His Wild Storm (Vibrant Ink #3)

CHAPTER 1

ONE YEAR AGO

HAVEN

The moment the front door of the house clicks closed, the fine hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I can’t put into words how I know, but I just know there’s something wrong. There’s a warning in the air and my body recognizes it instantly.

My knees lock up and the only thing I can think about is how grateful I am that I already put Wilde to bed. I don’t want him to see whatever is about to happen. He’s already seen far too much in his young life.

Regret tries to pull my mind away from the impending danger, like when you can see the storm clouds on the horizon. I should have gotten out already. I should have taken Wilde and gotten out so many times.

But fear kept me in place and now the only thing I feel on a regular basis is dread.

Gone is the love that used to keep me going in between moments of violence.

Gone is the hope that our relationship and Wilde’s childhood won’t be marked by words with barbs and punches that land.

I glide to the microwave with silent feet to heat up his dinner. We’ve done this dance so many times, but I can’t seem to learn the right steps. Even when I’m trying to follow his lead, it’s wrong. There’s nothing I can do about it, and I’ve come to expect my inability to do anything right.

It’s a heady feeling. You’d think it would take the pressure off my shoulders, but it’s the opposite. I fight without the ability to see or hear, while weaponless.

I remember learning about Greek mythology in school and there was one where Sisyphus was doomed to roll a bolder up a hill only for it to roll right back down. And then he did it again. And again.

His never-ending struggle was the punishment Sisyphus had to endure in death because he incurred the wrath of Zeus for exposing his bad deeds.

Now, I’ve never exposed a Greek god’s bad deeds to my knowledge. I’ve never fudged my taxes. I’ve helped people in need. I’ve tried to live morally with my head held high.

Yet here I am pushing the bolder that is this relationship up the proverbial hill every day. Then it rolls down in a dervish of pain, regret, and violence which is impossible to anticipate.

“What is that smell?”

The question is sneered from behind me and my entire body tenses. I smooth my face out in the hope of keeping the fear from my eyes and the anticipation from my body.

“Meatloaf,” I keep my voice bright, but low and measured, “and mashed potatoes with garlic, like you like them, and green beans.”

He doesn’t like fake, and he’s never been shy about calling me out on it. But fake is the only thing I can be now.

I fake being happy.

I fake feeling safe.

I fake like I’m sticking around.

Even though I can already feel the doom circling and sliding against my skin, I can’t flinch. Too many plans are in place. It’s just a matter of time before I get out.

With Wilde.

Because he’s the only thing that has kept me here. He’s also the reason I’ve been having whispered conversations, made lists only existing in my mind, and have been hiding trinkets to build a future Ryan knows nothing about.

“Your meatloaf is always dry,” he groans like a fucking toddler.

I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing at how ridiculous this whole thing is. The countdown clock in my head hits zero and I know I’ve fucked up. I kept my back to him for too long.

Suddenly, I’m spun around, his hands weigh heavy on my shoulders before his fingers start to tighten. His touch might as well be a noose. He gets right in my face and everything inside of me curls in on itself.

“You think this is funny?” His question feels like acid against my mind, his tone malicious, and gleeful because now he’s justified what is to come.

“No, I don’t,” my lips barely move, the words softer than he has ever deserved.

“I saw the laughter on your face,” he accuses.

I don’t move as my mind trips over moments in the past, in our past. In the beginning, he wanted my laugh and went out of his way to get it. He’d get this look in his eye whenever it happened.

At the time I thought it was awe or pride or maybe even admiration.

Now I know it was thinly veiled hate. It was a mental tally mark being made. I was living while he was stacking the deck against me until the moment everything would change, and he could take a piece of flesh from me or a sliver of my soul in payment.

By then I’d be a captive in the life I thought I was building. I’d be wrapped up in pretty lies and lost in a mirage.

Freedom is close. I can almost feel the sun on my face without fear. But I’m not there yet; I still need to survive tonight.

“I wasn’t laughing, Ryan. I promise,” I try to keep the desperation out of my voice.

I know I fail when his eyes glint with a reckoning.

My head jerks to the side a moment before the sound of him backhanding me fills the kitchen. It’s like that moment between seeing the lightning and hearing the thunder. And it feels just as ominous. I don’t cry out because I refuse to give him the satisfaction; I know he craves it.

“Oh,” he taunts me, “you think you’re so strong, but you’ll break.”

The sick delight in his voice has worry filling my gut as I drop my gaze to the ground.

“Is there something else you’d rather have for dinner? I’d be happy to make it for you.” How I keep the wobble out of my voice, I’ll never know, but I sound steady. Like I’m not at the end of my rope.

Ryan’s eyes narrow and his face turns red in a way that tells me he’s about to explode. My only hope is that Wilde sleeps through it. Again.

“I don’t want any of the slop you cook,” he spits out the words, and I try not to wince when some of his spittle hits my face. I clearly fail, again, because his grin turns sinister.

Pain blooms along my jaw and I stumble back with the force of the punch he’s landed. I blink a few times and try not to let the tears welling up in my eyes fall. I work my jaw from side to side, the pain flaring with the movement and reminding me just how important it is for me to leave.

I’m not paying attention and when Ryan punches me again, I can’t prevent my fall. While sprawled out on the floor, my tailbone aches and tells me how hard I hit the floor. Ryan won’t care about my pain, not when he’s looking at me like he’s deciding where to inflict more.

He kicks out and there’s no stopping my wail as his booted foot connects with my torso.

When I try and cover the area, he’s already rearing back and aiming another kick at the same spot.

I swear I feel something snap in my wrist, but I can’t focus on it.

Not when Ryan reaches for my hair and uses it to yank me up.

The way he forces me onto my knees reverberates through my body and I let out a yelp of surprise. He’s smiling at me in a way I dread. It’s full of promise. I can’t help but look between him and his belt right in front of my face, hoping he’s not going to take this farther than my soul can handle.

This is far from the first time I’m taking a beating. I’ll heal and am more than willing to stand between Ryan and Wilde. I’d rather have his anger and his wrath.

But if he were to take this in another direction? I can already feel my heart weeping at the idea. I don’t think I’m strong enough to endure that.

It’s been a long time since Ryan has touched me.

While it’s been years since I’ve wholeheartedly given myself to this man, he’s never forced himself on me with anger and violence fueling him.

Yes, I know how ridiculous it is to make such a distinction.

But here I am just trying to survive as close to whole as possible.

Bruised I can handle. Shattered? I’m not sure I’d be able to piece myself back together again.

“I know what you’re thinking, Haven,” he mocks me, his voice low and ominous, “but you’re not worth giving me pleasure. Even if you beg me, I wouldn’t lower myself to stick my dick anywhere in your body.”

He thinks he’s taunting me. In a way, I guess he is. But his words don’t land the way he wants them to. I’m relieved.

For about twenty seconds, as that feeling washes over me, I forget where I am.

But then the hits start raining down on me.

The pain tries to slice through me, and I want to close my eyes.

Instead, I keep my gaze focused on the doorway of the kitchen while hoping Wilde won’t hear this and investigate.

He’s only three and he’s already seen far too much.

That’s not even the part I find concerning, it’s how protective he is of me.

There’s no way he could stand in front of me and do any good.

It would only piss Ryan off, and I’ve done too much to shield my son while planning on getting us out to allow him to be hurt now.

Even as I keep my eyes on the doorway, my mind drifts.

To the one place where the pain can’t touch me.

Maybe some people’s happy place is somewhere they’ve been, but mine is someplace I can only dream about.

A field of wildflowers where the wind brushes against the flowers like sundrenched kisses, and the sunlight can warm you from the inside out.

The pops of color feel like a balm after only knowing darkness and shadows.

There’s no way I can keep doing this. It’s just not possible. One day he’ll kill me and then where will Wilde be.

It’s my biggest fear. Not the blood, my blood, he’s spilled. Not the clench of his jaw that feels like thunder. Not the words he tries to wield like blades to cut me down even though I stopped listening to them a long time ago.

I fear what would happen to Wilde if I weren’t here to stand in front of him and ensure he remains the sweet little soul he is, instead of being tainted by his father.

Ryan’s booted foot connects to my side, and I feel the crack more than I hear it.

It knocks the wind out of me and when I try to suck in a breath, it sounds more like a broken wheeze.

When I look up, Ryan is standing above me with his hands on his hips and air sawing in and out of him like he’s just finished a marathon. Well, he certainly did exert himself.

I can feel every hit he landed; it’s agony wrapped in fire. The smile on his face is filled with darkness and the promise of more. As my blinks become longer, I try to hold on and not pass out from the pain. Just a moment more. Then another.

“You’re no fun,” Ryan chides me like I’m not the mother of his child and the woman he’s trapped in a cage of violence and retribution.

“You used to scream, cry, and beg me.” He tilts his head to the side like he’s pondering life’s mysteries and not my pain tolerance.

“I’m going out to get something to eat since you can’t even manage to make a decent dinner. ”

It’s too early to breathe a sigh of relief. Soon. Maybe. Hopefully.

The only saving grace here is that we never got married.

If we had, I would be tied to him in a way that would be much harder to untangle when I escape.

As the sound of his boots stomping toward the door hits my ears, I blink and force my eyes open wider.

I don’t want to give into the darkness; I can’t.

When the door clicks shut behind Ryan as he leaves, I let out a deep breath.

It does nothing to alleviate the pain I’m in, but some of the tension drops away.

Being around Ryan has my anxiety shooting through the roof.

I allow myself a moment, but only one, to wallow and then I work at moving and pushing my body up until I can lean against the kitchen cabinets.

Little footsteps have my head snapping up and I have to swallow down the scream wanting to burst out of my chest at the movement. Wilde’s eyes are wide and filled with tears when he looks at me. I can see the way his body is straining like he wants to launch himself at me but is holding back.

I’m both saddened by the fact that he knows I can’t handle his three-year-old body slamming into me and glad he does.

He’s been traumatized enough; if he were to add even a little bit of pain to what I’m already experiencing it would only make matters worse.

His steps are small and silent as he approaches until he collapses onto his knees next to me.

“Are you okay, Mommy?”

“I’m going to be,” I promise.

And it’s true. Because we’re getting out of here.

I’ve been saving money and putting it into an account Ryan doesn’t know about.

My boss at the diner, Ed, has a car for me.

It’s a job I had for years while working my way through school.

I stayed on after graduation while building my client list as a freelance accountant.

After meeting Ryan, I worked for Ed right up until I gave birth and then stayed on part time whenever our neighbor could watch Wilde and Ryan was at work.

I tried to pay Ed for the car, but he just shook his head and told me he was helping me because he couldn’t save his own daughter from her husband. The man is in his seventies and rules his kitchen with a scowl and a soft heart.

I’ll never be able to tell him how grateful I am to him for his help.

When I reach out toward Wilde, to push his hair back from his forehead, I can’t stop myself from wincing. A few tears escape his eyes, and something breaks inside of me.

My greatest fear is Ryan directing his anger toward Wilde. It feels like it’s only a matter of time. I can’t allow it to happen. I won’t.

“You’re hurt,” Wilde whines softly.

I nod slowly, unwilling and unable to lie to him. “I am,” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly even though it only makes my ribs ache more, “but it’s the last time.”

“Dad is going to stop?” Wilde looks incredulous, and it’s not unwarranted.

He never calls Ryan ‘Daddy’. It’s always Dad. It breaks my heart, but Ryan has never given our son a reason to feel safe or see him as anything other than the man who hurts me.

“No,” my voice breaks, “he’s not going to stop.”

“Then how is this the last time?” Wilde looks at me with trust in his eyes, but a wariness a three-year-old shouldn’t have. It’s not something he should even feel.

“We’re leaving.”

The smile that spreads across my son’s face is pure sunshine. Even though the road ahead of us isn’t going to be easy, it’ll be worth it. I’m sure Ryan will try to find us. I can only hope I cover my tracks well and that the help I’ve been pointed towards will keep us safe.

As much as the fear tries to keep me in place, I have to push through it and try. Not for me. For Wilde.