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“You heard me, man.”
“How do you know?—”
“I’ll just go check on May.”
“Don’t run away, Gisabell. Why don’t you tell your boss who I am?”
Was he proud that he was an ex? He did know that wasn’t something to brag about, right?
“Ella?”
“He’s—”
“Her husband.”
“Ex! Ex-husband,” I ground out, my voice trembling. “Or as I like to say, the worst two years of my fucking life.”
I hadn’t realized Byron had moved so close to me until he was in my face.
“Is that so? Seems I was the miserable one.”
“You still are,” I seethed.
The sting of his hand hitting my cheek had tears pricking my eyes. I stumbled back, my ankle twisting as I went down on my butt. Hard. Before I could react further, Rudy was there, his hand going around Byron’s throat.
“Donne touch her. Ever.”
Rudy outweighed him by at least fifty pounds of sheer, toned muscle. Not to mention, he stood at 6’3” and Byron was, at most, 5’8”. He was lacking in other ways too, but that was neither here nor there.
“Ella, call security.”
I stayed there on the floor, in shock, palm pressed against my now burning, aching cheek. The metallic taste filling my mouth made me gag. I’d had so many busted lips in the time we were married. Every time it happened, of course it was my fault. I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t do things right. None of it was ever his fault.
“Ella, love, call security.”
“What’s going on here?”
“This sh—call security. He struck Ella. I want him out of here now.”
“Ella, sweetheart, are you okay?”
I got to my feet, my ankle screaming at me as I put pressure on it. At May’s warm touch against my arm, I dissolved into sobs. I’d done so much to avoid ever seeing this man again, and now, I was transported back to the times he’d come home and taken his frustrations out on me.
The last time being the final straw. I knew if I didn’t get out, he’d kill me.
“Why is it that everyone else can come home to a clean house, food on the table, and I get a boxed pizza, Gisella! Why do you do this to me?”
“I just got off work. I had to catch the last bus. I got us a hot meal.”
“You expect me to eat this? Where is the money I give you to get groceries? Did you spend it on yourself? You giving my hard-earned money to someone else?”
He grabbed my hair, slamming me back against the wall.
“Where is my hot, home-cooked meal, Gisella? Huh?”
“I just got off of work. What do you want from me? If I stay home, you say I’m lazy and useless. If I get a job, to help pay off your bills, you get mad that dinner?—”
He slammed my head into the wall so hard, my eyes went dark. Pain radiated through my head as his grip tightened around my throat.
