Chapter 28 #2
I gripped the elephant tighter, shoved it deep into my bag where he wouldn't see it immediately. Positioned myself as best I could in the cramped space, ready to fight the moment that trunk opened.
The lock clicked. The trunk lifted.
Cold air rushed in. Stars overhead—so many stars. We weren't in the city anymore.
Bryce stood silhouetted against the night sky. Behind him, I could make out the dark shape of a large house. I recognized where we were. Bryce’s parents’ house on the Cape. Isolated.
"Welcome home," he said, reaching for me.
I kicked out hard, catching him in the chest. He stumbled back and I scrambled out of the trunk, my legs barely holding me. Everything spun but I forced myself to stay upright. I wasn’t giving this motherfucker an inch without a fight.
He recovered faster than I'd hoped, grabbing for me. I swung wild, connecting with his jaw. He grabbed my wrist and twisted. Pain shot up my arm.
"Inside," he growled, dragging me toward the house. "Now."
I dug my heels into the driveway, but he was stronger. Always had been. He pulled me up three porch steps, through a door he must have already unlocked.
The interior was dark but familiar. We’d come here often when we were together. I could see furniture shapes, but they looked different from what I remembered.
He threw me forward and I hit the floor hard, palms scraping against polished wood. Before I could get up, he was on me, flipping me over.
"I tried to be nice," he said, straddling my waist, pinning my arms with his knees. "I tried to do this the right way. But you never could just cooperate, could you?"
I bucked, trying to throw him off. He shifted his weight, pressed down harder.
"Why are we here?" I demanded. "What do you want?"
"Sweetheart, you know my parents’ house is nice and quiet.
It will give us the time to reconnect without the interruptions.
" He gestured around at the darkness. "You know how far away our closest neighbors are. There’s no one to hear our discussions while we get reacquainted. We wouldn’t want anyone to misunderstand the effort it will take to remind you of your place by my side. "
"What about Diane? Don’t you have Diane? Bryce—you should be with your wife."
“Shut up! Diane is a memory. She was there for me while I waited for you to come home. You should be thanking me for being so patient! It doesn’t matter. Diane isn’t a problem for us."
His words froze my blood. Diane "isn't a problem"?
The implication hit me like another blow.
My pulse hammered in my throat as I pictured what he might have done to her.
If he could do that to his wife, what was he planning for me?
My children's faces flashed before me—I would never let them grow up without their mother.
Something primal surged through my veins, drowning out the pain.
My throat burned raw as I unleashed a primal scream.
I bucked up with every ounce of power I had left in me, driving my hips upward until my spine felt like it could break.
And then I did something I shouldn't have, but I couldn't stop myself—I spat in his face, and it landed across his cheek and eye.
His lashes blinked rapidly as my saliva dripped down toward his snarling lip.
And with this act, his expression changed—something cold and dangerous sliding behind his eyes. The same look I still saw in my nightmares and no matter how hard I fought, I knew what was coming—it was inevitable.
His fist. It came at my face with a speed I’d never seen before. I turned my head at the last second and he caught my cheekbone and eye socket instead of my nose. Pain exploded across my face.
Another hit, this one to my jaw. Stars burst across my vision. I couldn't reach him with my hands pinned, but I could still move my head. I snapped it forward, trying to headbutt him. Missed. His fist connected with my eye and the world went dark on one side.
"Stop," he said, hitting me again. "Just stop fighting."
But I couldn't stop. If I stopped, I was dead. If I stopped, I'd never see Lucas and Zoe again. If I stopped, I’d be giving in. I’d be giving up.
I thrashed beneath him, trying to get leverage, trying to free my arms. My hand touched something on the floor—the corner of a rug, maybe. I grabbed it, pulled hard. Bryce shifted slightly as I pulled—his balance was thrown off. Not a lot, but just enough.
With a desperate twist, I yanked my arm free and clawed upward.
My fingers found his left eye—wet, yielding—and I dug in despite the agony in my wrist. Not deep enough.
His howl echoed through the room as he jerked backward, protecting himself from further damage.
In that instant, I summoned every ounce of strength left in me, my back bowing off the floor in a violent arch that sent him tumbling sideways, one hand pressed against his injured face.
I rolled, tried to stand. My legs wouldn't hold me. I crawled instead, heading for where I knew the door was.
His hand closed around my ankle and dragged me back.
"No!" I screamed, kicking at him. "Let me go!"
He flipped me over again, and this time when his fist came down I couldn't avoid it. It caught me square on the temple. The room tilted. Sound became muffled, distant. Another hit. Another.
I tasted blood. Couldn't see out of my right eye anymore and the left was wavering too.
My body was at war with itself—flames licking up my wrist, my face a crumbling ruin of bone and flesh, my toes numb blocks of ice.
Every inch between screamed its own warning that my fading mind could no longer understand.
And then, through the haze, I saw him pull back his fist one last time, and I knew this moment could very well be my last.
I prayed to God not to take me yet. To let me see my kids again. To give me strength to overcome this evil. I prayed one final time and I hoped. I hoped that my voice didn’t fall on deaf ears.
Just before darkness swallowed everything.