BloodSport

Prologue

Sloan

Terror.

Pure Terror.

It’s all I feel the second I see James enter through the bathroom door out of my periphery. My body immediately recoils in on itself at his presence.

James steps behind me as I’m finishing up my makeup, his whiskey eyes meet my violet ones in the mirror. They’re slightly glazed over while mine are dull, lifeless. The dark circles shadowed underneath mine concealed the best they can be.

“You must look respectable in front of my peers, Reesey, not like a whore. How would that make me look? Do you taunt them on purpose? Want them to fuck you like a whore?”

James’ words are like venom, always on a loop in my head as I apply a nude lip to make sure I don’t stand out too much tonight.

I watch him in the mirror as he eyes me up and down with a glint in his eye that I can’t quite read. Immediately making the hair stand up on the back of my neck and causing the pit in my stomach to grow just a little deeper.

I’m not sure how much deeper it can get before I swallow myself whole.

I barely even recognize myself anymore. I’ve lost so much weight since being married to the infamous Dr. James McAllister. Not just from him controlling everything that goes into my body to make sure I stay the picture-perfect trophy wife, but also from the anxiety that eats away at me.

I’m living every day in hell, a shell of who I used to be.

I spend every second of every day monitoring the shifts in James’ moods. It’s like I’m constantly walking on eggshells. Never able to let my guard down. Not even for a minute.

When did I become this woman? Why did I let myself?

I look down, trying to avoid meeting his eyes.

I used to be so confident. So sure of myself.

Not this scared girl. This ghost of a woman that I don’t even know.

The smell of whiskey already permeates the air around us causing my stomach to turn and my senses to go on even higher alert.

James is even harsher when he’s drinking.

It’s like the whiskey shuts his humanity off.

Well at least the little bit he has, the part he saves for his patients and his peers.

Our guests should be here any minute. The second they arrive he will slip on the mask of doting husband and world-renowned orthopedic surgeon.

In others’ eyes he’s “The perfect man.” I constantly hear “You’re so lucky to be loved by someone like him.”

I go to step away from him to exit the bathroom, but he cages me in.

“Look at me,” James all but snarls.

I look at him, leaning back against the sink, trying to keep the slightest bit of space between us.

When he goes to reach for one of the blonde curls hanging loosely on the side of my face, I take my chance and duck under his arm and make a run for it.

“Get back here you little bitch,” James seethes as I rush out of the bathroom door.

No. No. No. I just needed to make it a couple more minutes before guests start arriving, and I’m safe from harm.

This long sleeved, black velvet, mermaid style dress is elegant and classy. Appropriate for his colleagues and it covers all of the bruises he’s marred my skin with. However, it’s not the best for escaping.

I run down the stairs to get to the door as fast as I can, which is a challenge in these stupid black red-bottoms with a six-inch heel.

He demands I always wear them for his dinner parties, especially when there are other male surgeons from work.

I must always maintain the look as his perfect arm candy.

“Reese Sloan McAllister, I said get the fuck back here!” James growls so close.

The thought ‘Too close’ barely registers before he’s gripping my hair and yanking me backward. A gasp leaves my mouth with a whoosh at the impact of him wrenching me back into his chest. This is nothing new to me, but that doesn’t mean the pain hurts any less.

“I was going to be nice and flaunt my pretty little wife around the party tonight, but I think you’ll have to stay hidden like the bitch you are,” James snarls, dragging me by my hair to the cellar door.

“James, no. Please. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll behave,” I beg.

“You should have thought about that before you tried to look like a whore, Reesey,” James grits into my ear.

“Who did you curl your hair for, whore?” James questions menacingly while gripping my hair so hard I’m afraid he’s going to rip it out.

“Answer me!” James snarls.

My arm feels like it’s on fire where he grips it in a death grip. I’ll definitely have another bruise I’m going to have to cover up at the hospital. If only they knew their favorite “Silver Daddy” was a monster.

“Who the fuck are you trying to impress, huh? I know it’s not for me!” James growls with accusation.

“James, please. You’re hurting me.”

“You’re hurting me!” James mocks condescendingly.

The doorbell chimes. I thank whatever guardian angel I must have, who’s kept me alive this long.

“Saved by the bell, Reesey.” James smirks, disgust oozing out of him.

“Now be a good little whore and stay fucking quiet. Oh wait, that doesn’t matter now does it?” he chuckles sardonically shoving me into the cellar.

He slams the door in my face and locks it. There’s no use attempting to scream or pound on the door because James soundproofed his basement before I moved in. He didn’t exactly tell me, I learned the first time I upset him and I found myself locked down here.

It may be a finished basement with beautiful hardwood floors, but it’s still a prison. Four gray walls. No windows. No furniture. No blankets. Nothing soft to sit on. It’s not the worst place to be locked away but it’s certainly not comfortable either. I’ve hidden in less comfortable places.

There is one steel, windowless door that leads outside. It’s taunted me every time he’s locked me down here. Because of course it doesn’t just lock from the inside, it has several locks on the outside, that only James has a key for.

Each time James has thrown me in here, I’ve laid down in the center of the floor, staring up at the ceiling and daydreamed about ways to escape.

I’ve dreamt about what a life would be like to be free.

Free of the confinements of this marriage.

Free of this house. Free of this prison I got myself trapped in.

Every early encounter I’ve had with James plays like a video in my head. I beat myself up about all of the red flags I had niggles about but always pushed to the back of my mind because everyone else thought he was such a catch.

I often lie here and wonder if James’ ex-wife truly got into a car accident and died.

Did he play a part in her death? Did she crash her car on purpose because he drove her to the edge of insanity—like he’s done to me?

Did she ever consider crushing peanuts into his food to kill him—like I’ve dreamt of doing numerous times?

Did she think of ways to escape him—like I have?

Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be free of him, and death might be the only way out.

That thought crosses my mind more often than it should. Even as a child hiding under my bed, hoping the screams from my parents would just stop. I wished for safety, for peace, for quiet, but never for death.

Some days James leaves me down here for hours, at times even, more than a day.

He’s playing his sick twisted games, leaving me waiting.

The one good thing is I get time to dream of a better life away from him—that is until my very own nightmare has come back to retrieve me and take me back to my miserable reality.

If I run, I have a chance to live free of him. If I stay here any longer, I may die by the hands of this man.

I am done waiting for him to choose my fate.

I pushed him over the edge just enough tonight to get locked down here. But this time I was prepared with a copy of a key for my escape.

Tonight, I’m running as far the fuck away from this prison as my legs will take me. It’s time I take my life back or at least go out fighting for it.