When He Reads To Me

11. Lissie

Chapter 11

Lissie

“Sometimes love is broken.”

M y head hurts. That’s the first thing I think as my eyes open. And I hear music.

I try to sit up and realize my hands won’t move. Are they restrained? And this isn’t my bed. Cody has me tied up in his room. I pull at my wrists, but the rope doesn’t budge.

It burns my skin, and I know it will leave marks.

The sound of loud giggling filters into the room over the music, and I know his women are here. He brought them into our house and left me tied to the bed. I try to free my hands again, but it’s no use, so I flop back to the mattress.

Fuck .

What did I do to get myself into this position? Into this life? And how the fuck do I get myself out of it? Why can’t I get myself out of it?

“Cody!” I shout his name. No one answers, and the giggling doesn’t stop. “Cody!” I shout again. Tugging at my wrist, I try to pull it free from the rope.

His sheets smell like him.

Actually, the whole fucking room smells like him. Tangy, like he hasn’t washed in days.

I hate the way he smells—a rancid, sour, pungent mixture of stale bullshit and asshole behavior. His scent is suffocating and makes me recoil in disgust.

I hate the way he talks—an exercise in irritation and condescension. His tone is smug, and it makes my skin crawl.

Fuck, I hate everything about him.

And now, with what he’s done, I know no matter what, I will not stay in the same fucking house as this man ever again once I am able to free myself from his clutches.

“Cody!” I scream as the song ends.

The giggling stops, but the music starts again, only this time even louder.

He heard me and turned that shit up.

What a fucking asshole.

I lie there, listening to the god-awful music. Pulling on the ropes, even though I can feel them cutting into my skin. I don’t care—the pain is only a small distraction to the fact I’m restrained to a bed and don’t know what the fuck is going to happen to me.

“Cody, let me the fuck out!”

The music is turned up louder, and I can no longer hear the girls giggling. Huffing out a breath, I scan what I can see of Cody’s room. Firstly, he needs to clean in here. He has clothes strewn all over the place, and his bedspread is old and disgusting.

Kicking the metal footboard of his stupid bed, I hope it makes a loud enough sound to be heard over the music, but it just gives off a dull thud. Shit .

Just as I think about breaking my own wrists in order to free myself—not even sure if that will work—the door is thrown open and then quickly closes again. I know it’s him before I even turn my head in that direction. He stands next to the bed and looks down at me.

His eyes, which I once loved, stare at me with hatred.

“I love you, Lissie. You get that, right?” he says, but his rigid stance and the drink held tightly in his hand tell me otherwise. His eyes are narrowed, and his mouth is set in a hard line. “You just needed to play along. We were in a rough patch. I was working to get us out of it.” He shakes his head. “I love you,” he says again as if he’s trying to make himself believe it.

I don’t believe it.

I will never believe his words.

“Untie me, Cody.”

“No,” he says and shakes his head.

“Untie me, Cody.”

“No, because you are my wife, Lissie, and you will remain my wife.”

“We’ve been in a loveless marriage for years, and what? You really expect me to stay?”

He throws his hands up, his drink spilling all over me when he pulls them down. “Yes, because that’s what marriage is about… us being a team and working through things.” His words make me angry. The man is clearly drunk and possibly even high.

“A real husband would not sell their wife to bikers to pay a debt he … fucking… owes !” I scream.

He cracks his neck, then lifts his drink to his lips and takes a sip. “I’m in this debt because of your sister,” he reminds me, throwing the rest of his drink on me.

I turn my face as the cold liquid hits my skin. The alcohol stings my eyes, but I’m too damn angry to care. “Lies,” I growl as the drink drips down my face. “I had money… a lot of it. You wasted it all.” He leans down so close he’s breathing in my face, and I can smell the alcohol permeating from his putrid mouth and pores.

“You smoked it, shot it into your veins, and drank it just as much as I did. What happened to you, Lissie? We were such a good team until you decided you were better than me.”

“I am better than you,” I throw back.

And while I was low, he took advantage of that.

Thankfully, I never became addicted. I realized when I saw a girl overdose at a party, I had to stop, or I would end up the same way. It took my sister a little longer to come to the same realization.

“You think you are, but here you lie, tied to my bed, where you belong.” He scrunches up his nose, turns, and walks out. Just as I think he’ll leave, he spins around and comes back to the bed. He lays his hand on my hair and brushes it from my face, then he leans down and goes to kiss my lips. I turn my face so he can’t touch them, which makes him mad, and he forces my face back to his. When his mouth touches mine, I open up and bite his bottom lip. He screams, and I smile up at him.

“Don’t fucking touch me again,” I seethe.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes wide, and when he pulls it away, he sees blood there.

“You are my wife,” he says.

“You are my soon-to-be ex-husband,” I snap. “Now… Let. Me. Go .”

“No,” he says with finality. And this time, when he turns to leave, he doesn’t stop or turn back around.

“Let me out, you piece of shit!” The scream dies on my lips as the music is turned up louder. And before I can stop myself, I feel the tears welling my eyes.

Why did it take me so long to leave? Yes, it was fear for my sister and the need to protect her. But who is protecting me?

Why am I always the last thought in everyone else’s life?

When will someone put me first?

I want to be first in so many ways.

Yet here I am, last again.

Crying, tied to a bed that I haven’t slept in for over two years, and held prisoner by my husband.

My fucked-up, drugged-up husband.

I don’t know what time it is.

I’ve been stuck in the same position, unable to move, and in and out of sleep. The last thing I want to do is sleep, but my eyes are so heavy I’ve been dozing off and waking with a start. The music has finally died off, and I don’t hear anyone around.

I call Cody’s name at least three times and get nothing in response. My wrists are aching. My body keeps cramping from being stuck in the same position for so long, and I’m not even going to mention how full my bladder is. I’m not sure what else I can do because no one would care if I went missing. Would it matter to anyone? Yes, my sister would be upset, but she will go on with her life. The only person I’ve really had since my mother passed away is Cody, and he knows that and has used it to his every single advantage.

Closing my eyes, I try to think of ways to get out of this. Should I sweet-talk him and tell him everything will be okay? Is that my only hope?

If I have to, I will, but I have a feeling he won’t believe anything I say.

The door creaks open, and I swing my head toward it, thinking Cody has come back, but I see a glimpse of blond hair. Is she one of the women who’s usually here? To be honest, I don’t pay attention to the women he brings home. After the first few times, it became a regular occurrence, and my care factor has nosed to nothing.

She steps in and shuts the door behind her, bringing her finger to her mouth and telling me to be quiet. I don’t make a sound. I simply watch as she creeps, ever so slowly, to the head of the bed. I can smell she’s been drinking, and her eyes are glassy. With shaky hands, she starts to undo the rope tying my wrists to the bed, and I crane my neck to watch her. The woman struggles at first, but she stays quiet, and I’m hoping and praying that she gets it undone.

The second my first hand is free, a sense of relief washes through me. She steps away and moves around to the other side of the bed, then starts to untie the other hand, which goes a lot faster. Immediately, I sit up when the rope falls away—my body screaming at me in pain. She steps back and offers me a small smile.

“I’m friends with Letti, and she asked if I had seen you,” she whispers.

Letti . I see her often at Milo’s compound but hardly talk to her.

“Thank you,” I whisper and swing my legs off the bed. They are sore and shaky, but I have to take this opportunity. She nods to the window, and I turn to it.

“Cody’s asleep. I’ve been waiting for him to pass out. I’m going to go back out there and go to sleep. Please be quiet,” she says.

“What’s your name?” I ask. Her smile is sad, and she shakes her head.

“You don’t—”

“Please. What’s your name?”

Her lipstick is smudged on her lips, and her eyes are full of worry as she pins me with them. At first, I don’t think she’ll answer, but then…

“Marie.” She looks back over her shoulder and turns to open the door. I wait until it’s shut and hurry to the window. I don’t even think about going to my room to get anything. Pushing open the window, the cold morning breeze hits my skin. It stings my wrists, but I don’t care. I will not stay in this room a second longer than necessary. Climbing out, I don’t shut the window. I just run. Down the street and away from that house.

I have absolutely no idea where I’m going to go or how I’m going to get there, but I know for a fact that I’m not turning back and going into that house so he can do the exact same thing to me again.

My legs eventually get tired, and I have to slow down. I’ve managed to get a few streets away from him, heading toward the center of town, when I hear my name being called.

Swinging my head around, I see Letti. She pulls over next to me and jumps out of her car.

“Marie messaged me. Are you okay?” she says, concerned.

I can’t remember more than three words I’ve ever spoken to this woman, but I have never been more thankful in my life to see her face, and I hope she won’t hurt me.

“Come. I have a spare bed. Please, I need to clean those wrists up.” Letti reaches for me, and I pull away from her. She then puts her hands up to show she has nothing in them and means me no harm. “I’m sorry. I just want to help. Do you have somewhere else to go? Someone I can perhaps call?”

My sister? No, I don’t want to call her.

“Should we go to the police?” she asks, and I shake my head. If the police rocked up to his house, he would for sure show the video of Savannah.

“No,” I reply.

“Okay, it’s just me in a small apartment. It’s not much, but it is home.” She shrugs. “I have a spare room. You could always stay there until you find somewhere.”

Her offer is so kind—I’m not used to good people.

“Why are you helping me?”

“I think you need it. I mean, I could be wrong, but you have this lost look in your eyes, and when I didn’t see you this week at the clubhouse, I asked around.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, and she offers me the kindest smile.

I wonder if this is how it feels to have someone care about you.

Someone with no ulterior motives and under no conditions.