Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE NIGHT WAS heavy, the air thick with the promise of a storm, but it wasn’t the weather that had my blood boiling.
It was her .
My bitch of a wife.
Fucking slut.
My fists clenched at the memory of her—in bed, fucking that biker. She didn’t understand that no matter where she went, no matter who she was with, she belonged to me. And Bolt? That smug son of a bitch thought he could take what was mine.
I’d seen him sneak into her room last night. I watched as he slipped through the door and put his hands on her like he had any right to touch her. The thought of it, of his hands on my wife, made my skin crawl, my blood turn to fire.
He thought he could protect her. He thought he could keep her safe from me. But he had no idea what I was capable of .
None of them did.
I paced the small motel room I’d been holed up in, the flickering light above me casting long shadows on the walls. The anger poured through me in waves, drowning out any rational thought. All I could see was her face—those big blue eyes glazed over from everything he was doing to her.
Everything he had no right to do!
My mind went to those same eyes wide with fright, the way she looked at me when I had her backed into a corner. The way she whimpered in fear and bowed down at my feet. Just like a woman was supposed to do. My father taught me from a young age that your wife was to obey her husband... and if she didn’t, you punished her.
So get ready Fiona, you’re in for one hell of a punishment.
I slammed my fist into the wall, the pain barely registering through the white-hot rage. “You think you can move on without me?” I muttered, my voice low, dangerous. “You think I’ll let you go?”
Fiona was mine. She’d always been mine since that day I saw her at the market, so small with those beautiful eyes she reminded me of a porcelain doll, so fragile. I knew at that very moment I wanted her as my wife.
And once we got married, I taught her what it meant to be the perfect wife.
Or at least I thought she understood, but fucking look where we are.
This rebellion has only made it worse for herself. I’d have one hell of a time breaking her all over again. My cock was getting hard just thinking about it. Shit, maybe I’d make that piece of shit she’s fucking watch. My father would do that when he really wanted to hurt my mother beyond the physical. He would fuck another woman in front of her, and he always let me watch and one time, when I was fifteen, he let me fuck the prostitute too. It was the only time my mother closed her eyes, and she paid for it.
Fiona should be lucky that I wasn’t as sadistic as my father. Not once did I think about doing that to her. But now...
I reached for the gun on the motel nightstand, my fingers wrapping around the cold metal. The weight of it in my hand felt good, solid. There was a time when I hadn’t needed something like this to control Fiona. But things were different now. She’d made them different . And if it came down to it, I wasn’t above using it to remind her exactly where she belonged.
Going to the window, I pulled back the curtain just enough to glance out at the empty parking lot. Dammit, I wanted her back with me, but it was too soon, there were still plans being worked out. I let the curtain fall back into place, my mind racing with all the ways I could make them both suffer. There were so many options. So many ways to remind her of her mistake when I got her back.
I couldn’t rush it. I wanted her to feel it, to know it was coming. The fear would be worse than the pain. She would be reminded of every broken promise, of what I just witnessed in that bedroom, and I would keep reminding her every single time she begged me to stop.