Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
SPENCER, SEVEN YEARS AGO
I walk across the cold, checkered tile floor. Even wearing shoes doesn’t keep the cold from seeping into my bones. It’s everywhere—it bleeds from the walls. No matter how many sweaters or socks I wear, it doesn’t matter, I always have chills. They constantly run up my spine and make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
He likes to keep the house at a brisk sixty-nine degrees, which should be perfect for Texas summers, but in this house, it keeps me on edge. I can’t explain why.
I have the perfect life. The perfect fiancé, the perfect house, the perfect job.
Maybe it’s the little things Anthony says here and there. He made a comment about watching what I eat the other day and has been more hands-on about what I wear when we go out. I’ve been with him for just over four years; he’s never cared about that kind of thing until I moved in six months ago. That’s when things changed. He got more cagey, more picky. I’m pretty sure it’s because he has an issue with one of his clients. He makes a lot of people a lot of money. Dealing with hundreds of thousands, and sometimes millions of dollars would stress out anyone.
I’ve heard him yelling more and more in his home office lately—like now.
I know he’s stressed, and he always tells me I’m his ray of sunshine. So tonight, I’m determined to be his sunshine and make his life a little brighter. I’m making his favorite meal—homemade lasagna with breadsticks and salad. And for dessert, another favorite, peach cobbler. I always cooked for myself and Mom growing up, so cooking dinners when I moved in was no big deal.
Making my way up to the second floor, his voice booms down the staircase.
“You fucked up! You fucked up so bad there’s no coming back from this!”
Anthony has a voice that naturally carries. I tense when he raises his voice, but there’s nothing he can do about that. He can’t help that he’s so loud.
He’s ruthless at work which just makes him better at his job. He does it all for me, to provide for me. To give me the life I didn’t have with Mom. He even provides for her sometimes too. She needed help with her water bill last month and he paid it without question.
“I-I’m sorry Mr. Cole. I can fix it. The shipment can be salvaged.” The fear in the man’s voice is unmistakable. My own fear mixes with his as my muscles tense in my back, but I continue to push myself forward.
Wait . . . shipment? But Anthony is in stock trading. Maybe he’s helping a client with something?
My steps slow and goosebumps break out over my skin as I push myself to keep walking.
“I don’t think he’s actually sorry.” I pause at the new voice. Pierce Murphy. I didn’t know he was here; I didn’t see his car in the driveway. I’ll have to put out another place setting for him. If Pierce is here, at this time, he usually stays for dinner.
The man has made me uncomfortable from day one; the way he watches me, the way his eyes roam my body. But he’s Anthony’s best friend and they work together, so he can’t be all that bad.
I can’t help how my smiles turn fake and my stomach knots at the thought of having to spend another evening with him.
Biting my lip, I inch my way to the grand double doors with ornate gold handles. Hopefully a kiss and the promise of his favorite meal will be enough for Anthony’s stress to alleviate.
“N-no. I’m sorry. So sorry. This will never happen again. I promise, Mr. Cole. Never.”
Is the man crying now?
Depressing the thumb lever, I open the door with silence. Anthony likes the house to be kept in pristine condition, so the door doesn’t even squeak when I open it.
I stop halfway through the door and my hand grips the door handle harder than before.
What the hell is going on here?
There is a man on his knees on the cherry wood floors and he’s staring up at a handgun that is leveled at his head. Make that two handguns. One in Pierce’s hand, and one in Anthony’s. Pierce and Anthony’s backs are to me, and I think the man is one of Anthony’s employees, but it’s hard to tell because his face is beaten to hell. He has cuts actively dripping blood down his face and one eye is swollen shut. Who did that to him? Was it Anthony?
“Goddamn right it won’t happen again,” Anthony says nonchalantly. Ice runs through my veins at his calm voice. He seems so relaxed, but the tick in his jaw says he’s anything but.
Maybe the gun is just a threat.
But then Anthony nods to Pierce and they squeeze their triggers in unison. The double boom bounces off the bookshelves lining the walls and rings through my ears.
I can’t stop the audible gasp that escapes my mouth. My free hand shakes as I watch the blood stream from the two holes in Henry.
One in the heart. One in the head.
The lifeless eyes burrow into my soul and eat away at the happy bubble I was living in.
Realizing my presence is no longer a secret, I look up and catch Anthony’s gaze. His pretty blue eyes are not the warm ocean breeze I know them to be—they’re sharp as ice. Specks of red dot his face and clothing; his mouth pulls up into a grin. Beside him, Pierce chuckles.
“You should have knocked, Flower.”
Before Anthony can say anymore, I turn and flee. My feet are no longer quiet on the hardwood floors, and I don’t care.
“Oh, Floooower!”
I run through the living room and entryway, straight for the front door and fumble with the keypad. All the exterior doors have keypads on the inside and outside. My hands don’t stop shaking as I type in the four-digit code.
1-7-2-1
But the light still blinks red.
1-7-2-1
I pull viciously on the door, but it doesn’t budge.
“That door won’t work, Spencer.” Anthony’s voice comes from the top of the stairs.
I flip around with my back pressed to the thick white door. My breath rapidly heaves in and out of my lungs, threatening to pull me into unconsciousness.
I can’t let that happen.
I try to focus, darting my eyes around for the next exit, I mentally decide on the exterior door off one of the guest bedrooms down the hall, towards the back of the house. I don’t want to go by the stairs where Anthony is probably descending—probably to kill me.
“We just want to talk,” Pierce calls out.
Shit. Shit. Shit. They’re both coming.
Pushing off the front door, I spring down the hallway. My heartbeat is in my ears as I pump my arms. I dart into the first room and go for the French door. Each guestroom has a four-poster queen bed with simple yet comfortable bedding, an exterior door, and an updated en suite. Anthony pushed me to update the guest rooms when I moved in. He wanted me to make the house my own.
Panting and trembling with adrenaline, I type in the code again.
1-7-2-1
Still locked.
What the hell?
In the next room, it’s the same.
Did he change the code? How? When?
Footsteps echo down the hall, and I force myself to think fast. I open the closet, the bathroom door, and curtains. Hopefully it’ll make them think I searched the room and moved on.
Praying I fit, I lie flat on my stomach and squeeze under the wooden bed frame. My ass barely makes the cut, but now I’m tucked away with my head at the foot of the bed. Laying my cheek to the carpet so I can see in the two inches of space between the bed skirt and the floor, I cover my mouth with my hand and attempt to slow my speedy breathing. It’s impossible, but I have to try, or they’ll hear me. Then who knows what will happen next.
I don’t want to find out.
A pair of brown leather Oxfords come into view as they stroll into the bedroom. “Spencer, dear. Come out, come out wherever you are.”
Pierce.
There’s no way in hell I’m coming out from under the bed.
He paces back and forth in front of the bed, less than a foot from where I hide. He throws things around in the closet and does a quick check of the bathroom. “She’s not in the second guest room but definitely came this way.”
How are they talking to each other? Shit. I need to get out of here.
I left my keys in my studio above the garage which is through the kitchen and off the laundry room—on the other side of the house. If I make it over there, I can get through a window in my studio and to my Jeep in the driveway.
Waiting until I can no longer hear Pierce’s footsteps, I inch out from under the bed. With my heart in my throat, I lean my head out the open doorway cautiously and look both ways down the hall. The tap tap tap of footsteps comes from above me and I assume Pierce is on the second floor.
I ignore the quiver in my knees and take measured strides down the hallway.
“Flowerrrrrr.” Another round of chills zips up and down my back at Anthony’s call for me. “Floooooower.” His voice comes from upstairs, but I can’t tell from where exactly. I compel myself to move again even though my mind is screaming at me to go back to the safety under the bed.
Maybe I can hide there and eventually they’ll give up and leave.
Fat chance. Anthony and Pierce are like sharks. They will do anything to close a deal. I doubt that kind of focus just goes away.
At the end of the hallway, I pause and open my ears, scanning for noise.
A clank rings out from the second floor.
Desperate to believe they’re both back in Anthony’s office, I creep through the living room and kitchen. Every step brings another wave terror. Terror at the thought of being spotted. Terror at the possibility of making an accidental noise.
I jump and a scream almost escapes me when a crash of thunder shakes the windows along the back of the house. Allowing my gaze to wander above me, I check for any signs that they heard my almost shriek.
A flash of lightning casts light on the second floor and I see a reflection in the window of a figure outlined on the balcony right above me.
My fiancé smiles wide as he says, “Gotcha.”
Breaking out into a sprint, I pass the scratchy, gray fabric couches and white coffee table in the living room, then the marble counters and the marinara and garlic aroma in the kitchen.
The French door to the laundry room is glass and will do nothing to hide my presence. Even with the lights off in there, the space is still partially illuminated by the kitchen lighting. The storm outside helps hide the moon, but it only aids so much in dimming its light.
I just pray I make it in there before he gets off the last step.
“You’re not going to get far, Flower!”
Throwing open the French door, it bangs on the wall and bounces back as I dart across the tile. The heavy door now blocking my way to the garage offers me sanctuary. But when the sound of Anthony making his way down the stairs in the living room makes it to my ears, I freeze. My body locks up and I can’t breathe.
Shit. This is not happening right now.
Hoping this plan works twice, I open the garage door all the way and fit myself inside the laundry dumbwaiter. I shut the cabinet behind me seconds before Anthony tears through the laundry room.
“She went through the garage.”
“Probably going up to her studio,” Pierce replies.
They’re both in here. My heart rate doubles, and a stab of anxiety goes through my gut.
Will they find me? Will they shoot me like they shot Henry?
One to the heart. One to the head.
Two creaks come from the metal transition when they each step on it and cross into the garage, but I don’t dare let out a breath just yet. I wait and count to thirty before I grip the rope and use the pulley to move from the laundry room to the master bathroom on the second floor.
This is the only thing in the house that has yet to get an update and requires someone to use the pulley system for it to move. Thankfully, it’s silent.
I jolt and halt when another “ Flowerrrrr” echoes through the house. Forcing a deep breath in my lungs, I get moving again.
He hasn’t found me yet. He hasn’t found me yet.
I chant the mantra over and over, praying it’s true.
Making it to the top, I open the cabinet, step out, and search for my next hiding spot.
I won’t fit anywhere in here. The cabinets are all full, and the shower has a glass door. On light feet I go into the bedroom I share with Anthony. The door is ajar, but no one is in sight.
“You check the library again at the end of the hall. I’ll check the bedroom.”
Fuck.
I scramble and quietly dive under the king-size bed. Keeping my eye on the door, I take up my post, looking for either of them.
Anthony makes an appearance and lingers in the doorway.
“Oh, Floooooower.”
A sob threatens to leave me, but I bite my tongue and swallow it down.
His feet carry him to the bathroom. “Clever, Flower. Very clever using the dumbwaiter.”
Shit. I must have left the cabinet open.
I squeeze my eyes shut and cover my mouth again. A silent shaky breath releases from my mouth.
Scanning the bathroom, he knocks around items in his search.
He hasn’t found me yet. He hasn’t found me yet.
“Hello, Flower.”
My eyes bug open, and I finally let out the scream lodged in my throat as Anthony grips my hands and drags me out from under the bed.
He grabs my hair at the crown of my head and lifts me to my feet. I hold on to his wrist in an attempt to ease some of the pain radiating across my scalp.
“You shouldn’t have run,” Anthony spits in my face.
“No! Let go!” I get my feet under me and kick in the one spot I know will hurt him the most—right between his legs. Anthony groans and falls to his knees, freeing my hair.
With Anthony blocking the doorway, I turn and run for the window, my only escape. I’m sure I can jump in a way that won’t injure me too badly.
I wrench open the window as rainwater flows onto the carpet. Bracing my hands on either side of the sill, I step up.
But before I can make it out, a hand snags my foot and pulls me backward. My legs slip out from under me, and my head crashes into the glass. Bile rises in my throat as the room spins. Blood slides down my cheek from the top of my head.
Anthony grips my hair again. “Now look what you did! You’re a mess!” He turns with his hand still in my hair and drags me out of our room.
“You’re hurting me,” I whimper as tears roll down my face. “Please stop.”
“There’s the little troublemaker.” Pierce’s smile is too wide when he sees me at the top of the stairs. He’s waiting at the bottom next to the buffet table that sits behind the couch.
I trip as Anthony forces me down the steps, but he doesn’t stop to allow me to right myself. Instead, he drags me by my hair the rest of the way, and I cry out harder.
“Please, honey. It hurts.”
Anthony doesn’t even spare me a glance. “Good. Let this be a lesson.” He drags me right by Pierce and into the kitchen. My scalp is on fire as he holds on firmly to my hair. I couldn’t stop the tears even if I wanted to.
His hold loosens and he throws my head at the tile like I’m nothing more than a ball that will bounce right back up. But I don’t bounce back. My head meets the ceramic tile with a crash, and I see stars. My vision threatens to go black, but I fight to stay conscious.
“P-please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Old Henry said the same thing, but he wasn’t really sorry.” Pierce looms over me.
I scramble back in a crab walk until I hit the front of the oven.
“Spencer, Spencer. What am I going to do with you now?” Anthony has his gun out now and waves it around.
My sob brings his focus back to me on the floor. He casually saunters over to me and crouches down so he’s at eye level with me. “If you weren’t my Flower, I’d kill you right here. Right now.”
He uses the barrel of his gun to move hair that had fallen in my face. I freeze when I feel the cold metal drag across my skin. “You need to learn your place. Over the last few years, I let you roam and be free. I let your petals dance in the wind. But the time has come to understand that your place is at my side, and being by my side means I’m in charge. You do what I say, when I say.”
My mouth goes dry, but I still force the words out. “Okay. I will. I promise. I won’t say anything.”
“Not good enough, Flower.” He shakes his head at me and scratches his forehead with the barrel. “What were you doing in my office?”
He aims the gun at my head, and I struggle to turn my thoughts into words. All I’m able to do is stare at the small black hole in the center.
“I would answer his question, Flower.” Pierce flourishes his gun to the side. He looks way too happy watching the scene in front of him.
“You don’t call her that!”
Pierce holds his hands out in a placating gesture. “No problem, man. Just you.”
My mouth flops open and closed. “I was coming to tell you dinner is ready.” Snot mixes with my tears.
Anthony stares me down like he’s trying to find the lie. But there’s no lie. If he would just look in the oven, he’d find the lasagna where I left it to keep warm.
“I swear. I made your favorite.”
“Just like a good little wife.” Pierce laughs.
“No more going in my office.” It’s not a request. It’s a demand. He’s letting me know his word is law, and I better fall in line.
I nod my head violently, hoping he interprets it as enthusiasm. Right now, I’m praying that agreeing with anything he says will keep me safe. That’s what they say to do in the movies, right? Play along.
Pushing my luck, I turn over onto my knees and crawl to him. “I promise. No more going into your office.”
“Do you want to know why we shot him?”
Shaking my head, I swallow the lump in my throat and answer him. “No. It’s none of my business.”
“Damn right, it’s not.” Pierce appears next to Anthony.
“You’re going to have to prove it to me, Flower.”
Dread floods my heart. “H-how?”
“I’m so glad you asked.” Anthony smirks down at me then turns. “Pierce.”
In a flash, Pierce lifts me up by my arms. He pulls me over to the countertop and slams me down on the cold marble. My head spins when it makes contact, and my breath is knocked out of my lungs.
I move to sit up, but Pierce holds me down by my shoulders. Kicking out my legs, I squirm and try to break free of his hold.
Anthony undoes his belt as he approaches me. The clink of the buckle echoes in my ears and draws my attention.
He’s hard.
Oh God. Please no.
“What are you doing? Anthony! Stop!” I already know the answer, but this can’t be what I think it is. He’s a good man. A loving man.
“You’re going to give me exactly what I want.” The zipper is loud and reveals his red silk boxers with the head of his dick poking through.
I thrash with more vigor, but Pierce holds firm.
This isn’t right. This isn’t the man I know.
“Stop moving!” A sting rushes across my cheek as my head is thrown to the side. I gasp in pain, and a metallic taste floods my mouth.
“I said to stop moving!” A gun is thrust into my mouth, and I freeze. Sobs freely leave me, along with more salty tears.
Anthony leans down and licks the side of my face. “This is happening, Flower.”
The gun leaves my mouth, and another slap on my other cheek forces my face to the side. A knife cuts my clothing to pieces, revealing my skin.
“You’re going to be with me forever.”
Thrust.
“You’re going to have my children.”
Thrust.
“You’re going to do anything and everything I say.”
Thrust .
“You’re going to marry me and be my good little wife, giving me this cunt whenever I want it.”
Thrust .
A laugh reverberates above me through the room.
Laying there, I just take it. I listen to every command and nod my head when told to do so. Silent tears track down my face, enraging Anthony further.
I have no power here. No control. There’s nothing I can do but lay here while the man I once loved chips away pieces of my soul.
Each motion in and out breaks the purity of the love I thought we had.
If I lie here and just take it, maybe he’ll let me go. Maybe this will be it, and I can forget tonight ever happened.
When Anthony is done, Pierce goes to take up his spot.
No no no no no. I can’t do this again. No. Please no.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Anthony shoves Pierce away from my limp body.
Pierce lifts his hands in a placating gesture. “Sharing in the spoils.”
“She’s mine! Back off! If you want to fuck something, use your hand or go help break in our newest shipment.”
Pierce’s face turns red with fury as he stares down Anthony. When his anger turns to me, I attempt to cover up my ripped clothing. He gives me a wink and leaves.
Anthony lifts me and tosses me on to the floor. My head ricochets against the tile. The nausea in my stomach finally comes up and coats the floor. I’m unable to move with all the aches and pains screaming throughout my body.
“Don’t bother coming up to our bed. You can sleep here on the cold floor and think about what you did. I don’t want to punish you, but flowers have to learn their place.”