Prologue #2
Her heart sank to her knees as she fought to pull the garments and his big hand away. She couldn’t breathe.
His arm clamped around her and held her while his other hand smashed even harder against her face. “You’re a liar and a bitch.”
She tried to shake her head.
His hold was so tight that she could do nothing.
As she struggled, the babies screamed louder.
“Shut the fuck up!” he shouted. Then he shoved her so hard that she slammed into the crib, shaking it violently.
She filled her lungs and rubbed her arm where he’d squeezed it so hard it would leave a massive bruise.
His gaze locked with hers. Red-hot anger left a blotchy stain across his cheeks and neck.
“Know this,” he said, his tone low and dangerous.
“If you ever walk out that door, I’ll find you—you know I can—” his gaze went to the babies screaming in the crib, “and I’ll put both those brats in the ground before you can scream.
I’ll make them pay for your disloyalty.” His eyes narrowed to slits.
“Want me to show you how I’ll do it? Pick one.
” A lip curled up in a sneer. “Save your favorite.”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, her heart pounding hard against her ribs. “No.” She steadied herself by holding onto the top rail of the crib. “Don’t...hurt them.”
“I won’t hurt them.” He stalked toward her, grabbed her arm and slung her away from the crib and the babies. “I’ll only hurt one of them. If you won’t pick, I’ll have to do it, like I do everything else around here.” He laid his hand over one of the babies’ faces.
“No!” she cried and flung herself at his back.
With his free arm, he backhanded her across the face, knocking her away. “Are you going to leave me?”
“No. Please. I wasn’t going to leave you.” She grabbed his arm in an attempt to drag it away from the baby’s mouth and nose. Already, the child’s squirming was becoming slower. “Please don’t hurt them.”
“You will never leave me,” he said. “You’re mine forever. Until death. Like you promised in our vows.”
So many times, she’d wished she were dead—every time he’d punched, kicked or choked her. But not now. Her babies needed her to protect them.
And she was failing. He was stronger than she was. She couldn’t fight him off the baby with her bare hands.
Out of the abject fear for her child’s life, she glanced around the room for any kind of weapon.
She snatched the lamp off the small table next to the rickety rocking chair, yanked the plug out of the wall and then raised it over her head.
In one desperate move, she crashed the base of the lamp over the top of his head.
His face slammed into the rail of the crib. He cursed and rounded on her. “Bitch,” he said through bloody lips and lunged for her.
She scurried backward toward the hallway and grabbed the side of the door.
As he dove toward her, she yanked the door hard.
His head slammed into the edge of the door, and he fell to the ground.
Before he could lurch to his feet, she kicked him in the face with her bare foot.
A hand reached out and closed around her ankle.
She kicked with her other foot, landing a blow against his nose.
He yelled and loosened his hold on her ankle.
She pushed free and started for the hall again but stopped. If she left him with the babies, he could make good on his threat and kill one, if not both of them. She couldn’t let that happen. Instead, she snagged the empty gym bag and leaped onto his back.
When he lifted his head, she looped the bag around his neck and pulled hard on the handles, leaning all her weight into it.
He bucked, his body rising off the floor.
She rode him like an angry bull at a rodeo, her legs wrapping tightly around his middle, her arms straining as she cinched the bag tightly around his throat.
He rose on his knees, his hand clawing at the bag around his throat. He made hissing sounds and then no sound at all. Reaching over his shoulder, he tried to grab her arms, missed and wrapped his fingers into her long hair, pulling hard enough it brought tears to her eyes.
For the safety of her children, she held on. If he pulled every hair out of her head, she’d gladly lose them if it meant her babies would live.
Her arms shook, and her back screamed with the pain of her effort. The babies’ frightened cries gave her the strength to persevere.
After what felt like forever, he toppled forward in a faceplant, his body limp, his struggles ceasing.
She didn’t loosen her hold until the man was completely still. Then she let go of the handles of the bag and pushed to her feet, her legs trembling, her arms weak.
Immediately, she went to her children, gathered them into her arms, sank her face into their soft necks and sobbed silently.
They were okay, but she doubted she’d ever be okay again. She’d just killed the man. He had friends who would make sure she spent the rest of her life in jail.
A moan sounded behind her.
Her heart leaped into her throat. She laid her babies in the crib, lifted the lamp again and smashed it once more over his head.
Again, he lay still. If he could live through being choked and having multiple head injuries, he might yet survive, and she wouldn’t go to jail for murder.
But she and the babies couldn’t stay with him.
Though he hadn’t succeeded in killing one of the twins this time, he might, as punishment for her having fought back.
She ran into their bedroom, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and pulled on a pair of sneakers.
She dug out the wad of cash she’d been stealing from his wallet over the past year from behind the loose baseboard in the back of the closet.
She considered taking his credit cards, but decided against it, knowing he could trace her if she used them.
She found his car keys on the nightstand. To guard against him coming after her too soon, she grabbed scarves from her drawer and hurried back to where he lay on the floor, moving occasionally, but still unconscious.
First, she tied a scarf to one of his wrists and secured it with the other wrist behind his back, pulling the fabric tight to keep him from breaking free too easily.
Once his hands were secure, she bound his ankles together. Finally, she wrapped a scarf around his head and mouth, tying it at the back of his neck.
She gathered her babies, wrapped them in blankets and stepped over her husband.
Another moan made her steps quicken until she was running for the front door.
She stopped in the kitchen for a screwdriver.
Her carefully packed gym bag was the last thing on her mind.
Getting as far away from the man tied up on the floor of the home they’d shared for the past five miserable years was her number one goal.
He’d promised to find them and make her babies pay for her decision to leave him. She had to make certain he would never find them.
If he remained tied up for several hours, she could get as far as her money would take her.
She laid the babies in their car seats in her older model, beater of a car and buckled them in.
On second thought, she unhooked the safety seats and secured them in the back seat of her husband’s newer vehicle.
He kept the tank full and had the engine on scheduled maintenance.
It was faster, safer and would get her away from him with more reliability.
She went back to her car and dug the little box she’d hidden under the seat. It contained the little necklaces she’d had made with the first initial of each child engraved on a silver disk. Tucking the box into her pocket, she returned to the car with the babies.
Once she was sure the babies were settled in the back seat, she pulled every bit of documentation out of the glove box and the console and tossed it onto the garage floor.
If she were stopped or the car was found, they wouldn’t be able to identify it quickly.
When she had a moment, she’d find a way to scrape the VIN number off.
Then she removed the license plate from the front and rear bumpers and laid them on the front floorboard. She’d toss them into a ditch in the middle of nowhere. She couldn’t risk rolling past automated collection cameras of the toll roads in Texas or any other state.
He had access to systems that could identify license plates from toll road cameras, and he could mobilize law enforcement to apprehend her. He’d say she was abducting his children and have her arrested. If she was arrested, she couldn’t protect the twins.
Once she was ready, she opened the garage door and backed out into the dark, empty street. Free of the building, she lowered the garage door and drove away without looking back.
If she was lucky, she’d have all night to get as far away from him as possible.
First, she had to ditch her cell phone. Her husband could track it. Better yet, she needed to send it in a different direction.
Before leaving Dallas, she stopped at a busy truck stop, parking as far away from the building as possible and in the shadow of a tractor-trailer rig. She tossed a blanket over the car seats in the back and got out.
She found a ball cap on the floorboard of the back seat and stuffed her long, dark hair up into it, pulling the bill down low over her forehead. If cameras were monitoring the truck stop, she hoped to avoid having her face caught on video.
Carrying the screwdriver and license plate tucked under her arm, she found an old car at the back of the lot.
With fingers shaking, she removed the plate and replaced it with the one from her husband’s car.
As she walked back toward her vehicle, she overheard a man talking to another man as they walked toward a pickup truck, each carrying a bag of ice.
“You want me to drive?” one guy asked the other.
“Nah,” his friend responded. “I’ll drive to Amarillo. You can sleep and take it from there to Fort Collins.” He opened the back door of the king cab truck and pulled an ice chest toward him.