slow breath and let it sit there in my lungs for a while, like cigarette smoke, and then I released it.

She came closer to me, still looking at me in the mirror, seeing the bruising even better because of the bright lights around the mirror. Her eyes traced over my appearance like she was connecting the dots in an activity book.

I waited for the judgment and the harshness, but it never came.

Her hand went to my arm, and she squeezed me gently. “Honey.”

I closed my eyes because there was so much compassion and sincerity in just a single word. I could feel it more than I could hear it, feel it travel from her hand into my body like medicine from an IV bag.

“He won’t let you leave.”

I expected a million questions from her, but she seemed to answer them herself. “No.”

Her hand remained on my arm. “How long has this been going on?”

“Honestly, I’ve lost track of time. Six weeks? Maybe longer. I tried to leave him, and that’s when it started. The more I fought, the worse it got. I’m a prisoner in the house now. I don’t go outside, unless I’m with him.”

“Jesus.” Her hand left my arm. “Why didn’t you tell Theo?”

I was surprised that I could speak without bursting into tears. It was the first time I’d been able to talk to someone who wasn’t connected to Bolton. A normal person with normal feelings and emotions. “I tried, but the words didn’t come out.”

“What do you mean, you tried?”

“He deleted Theo’s number. Had his men tail me. So I pretended to have lunch at his restaurant so I could talk to him, but he was so pissed off at the sight of me. Yelled at me for wanting him back only because it didn’t work out with Bolton. I could barely get a word in edgewise, and by the time I had my chance, I didn’t want his help anymore. He hates me. Wants nothing to do with me. He would only help me out of obligation, not because he wants to, not because he cares. And I didn’t want that.”

She continued to stare at my reflection in the mirror, processing all of that with a sadness in her eyes. “Theo isn’t like Axel. He’s not good at expressing himself or understanding his own emotions. Theo’s been a loose cannon since this all happened. Even came after Axel for a crime he didn’t commit. He’s just hurt and sad…and doesn’t know how to process any of it. I know he said all of those things to you in anger?—”

“He meant them. I know he did.”

She let the seconds tick by as she stared at me. “That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t burn down this whole city for you. You should have told him, Astrid. He would have killed Bolton with his bare hands—and not out of obligation. Despite what he’s said, I know how deeply he feels for you…even now. Axel said it’s like he’s gone back in time to when Shayla died. Theo is angry, grief-stricken, and perfectly fine all at the same time—and you never know which version of him you’re going to get.”

“Well, it’s in the past now.” What was done was done. Six weeks had come and gone. Theo was over me even more than he had been before.

“It’s not in the past, Astrid.”

My eyes had drifted away from the mirror, but they found hers again.

“You know I have to tell him.”

“I’d rather you not?—”

“Even if I don’t, I’m going to tell Axel, and he’s not going to abandon you like this.”

I was so shocked by what she said, I needed to take a beat. “I’m not his problem.”

“Of course you are. You’re all our problem.”

My eyes dropped down again.

“When I tell Theo, Bolton’s a dead man.”

I stared at the sink again, just the way I had before. “I don’t deserve his help. He warned me about Bolton, and I didn’t listen.”

“No one deserves this.” Her hand went to my arm again. “For any reason.”

I didn’t flinch at her touch, not the way I did with Bolton. I wanted to lean into it. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to hold on to her like the life jacket that she was. I looked at myself in the mirror again, feeling a sudden surge of hope that I’d thought was long dead.

The bathroom door opened, and I tried not to look like fresh roadkill for whoever came in. I expected to see a woman walk inside and head straight for one of the stalls or freshen up her lipstick.

But it was Bolton.

Scarlett immediately withdrew her hand from my arm.

I stiffened, reading the rage and suspicion mixed on his face like a cocktail.

He approached the sink where we stood. “Astrid.” He gave a nod toward the door.

I was just about to obey when Scarlett interrupted.

“We’re talking.” Her voice had the ring of authority, like a mafia leader who was unafraid of anyone who crossed her path.

I admired her, but I also wished she would shut up. Axel and Theo weren’t like Bolton. They were scary men to other scary men, but Bolton was a threat to everyone, men and women. He wouldn’t find her standoff endearing. He wouldn’t hesitate to break her cheekbone with his knuckles.

His eyes shifted to her like it was the first time he’d noticed she was there. “Now you’re finished.”

“This is the ladies’ room. So unless you want me to chop off your dick, get out.”

He continued to stare at her, that terrifying sheen in his eyes. Then he moved toward her and reached for her arm, prepared to manhandle her just the way he did with me, to twist it until it was about to break.

I moved in front of her. “I’m coming.” I could take his beatings because I deserved them. But I couldn’t let anything happen to Scarlett. Not a mother of two. Not a wife to a good man. Not someone who was innocent and only wanted to help.

“No, she’s not.” Scarlett was fired up. “I said get out.”

“Scarlett—”

Bolton’s mouth tightened in his rage, and his eyes looked like a pair of guns about to fire. He reached for her arm again.

She stepped away before he could touch her. “Touch me, and my husband will end your pathetic life.”

Bolton didn’t try again, either because he believed her or the conversation wasn’t worth his time. He grabbed me instead. His touch wasn’t merciless like it usually was, but the grip was tight enough that it would be stupid to try to escape it.

When we were back in the dining area, he let me go. “How do you know her?”

I’d begun to notice it was easy to lie when your life depended on it. So, I lied. “She’s the head chef here. She noticed my bruises when she came to the table.”

“That doesn’t explain why she followed you into the bathroom.”

“Because no woman is gonna see another woman in pain and not give a shit, Bolton.” The temper came out of the deep recesses of my heart. He didn’t understand compassion. He didn’t understand that women always looked out for one another—even if they were strangers. “Just because you feel nothing for those around you doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”

He stood there, glaring at me with the sea of tables around us. “Can we return to the table, or should I take you home?” It was a simple sentence to anyone who heard it, but I knew the implications of the choice. If I ruined his meeting with his client, there would be consequences.

He was already pissed off, so there might be retribution when we got home, regardless of my decision, but if the rest of the evening went well, it might soothe his ire. “I’m fine.”