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“Pathetic. You can’t even do what you were made for,” he spits before stepping over me and heading to the kitchen.
I force myself up, ignoring the ache in my cheek, and follow him. I know that if I play the docile wife, this will end faster. I watch him pour himself a glass of whiskey.
“Stupid fucking woman. She makes me do this. If she just had the fucking baby?—”
Anger ignites within me at his accusation. I blink and look down to find the carving knife in my hand. I don’t even remember picking it up, but as he turns, he sees it.
“Ember, what are you doing?” he asks, his voice dangerously low.
“I—” I glance at the knife and then back at him as his eyes cloud with fury.
“Put it down. Now,” he orders, one finger pointing at me over his glass.
I hesitate, and he doesn’t like that.
Before I can use the knife, I’m thrown into the wall again. Groaning, I slip to the hardwood floor I loved the moment we stepped foot in this house. Now, I detest it because I’ve spent so much time hurting on it. He isn’t holding me, so I claw my way to the stairs. If I can make it up there, I can hide and lock the bathroom door until he’s over his anger, but I don’t move fast enough.
I’m flipped over before I make it two feet. The next punch has me seeing stars, my head lolling back.
I feel my nose break, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe.
I’m almost numb, the pain fading into the darkness as if this is happening to someone else. As I stare into his eyes, I know he will kill me tonight. I feel it in my soul.
I refuse to beg or plead, so I keep my mouth shut, and he hates that more, his dark orbs filled with manic glee.
“You want a baby, Ember?” he sneers, spitting in my face. “Then let’s give you a baby.”
Gripping my hair, he drags me up the stairs. I scream as my body hits each and every step, and the numbness fades in favor of excruciating pain. I feel bones break, my skin bruising and splitting, but he doesn’t relent.
He throws me onto the bed. I can barely lift my head as he kicks the door shut, sliding his belt off with one hand. I’m too tired to fight, but when his hands rip my dress up, I struggle out, ignoring the pain and my inability to breathe. I land a decent blow to his shoulder, but it’s not enough to stop him.
Grabbing my face, he presses it to the bed, ignoring my flailing. I can’t breathe as I suck in mouthfuls of blanket. He holds me in place as he slams inside me, the agony unbearable since I haven’t healed from earlier. I start to choke, but he presses my head harder against the bedding.
The slap of his hips is loud as he rapes me.
I must black out because when I come to, my movements are sluggish and I’m coughing. I feel his cum sliding down my thighs and for some reason, that makes me want to cry.
I don’t know why. He’s done much worse before.
Much, much worse.
Somehow, I find the strength to roll over. He’s lighting up a cigarette as he glares at me, and for the first time, I open my sore, bleeding lips. “Kill me,” I beg.
“What’s that?” he murmurs, leaning down and pressing the lit cigarette into my thigh. I scream at the agony, the smell of my burning flesh filling the air.
“Kill me!”
“You want me to kill you, Ember? Tough shit. I’m going to lock you in here forever. I’ll fuck this tight little body every day until you’re pregnant again, and then once the child is here, I’ll kill you. I’ll say you died in childbirth. The mourning widower will be the hit of the town. I’ll find another woman who is more obedient and better in bed. No one will remember you. No one will even mourn you.” He drags me into the attic and slams the door, sealing me in the darkness.
Chapter
Two
Idon’t know how long I lie in a heap in the dull attic. The pain in my body and heart is too much, and my head throbs. I must have a concussion, which isn’t surprising considering the number of blows. I drift in and out of consciousness until I wake up shivering from a bone-deep cold so brutal, my teeth begin to chatter. It’s dark, the only light coming from a small window. The dust motes float and dance before my eyes in the moonlight.
With a groan, I force myself to my knees, running my hand along my side until I gasp in pain. Yes, I definitely have some broken ribs, and my wrist feels like it might be fractured. I’ve read through enough of Roger’s medical books to know that none of that is going to heal correctly on its own. Shivering so hard I have to clench my teeth, I drag myself over the uneven wood toward the cluttered boxes I hid at the back.
I need to get warm.
