30. She Saw the Devil
She Saw the Devil
Lola
“Lola.” Chris’s voice was a sweetened razor. “I asked you a question.”
He rose from the table like a snake, slow, deliberate, every movement calculated to intimidate.
The mottled shadows of the kitchen didn’t hide his slicked-back blond hair or the perfectly pressed lines of his crisp, white shirt and dark trousers.
He’d always worn an expensive skin to conceal the monster underneath.
My glasses slipped down my nose, but I didn’t push them up. And when the icy tips of Chris’s fingers reached out to trail a line of goosebumps down my arm, I didn’t flinch. I didn’t dare.
His head tilted. Waiting. I knew this dance. He wanted a smile to go with the answer to his question.
I forced my lips to curve. “I—I missed you.”
He pressed a soulless kiss to the corner of my mouth. “That’s my girl.”
His girl? Not anymore.
I wasn’t the same shell of a person who’d escaped him six months ago. I was battered around the edges, but I was whole. I was my own person now. Even though fierce determination ignited inside me, I was careful to hide it. I had the scars to prove that challenging Chris never ended well.
His fingers coiled around my arm. He dragged me closer and squeezed me so tight against his chest that the sting of his expensive cologne burned my nose.
“Do you know how upset you made me when I came home from work and you weren’t there?” The dulled ends of his fingernails bit into my skin. “Do you know how embarrassing it was explaining to everyone that you’d disappeared after another one of your…outbursts?”
“You said that when you came home that night, you—you were going to—”
“Oh, Lola. You’ve always been too sensitive. Why can’t you ever remember anything the way it happened?”
I lifted my chin. Defiance boiled beneath my skin. I wouldn’t let him rewrite that moment in our history.
Chris always called me crazy. For a long time, I’d believed him.
But my memory still burned with the sharp flash of his eyes as he’d stood over me, belt raised, while I’d shielded myself with nothing but my own bruised arms. He’d said I’d made him late for work for the last time.
The ice in his voice had been more than a threat. He’d meant it.
I remembered that moment better than I remembered what I’d had for breakfast. That was the moment I’d vowed he’d never put his hands on me again.
Another slimy kiss pressed to my cheek. “Be a good girl for once.” His fingers twisted tighter around my arm. “Tell me you’re sorry.”
Never .
Chris’s lip twitched. My defiance was unexpected, but his jaw clenched, determination flashing in his cold eyes.
The cruel grip of his hand squeezing around my arm reminded me how dangerously close I was to unleashing his anger.
I breathed through the pain, but his eyes narrowed, and his hand twisted and twisted.
He broke me.
“I—I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I earned his brittle smile. “Good girl.”
His fingers disappeared from my arm, and he stepped back, dead eyes roaming around the kitchen.
“Lola, this place is a dump.” He pinched my favourite pink tea towel between two fingers and lifted it from the counter as if it were toxic waste.
“It’s like a condemned Barbie Dreamhouse.
Pink. Flowery. Bullshit. And the mess you left in this kitchen…
” Disgust curled his lip. “Some things never change.”
My fists balled by my side. Maybe the cottage was run-down.
Maybe it wasn’t decorated with the soulless precision of his mansion on the waterfront.
There was no exposed concrete, stark white walls, or ugly abstract art.
This was my house. I’d fought for a place of my own and every pink tea cosy and fluffy pillow in it.
Chris’s back turned as he continued listing his grievances with my decorating.
My eyes were wild in every direction. I needed a plan. It would only take one false step—one wrong word—to snap the thread of control holding back his rage.
I’d only have one chance.
I needed more time.
I touched a cautious hand to his arm. “Chris?” His eyes snapped to mine, anger swirling, barely contained, and I fought the urge to cower back.
“You must be tired after your flight… I could make you some coffee…or…something to eat?” I took a step towards the fridge, but his hand shot out and yanked me back. “I have some cake—”
“We’ll get something on the road,” he hissed. “It’s time to go.”
“G-go?”
“Yes. Go. Home. You’ve frolicked about on your ridiculous escape to the country long enough. We’re going home. Tonight.”
“T-tonight?”
“Did you get even stupider since you moved to this backwater? Yes. T-t-t-tonight. I have a suite booked in the city.” He bent his head closer to whisper, “And when we get there, you can spend the rest of the night proving to me just how sorry you are.”
I wasn’t going. He’d have to drag me kicking and screaming all the way to the city. I didn’t want to be chained to some cold, posh suite with a monster looming over me, stealing love from me he’d never earned.
I wanted to twirl in my pretty dress and slip on the high heels that I could barely walk in so Aiden didn’t have to bend so far to nuzzle his nose in my hair. I wanted to be at the winery. I wanted to be on my romantic date.
My heart twisted.
Was Aiden already waiting for me? He was always early for our coffee dates.
Was he nervous? Did Ruth talk him into wearing another shirt he hated just to impress me?
And when I didn’t come, would he think I was trying to hurt him the way he’d hurt me all those months ago?
The world swayed and blurred. I couldn’t bear the thought of that.
That couldn’t be our ending.
Chris’s eyes bulged when I tugged my arm back. “No,” I said, ignoring the flare of his nostrils. A warning. But I needed to risk his wrath. I needed more time. “I can’t. I need things—clothes—to pack.”
“Nothing in your wardrobe is worth bringing. Like this thing.” He flicked the hem of my shirt. “Hideous.”
The cruel comments no longer stung, but my options for bargaining for more time were running out. My mind raced. Chris was too clever. Too cunning. He’d see through me if I lied. The truth was risky, but sticking as close to it as possible was all I had.
“I had p-plans tonight… M-my friend will be waiting…for…for me.”
“Then let her wait!” Chris spat. “I’ve waited six fucking months, Lola!
Do you have any idea how much money I’ve wasted chasing you halfway across the country?
Do you have any idea how much fucking grief your father gave me?
Do you? No one else would put up with the insane shit you’ve put me through!
You should be on your fucking knees thanking your lucky stars that I still want your pathetic little arse. ”
“Chris—”
He shoved me towards the back door. “We’re going.”
“Please. It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone. A-and…m-my friend… You know the type… She’s such a worrywart.” I was ashamed that I couldn’t stop the fear weaving through my voice. I wanted to be strong—the girl I was yesterday. “She’ll call the police if I don’t show up. Please…”
I twisted away from Chris, heading to the doorway. A flutter of hope flickered in my stomach. Another step away. Getting closer. If I could get my phone, I’d have options. Brooke. Ruth. They’d come. They’d help me.
“I’ll just message her—”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Chris’s eyes narrowed. “No calls. No messages.” He yanked me back against his chest. “We’re going. Now.”
Tears trickled down my cheeks. I was failing. I was running out of options. “Can I get my bag? Or…my…p-purse? What if I need to show ID at the airport…or…or…something?” I pointed down the hall. “I dropped it by the front door when I came home.”
Chris arched his neck to look past me. Even in the dark, he’d be able to see the pink lump. He scowled, thinking it over for a moment, and then his chin dropped in a nod. He loomed closer at my heels than my own shadow as I padded down the hallway.
My eyes zeroed in on the old brass doorknob.
A thousand plans raced through my mind, and a thousand times, I failed. That stupid door was heavy and always got stuck. There was no way I’d manage to open it before Chris got to me. No way.
But it wasn’t locked.
I knew it wasn’t.
And it was my only chance.
I surged forward, sprinting down the hallway, reaching out, my hand curling around the knob, twisting, turning, and with a yank so hard it jolted me back a step, the door was open. Streetlights blazed through the gap. My eyes went wide.
I did it!
A palm landed flat on the door, and the glimpse of freedom slammed shut.
My blood turned to ice. I glanced over my shoulder. “C-Chris—”
His hand shot out so fast and so hard that when the slap connected with my cheek, my face snapped to the side, my body spun, and my shoulder cracked against the front door. My knees buckled.
He kept coming.
A scream tore from my throat when the burst of fists struck my fragile body.
The world went fuzzy. My glasses were missing.
My shirt was ripped, and I tasted the sweet metallic burn of blood on the back of my tongue, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.
I clawed at Chris’s face and kicked my legs.
My heel smacked into his nose. The sickening crunch flipped my stomach upside down.
Chris reared back. “Fuck!”
I didn’t waste a single precious second.
I scrambled to my feet and bolted down the hallway, but…
where to? My eyes were panicked. I’d never make it to the back door.
What other options did I have? My bare feet skittered along the wood floor into the bedroom, and my hand flew out to rip the drawer from the nightstand.
Frenzied, my whole body shaking, I dropped to my knees and sifted through the mess that spilt across the floor.
No!