Page 112 of Vicious Kingdom

With a stifled roar, the Tormentor pinned me against the wall, his bony fingers pressing into my throat. His face—that awful face I'd been forced to see for nearly twenty years—twisted into a snarl.

“You’ve been a very bad girl, Pookie,” he hissed, his breath sour against my face. “Running off with that thug. Did you think I wouldn't find you?”

I clawed at his hand, gasping for air. “Let…go….”

“I’ve been watching you,” the Tormentor continued, pressing harder. “Always watching. Did you think that a marriage certificate would protect you? That he could keep you from me? I will have you!”

“This isn’t Game of Thrones! It’s disgusting and wrong.” My vision began to blur at the edges. With the last of my strength, I brought my knee up hard between his legs. He doubled over witha strangled cry, and I shoved him away, stumbling toward the door.

“You bitch!” he snarled.

It was his turn to strike.

The first blow landed in the soft flesh of my abdomen, knocking the wind from my lungs. The next bruised my boob.

Over and over, he struck, unleashing his demented fury on me.

I curled into a ball, trying to protect my face as the blows rained down on my body. My ears rang with the sound of my own heartbeat, drowning out his vicious muttering. Through the haze of pain, a single thought crystallized: I would not die here, not in this room, not by his hands.

When his fist connected with my pelvis, something snapped inside me. Not bone—something deeper. The fear that had paralyzed me for years shattered, replaced by a cold, clear rage.

I caught his wrist mid-swing. The surprise in his eyes gave me the second I needed. I twisted hard, using the technique I learned in self-defense class. The Tormentor howled as his momentum carried him forward. His head cracked against the edge of my old desk.

Blood bloomed across his temple.

It was the opening I needed. I could run, flee from his assault as I’d done countless times before.

I stayed.

I fought.

Taking a solid object, some random piece of decor, I brought it down on his skull. The hit connected with a sickening sound.

I fucking relished the noise.

He caught me as I went to strike again, forcing me to drop the weapon. But I wasn’t a defenseless child.

I was a woman enraged.

I kicked and scratched, struck and clawed until he was a sniveling mess.

Only then did I flee.

I didn’t stop to bid farewell to the adults. They were supposed to protect me as a child. But they’d always been too busy to notice the hell I endured.

They didn’t deserve courtesy from me now.

As I wrenched open my car door, I vowed never to return to this house of horrors. Not unless I had a gun with the Tormentor’s name on the damn bullet.

Chapter 41 – Leonardo

Am I the kind of man who can be a good husband?The evidence seemed damning. I was bitter and resentful. My temper ran hotter than the Sicilian sun. The only good marks on my character came when I could forget my own trouble and focus on my wife’s needs. When she arrived hurt. When she was drunk off her ass, then hungover and zombie-esque.

I shifted in my seat and picked up the glass of red. My motto in business and in life was that in everything I set out to do, I would do it well.

I am not doing the husband thing well.

I might not have set out to do it for the noblest reasons, but here I was. It was time to tackle my inner demons, to make things right—and do a better job.