Chapter 21
MAE
“Fuck!”
The two private security guards stationed outside Peter’s door jump in unison the moment the heavy fire door to the stairwell bursts open, the siren blaring until it slams shut behind me.
“You scared the shit out of us,” the one on the left says.
They’re hired to keep my husband away from me, yet here I am, seeking him out. “I’m sorry. I need to speak with Peter.” When they don’t budge but share a questionable glance, I approach my demand differently. “Damon ordered Marco to stand down. The same applies to you. So please, just let me in.”
The same guard holds up his index finger while he makes the call. His stoic gaze remains on mine while saying, “Ms. Ellison is here.” A few beats pass, and he ends the call while stepping aside.
Surprised by the instruction, the guard on the right reluctantly follows suit. “It might be better if we come in with you, Ms. Ellison.”
“That won’t be necessary. I won’t be long.”
He nods and opens the door, letting me pass. It takes me a few seconds to gather my bearings because being a single story, the large suite has a completely different layout. Peter, having heard the door close, rounds the corner, his brow furrowing in confusion.
You sick, repulsive fuck.
It takes everything within my willpower not to charge straight at him and send us both smashing through the floor-to-ceiling windows. After all, I have nothing left to lose. If I plummet to my death, taking with me at least one asshole who deserves his final breath stolen, then I’d call that a win.
“Come in,” he says, still wearing tonight’s formal attire. With dress pants on and his white shirt hanging open, it reveals the storm of bruising covering his torso.
He got off easy.
Without a word, I follow him through the suite until we reach the formal living room, a dimly lit lamp in the corner offering a warm glow.
“Sit,” he gestures to the single chair.
“I’ll stand.”
“Drink?” he asks, pouring himself a scotch.
“No.”
Peter turns a fraction, curiously eyeing me and my uncharacteristic poor manners he evidently doesn’t appreciate. “You look like shit. You two break up?”
A hand I know isn’t real wraps itself around my throat, threatening to cinch tighter with every breath. “Were you ever planning on telling me?”
He carefully places the stopper on the crystal decanter, using the time to construct his most cutting reply. “There are a lot of things I was never planning on telling you. You’ll have to be more specific.”
His mockery fuels my rage. “I know what you did, you bastard.”
It’s almost as if he’s mentally running through a catalog of his atrocities, approving each one. “Coming in strong, I see. And what exactly is it you know?”
“What you and Carlson did to me the night of his party.”
“Well, congratulations. I see your fuck friend finally came through with the goods. I was wondering when he’d let it spill.”
Damon’s betrayal, as fresh and raw as it is, cuts like a knife, and it’s impossible not to wince against the pain it inflicts. “If he had his way, it would’ve remained his and your dirty little secret.”
Peter throws his head back and laughs at my evident misfortune of having been so royally screwed over by someone I placed my trust in. “I bet that went down like a lead balloon. Although, I did try to warn you.”
“You think this is funny?”
“At the moment, yes , because you’ve yet to inform me of what it is exactly you know. Don’t be shy, I want the details.” Peter sips his scotch, daring me to indulge him.
“Your level of depravity deserves some serious recognition, Peter.” His gaze narrows, curious as to the direction of my plight. “Was that your idea or Carlson’s ?” His deliberate silence feeds my hatred of him. “I guess you both would have spoken at great length on how best to destroy my life. Who would play what role and lead the assault.”
Peter cocks a brow, and I figure he’s got to be wondering just how deep Damon has sunk him and his brother. “Well, haven’t you come in all guns blazing? Finally found your backbone?”
“I never lost it. Perhaps it’s just been fractured by your constant abuse over the years because, in hindsight, I realize you’ve always had a mean streak. I just never ever imagined how underhandedly cruel you would become with it.” Even as I say the words, it doesn’t surmount the damage he’s caused. “What kind of sick son of a bitch tortures his wife day in and day out? What kind of disgusting fucker loans his wife’s body to his brother?”
He’s loving the exchange, and a malignant grin twists his lips. “Because you made it so damn easy for us, honey.”
Sickened, I study the wretched man I promised myself to and question how I’d got it so spectacularly wrong. “ My body is not your fair game.”
“Oh, but it was, and you know me, I’m not one to waste such a golden opportunity. And if there isn’t an opportunity, I’ll simply make one.”
Peter’s irises are void of anything salvageable or humane. “By drugging me?”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“You’re a goddamn asshole. I’d be a fool to think you could ever show any remorse for what you’ve done.”
He takes a long sip and looks at me over the rim of his scotch glass, toying with my anger because it’s a novelty to him. Over the years, he’s beaten me into submission and stolen my voice on too many occasions. Now, taking his time, he carefully places the glass on the coffee table before sweeping his cruel eyes back to mine. “You’re absolutely right, honey. I wouldn’t change a single thing. Except we should have done it more.”
I itch to hurt him, but no matter what I do, it will never match what he’s done to me. “I hope that tasted good on your tongue, Peter, because it’s the last time you’ll ever utter those words.”
He takes another step forward, a quiet threat to incur my retreat, but I’m not cowering to him anymore, so I remain rooted to the spot. “You seem mighty confident about that.”
“After what I discovered tonight, I’m not scared of you anymore. It will never again be my word against yours. Now I have all I need to finally be rid of you.”
Peter tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, growing further critical when I shirk away from his touch. “You’ve always been so painfully gullible. It’s sad, really.” He inhales deeply as if bored by my presence. “Nevertheless, curiosity has got the better of me. Tell me, honey, in explicit detail, what it is you think I’ve done to you.”
As the words leave my mouth, I fight the wave of revulsion they attempt to drown me in. “I know you and your brother drugged me at his house the night of his birthday party. You took me to The Palms Motel, and there you both raped me.”
“And?”
My heart hammers in my chest. “And what?”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” When I don’t know how to respond, Peter’s cruel smile spreads. “I said I wanted explicit detail, honey. And since you’re not giving it to me, I suspect the bare bones is all you know.”
I want to murder him.
I want to smash the crystal decanter over his skull and watch him bleed the fuck out.
“Perhaps you should be asking if I regret it?” He baits. “In which case, the answer would be no . No, I don’t regret any of it.”
My fist flies at his face, but he catches it a fraction before impact. With a smooth transition, he hooks my arm behind my back and turns me away from him. Forcing the bend, he waits until I can’t handle the searing pain any longer, and I scream, “Stop! Please .”
Satisfied he’s gained the upper hand once more, Peter pushes me forward into the single chair. Then, twisting my hair around his fist until it’s close to tearing from my scalp, he tilts my face to meet his.
“You know why I don’t regret it?” The violence in his eyes is something I’m familiar with, but it still sends a shiver of fear up my spine. “Because the idea of having you completely at my will was too good an opportunity to pass up. Even if it meant I had to share you.”
“You’re disgusting!”
“Honey, you have no idea of the truly disgusting, truly reprehensible things Carlson and I did to you. Repeatedly .” When humiliation burns my cheeks, he continues, “But I guess you’ll never know because Damon never told you, did he?”
“ He doesn’t want me to ever know.”
Dragging his teeth over his smiling bottom lip, he releases my hair with a violent jolt. “He’s seen the video, Mae, right through to the very end. They all did. Seventy-two hours ago, each one of those assholes you sat with on the plane had been watching you in all your stupefied glory.”
The reality he callously presents feeds into the horror I’ll never overcome. The betrayal from them all, Damon especially, festers like an open wound. But still, I hold onto the sliver of hope. “He’s not you !”
There’s a scoff, a mockery of my naivety. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe Damon wants to keep that vision for himself? I bet… leaning in, Peter whispers, “… I bet he even gets off on watching it.”
He wouldn’t!
Lingering, the asshole kisses my cheek with a simple but effective taunt. It burns my skin, and I turn my face in recoil. “Not everyone is as sick or demented as you.”
Unaffected, he straightens and pours another scotch before sliding it across the coffee table toward me. “He’s just another version of me, honey. They all are.”
“That’s not true.”
Is it?
For a long moment, my husband considers my pitiful allegiance while he composes his next cutting reply. “I don’t know what he’s done to get you opening your legs like a common whore, or what lies you’ve interpreted as sweet nothings to have you so gullible to his cause, but I can promise you, Mae, Damon Shaw does not give a fuck about you, and his handshake on the tarmac to keep it all a secret should be proof enough.”
The knife he wields twists in my heart. “You don’t know—”
“Jesus Christ, Mae! He only came clean because his game was up. You, honey. You are his game. Just like you are mine.” Peter observes the damage he’s causing and continues, “But I won’t give the guy too much credit. He simply found what makes you vulnerable and played on it.”
“ And you didn’t?”
His smirk widens, even more so when I take the glass of scotch offered and wince as it burns my throat. “You never were a good drinker.”
I might be a fool, but it almost sounds endearing.
Standing, I wipe my sodden face and ignore his curious stare. Turning my back on him, I look out over the Gulf and think of Damon, and what’s left of my broken heart shatters into a million pieces. Peter appears in the reflection of the window, carefully watching my every move like he’s always done.
“Damon may have cashed in on damage already done, but you were my husband, Peter. You swore to protect me, and you took it upon yourself to do everything but.”
“ Were? ” He raises his brows. “I am your husband.”
I swing around to face him, wishing I could scratch out his eyes. “Let me be real clear for you. Our marriage is dead to me. You are dead to me.”
Peter places his drink aside, and I’m met with the very real notion that I may not leave this suite unscathed.
“You are my wife . Not was . Not maybe . Not soon-to-be over . You may be riding Damon’s cock at the moment like he’s your knight and you’re the village whore, but I promise you, Mae, that man used you to get to me. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about Mae Ellison. When you handed him your pussy on a silver platter, you gave him permission to destroy us.”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Of course he has. No sane person would ever commit the atrocities he has. But to expect me to still hold up my end of the marital oath after everything he’s put me through is the most absurd notion yet. “As soon as we land on US soil, I’ll be taking every fucked-up piece of information I have on you and Carlson straight to the police.”
Just not to Frank Brunello or Officer Brandon.
My husband’s eyes narrow into thin slits. “I wouldn’t be so cavalier with your threats, honey.”
“Or what , Peter? You’ve already done your worst.”
“Is that right?” He advances, each menacing step forcing me back. “You think that was my worst?”
A part of me, that bit that twists knots in my stomach, tells me he is actually capable of worse. Because the man standing before me is lost in the darkness he’s created, and he’s only sinking further into it with no desire to escape.
“You tried to destroy me, but you failed, Peter. Now I’m going to destroy you, and everyone you know will discover the sick, heinous fuck you genuinely are."
He acts so fast, I feel his hand around my throat before even noticing any movement. Incensed by my evident disgust for him, he cinches, fingers digging deep when he hurls me onto the coffee table with the strength and brutality I’ve experienced one too many times before. It holds sturdy under the impact, but the tall porcelain vase on top catapults to the floor, shattering beyond repair. I’m left brutally winded, each breath excruciating. In my vulnerable state, Peter is on me in a hot second, his hand back to circling my throat and pulling my face to meet his.
“You want to destroy me?” he seethes through barred teeth. “Let’s revisit how you’ve been fucking around with Damon.” I claw desperately at his hand, feeling skin tear under my nails. Unperturbed, he squeezes tighter, his lip curling in derision. “How my wife, the fucking slut , thinks she can make a mockery of me by holding a gun to my head. You didn’t think I’d forget, did you? But look at you now. Not so brave without your lying sack of shit bodyguards. Tell me something, honey.” While his grip tightens, determined to see my end, his free hand finds a path between my legs. “Did it make you wet having me on my knees while you threatened to pull the trigger? Did the taste of power turn you on?”
I gasp, wasting what’s left of my breath on him. “I should have ended you when I had the chance.” Swiping at his face, I drag my long nails across his cheek. The deep gauge draws a thick line of blood, inspiring me to repeat the motion on the other side. Peter retaliates, backhanding me so hard, I’m flung off the table. Tasting blood in my mouth, I stagger to my feet.
“But you didn’t,” he snarls, fists clenched at his sides, ready to hurt me more. “That was your first mistake.”
I want to laugh, but I’m exhausted and my breathing is ragged. “No, the first mistake was marrying you. That ends now. And when I’m done, you two assholes will be put away for a very long time where all you’ll have for your sick entertainment is a lineup of other assholes .”
Slamming his hands on my chest, he pushes me hard against the wall where the back of my head smacks onto the glass picture frame. It cracks, jagged pieces raining over my shoulders and down my dress. It’s enough of a distraction that I don’t see him take another swing. But I feel it.
Peter’s fist connects sharply with my cheek, the brutal force seeing me hit the floor and landing in the debris of the broken vase, the unforgiving edges slicing into exposed skin.
Hovering above, he watches me writhe in pain. “Threaten me again, honey. I dare you.”
“I don’t need to threaten. There’s no escaping what’s coming for you.”
He lands a kick to my ribs, the brutality of it leaving me without fight when Peter straddles my lap. Cupping the back of my neck, he draws my face up to his. Something pierces my throat, and when I blink to clear the fog, I find him holding a palm-sized piece of vase against my vein right below the scar from the last occasion he wanted to end me.
Nostrils flaring, Peter’s eyes are bloodshot and blinded with revenge. “Open that pretty mouth of yours and threaten me with how you’re going to tell your pitiful tales to the next person who will listen.” In his tirade, spittle hits my face as Peter presses his weapon of choice into my flesh. It punctures the skin, and he marks his first stage of victory with my scream. He pushes the porcelain deeper, watching with ill-gotten power as blood gushes down my neck, pooling between his fingers and at the base of my head. “Look at me, honey. I’m about to finish what your daddy started all those years ago. What I should have done in Big Bear. Now without Carlson here, I finally get to watch you bleed the fuck—”
There’s a deafening pop, a frightening single-shot bang assaulting the room. The noise smacks my ears, and my eyes squeeze shut when something thick and warm splatters over my face. A heavy weight crushes me, and through my confusion, it takes a moment to register what’s transpired. I pull my sticky eyes open again, seeing the top of Peter’s head, his face nestled into my neck. He’s not moving because he’s now a dead weight, his blood and body matter coating me.
A gargled shriek sounds. It’s coming from me, but I’m in an elevated state of panic, my screams feeding the hysteria. I push at his shoulders, but he doesn’t move. I’m encased under a lifeless body, claustrophobia trapping me in my own head, unable to pull me back into survival mode.
A figure approaches, and I blink rapidly, squinting to see better under my bloodied lashes.
Damon.
He stands there, chest heaving, a face full of fury.
And his Glock pointed straight at me.
~
DAMON
Three seconds.
That’s all it would have taken.
Less than an intake of breath, and I would have witnessed her death.
Now, in the wake of the destruction he and I have created, all I see is Mae’s living horror.
She’s buried beneath her husband, blood and traces of him splattered over her ghostly pale face, a gut-wrenching scream echoing throughout the suite.
Collateral damage in order to save her from his final act of destruction.
In order not to lose her .
With just three more seconds at his disposal, Peter would have succeeded.
Panicking, Mae futilely pushes her husband’s shoulders, but she’s trapped under the dead weight. In the jostling, the piece of vase slips from his lifeless fingers, its sharp, jagged point coated in her blood.
Her screams give way to a tortured wail, the effect weakening my adrenaline. I step into her line of sight, and like a woodland creature staring down the barrel of my gun, Mae’s eyes flash a new kind of fear.
To her, she’s one monster down, another to go.
“Fuck!” Jason reaches my side, slightly out of breath. Hearing the quiet panic in his voice, it kicks the racing of my heart up a notch. “Brother, this isn’t good.”
Lowering my Glock, I step toward the destruction I’ve created. I want the asshole off her, but her cry becomes primal the closer I get.
Jason rounds on me, half-blocking my progress, his hand wrapping tight around my arm. “Damon!” The way he speaks my name tells me I’ve well and truly lost control of the situation. “She doesn’t want you right now. Let’s first get this in hand. Okay?”
He’s right.
I’m only going to make this worse, and while having a dead body with a hole in the head may already seem like the worst predicament, the lifelong repercussions to follow could easily exceed that.
Jason’s grip loosens upon Marco’s arrival.
“Security is gone, and the lifts are locked,” I hear him call from the entry door as he secures it behind him. His booted footsteps slow as he rounds the corner of the living room and takes in the scene before us. “Okay,” he exhales, raking a hand through his short hair. “ Fuck! ” He’s seen far worse in wartime, but his soft spot for Mae now has him visibly affected. In what feels like a lifetime ago when Peter and Mae rolled through the gates for the dinner party, Marco told me he’d seen the same terrified look in her eyes that he hadn’t seen since his last deployment. It triggered something within him he thought he’d lost somewhere in the Afghan desert. Now, he’s by her side because I can’t be. Leaving me alone, Jason follows suit, and I know, for now, she’ll be okay.
But it should be me.
I want to cradle her in my arms and carry her away from the devastation, but my touch will only serve as a reminder of what she ran from.
I want to whisper against her ear that I’ll stitch her life back together if she’d only trust me again.
I want forgiveness for every fucked-up thing I’ve done to her, yet I’m simply another Peter, maybe not cut from the same cloth but just as destructive.
I want her to be mine .
The obstacle is finally gone, dead and growing colder by the second.
But now I’m a murderer.
A double-edged sword, and I lose either way.
Jason and Marco roll a lifeless Peter off Mae, and it’s then I see the extent of the blood coating her neck and coagulating in her hair. Her blood . It pulsates, spewing from her wound because the asshole drove the porcelain in deep.
Three seconds .
“Take her to the shower,” I tell Jason, who holds his hand over her neck wound, blood seeping between his fingers.
It should be me.
He holds my stare, unable to mask his unease. There is no easy out. We’re in a foreign country with a dead body on our hands, and we’re reliant on our connections to pull the right strings. Worse still, Mae is bleeding out and in need of urgent care.
Everything in me wants to take over from the men attending her side.
Instead, I step out of her line of sight and watch Jason carry a weakening Mae in his arms as he crosses the suite to the bathroom, a thin trail of blood left in their wake. Marco heads in the opposite direction, leaving the suite to retrieve his medical supplies.
So, here I find myself, alone with the mess that had to be made.
This situation is beyond Faheem’s pay grade, and while completely trustworthy, the fewer people who know about it, the better. Sliding the Glock in my belt, I dial President Ziyad’s number.
After the third ring, he answers, “ Marhaba , Damon.”
I open my mouth to greet the Sheikh but hesitate. There will be no going back after this discussion is had. There will be only consequences. And, if I’m lucky, a convincing narrative as to how the asshole lost his life in a foreign land.
“Damon?”
“ Marhaba , Ziyad.” Looking out the window across the moonlit Gulf with Peter’s lifeless body in the reflection, I take a step toward a fate which promises no safe journey. “I, ah… I need a favor.”
~
MAE
“Hold this here.”
Jason’s order is accompanied by a gentleness I never knew he possessed. Taking my hand, he carefully places it over a folded towel now covering the wound on my neck.
Then, he strips me naked.
Jason tears my dress with an ease that would be shocking on any other day, but he stands before me a different man. I should be horrified as he goes about removing each item of clothing, but tonight, I’m also a different woman, forever changed by the callous and cruel actions of the men in my life. His fingers gently brush my skin when he unclasps my bra and removes my underwear, then taking my free hand, he guides me under the hot shower stream.
“Close your eyes, Mae.” He then murmurs, “Hold your breath.”
Doing as I’m told, the gruesome remnants of Peter start to wash away. I feel them— him —slipping over my body before pooling at my feet and finally disappearing down the drain.
Stupefied with shock and with nothing left to give, I fear Peter managed to destroy the last breath of my soul before he died. My teeth chatter, but I’m not cold. Adrenaline has waned, shock has set in, and reality seems lost somewhere amidst all the lies, abuse, and death.
Jason moves through the motions, sitting me on the marble ledge when my legs grow weak. From there, he washes my hair twice until the water turns clear, then he runs the soapy washer over my neck and chest while steering clear of any wounds. There’s no protest when he scrubs my body because I’m desperate to be rid of my husband and every awful thing he’s ever done to me.
Rinsing the blood from the cloth, Jason’s gaze meets mine with a subtle double take. After a few beats and no doubt wondering if I’m of sound mind, his low voice issues a subtle warning.
“It was either you or him, Mae.” He searches for a sign I’ve heard and understood, but I’m too numb to give any assurance. The shower has saturated his right side, clothes clinging to his lean, muscled body, but Jason doesn’t seem to care. His priority is my cooperation. “Your husband had every intention of slitting your throat and watching you bleed out. If Damon hadn’t gotten there when he did…”
I’d be dead.
That fate now belongs to my tormentor, taken care of with a single bullet to the back of the head.
My only regret is that it wasn’t me who pulled the damn trigger.
Determined to gain my allegiance, Jason places a finger under my chin and tilts my face to his. “Mae, I know you’re in shock… that’s expected. But before you leave this bathroom tonight, I need to know that you understand what I’m saying. Damon did what he had to.”
When I swallow, a hard lump lodges in my throat, and the two words I struggle to sound are fractured. “I know.”
Jason considers me a long moment, and convinced I’ve pledged my allegiance to the best of my ability, he continues tending to my wound. It doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel a thing. But the look in his eyes as he cleans away the coagulated blood and the wince of his concentrated face tells me significant damage has been done. Eventually, he turns off the shower, quickly places a clean, dry towel back over the wound, and wraps the rest of me in a white bathrobe.
He takes my hand and without saying a word, leads me out of the bathroom and into a spare bedroom where Marco is waiting with medical supplies spread out on one side of the comforter. Offering a cautious smile that barely turns his lips, Marco takes over, and with a hand wrapped around my elbow, guides me onto the bed, where I lay on my side.
Jason takes his leave, softly closing the door behind him. In his absence, I stare out the window at the glittering lights of Dubai City and wonder what words of encouragement he’ll be passing on to Damon.
‘Mae Ellison won’t be a problem.’
‘She’ll keep her mouth shut.’
“Does it hurt?” Marco quietly asks, removing the bloodied towel from my neck.
“No,” I whisper.
“Well, just in case the shock wears off before I’m finished…” He finds the vein in the crease of my arm and injects me with what he says is Valium. His voice—soft and cajoling—lulls me into a conscious dream state while he tends to the damage Peter inflicted. He numbs the area and spends time properly cleaning the wound. Then, locked in the concentration of first tidying torn flesh, Marco makes a hissing sound between his teeth, quietly cursing. When it comes time for the stitches, I listen to his gentle rumble while he tells me of a woman he met in Afghanistan on his last tour and how I remind him so much of her.
I don’t have the heart to ask her fate because the moment of melancholy he thinks went unnoticed revealed his grief.
Our time is interrupted when Jason—visibly relieved Marco has stopped the bleeding—returns with fresh clothes. After a bandage is secured, the two men set about dressing me because my limbs are nothing more than dead weights. Just like how I was with Peter and Carlson, except they preferred a dead-like state.
I must sob because Jason and Marco pause, a grave look passing between them. Perhaps the same intrusive thought also occurred to them. After my dress in lowered, my wet hair combed, strong arms wrap around my waist, and I’m led down the hall to the living room. There, I still, my blank stare falling upon the one man who wanted nothing more than to drag me to hell with him.
He no longer has that power.
But this is far from over.
Peter’s bare foot pokes out from the sheet draped over his body. Innocuous but still a threat. Gone, and I don’t have a tear to shed.
Valium pumps through my veins, but I know even without it, I feel nothing for him.
No embers of anger.
No remnants of love.
Simply, nothing .
Then I see Damon. A solitary figure amongst the bleak aftermath of a volatile night’s end. He sits in the single chair, elbows on his knees, idly twisting a glass of scotch in his hands. His stare is fixed on the floor.
Then I feel everything .
Profound regret for completely losing myself in him.
Hatred for all the lies and deception.
Grief for what I thought we shared.
Mourning the loss of us .
Mourning him .
Dread knots my stomach with a palpable fear that far outweighs my own warring emotions.
Damon may have saved my life, but who will save his when it comes to a murder charge?
His cold, tired voice cuts through the silence like a knife. “The plane’s on standby,” he says to Marco, gaze unwavering. “Get Mae out of here.”