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Every word out of his mouth is more vile than the last. Has he always been like this under the surface? Was the boring man who only wanted to have missionary sex in the dark just a farce to lead me into a false sense of security? Is this what I always had to look forward to? A monster hidden behind a fitted suit and a good family?
He shifts slightly and my body screams. I can’t pinpoint any one source of pain, because everything hurts. Everything feels broken beyond repair.
He lets out an annoyed breath, obviously struggling to figure out our positions in his inebriated state, and when he lifts his body from mine, I twist against the pain until I’m on my back. It’s not much better of a position than the one I was in a second ago, but if I can just get enough leverage, I might be able to get away.
He lunges at me, the bat slamming down in the middle of my stomach and sending shooting pains through my body. A gurgled scream tears from my already sore throat, but that doesn’t stop him from landing the next blow, this one on my pelvis.
Stars dance in my vision as pain screams down my legs, and I don’t get a chance to move before the bat makes contact with the same spot again. I scream so loud it pierces my own ears.
If he keeps going like this, I’m going to pass out from the pain. There’s no doubt about it. And then what’s he going to do to me?
I can’t let that happen.
I’m about to force my body to roll away from his next hit when the telltale sound of his ringtone blares through the house and makes him pause mid swing. I’ve found myself cursing that phone over the years because it normally interrupts the limited time Jason would set aside for me, but right now I’m grateful for it.
He mutters something under his breath and glares down at me. “Stay there.” And then he disappears down the hallway.
I stay stuck to the ground for long seconds, listening to each step he takes, and then I run. I manage to grab my clutch from where I dumped it on the entrance table and wrap my coat around my bare body, before slipping from the house.
I don’t bother with shoes because I’m sure whatever I catch from the streets of New York would be less painful than the pain Jason could inflict on me if I’d wasted any time finding footwear.
My feet hit the sidewalk in heavy slaps. The streets are quiet for a Saturday night, and it occurs to me how freaking cold the concrete is below my feet. I’m grateful it’s a fairly quiet night on the usually bustling city streets.
I’m sure if the paparazzi got photos of the police commissioner’s daughter running bloody and bruised through the streets of his city, he’d be less than pleased.
I hail the first cab I see and throw a hundred-dollar bill at him to prove I’m not going to run on him the second he stops the car, but he still looks at me speculatively. I don’t blame him, I haven’t bothered to look at myself in any kind of reflective surface, but I can feel blood dripping down my face and the bruises from where he hit me starting to form.
I rattle off an address I have no right knowing let alone going to. But I don’t have a choice right now. Nowhere else in the city is safe.
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital, miss?” The cab driver, a middle-aged man with a cap over his eyes, asks.
“No, I’m okay,” I whisper. My throat burns from all the screaming I’ve done, and right now I can’t handle any more pain than what I’m already feeling.
He nods and pulls to the curb.
I look up and let out a sigh before quickly thanking him and climbing the steps to the front door. I hesitate for a second before rapping my knuckles on the heavy wood, but when the door swings open I barely manage to keep myself standing.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
ELIAS
Wyatt’s bloody as hell by the time he pulls the Ferrari into its spot, but the blood lust only kept that look of longing out of his eyes for half the drive before it came back.
He’s quiet and tense as we walk up the steps of the brownstone we share, and I unlock the door without a word. There’s not much to say.
Leighton made her choice, and whether we believe it’s the wrong or the right one,shebelieves she’s doing what’s in her best interest, and once someone has made their mind up about something, it’s very fucking hard to change it.
I throw my bow tie and keys on the table before following Wyatt through the house, but I still see her everywhere. How is that possible? She was here for less than twelve hours. But somehow she’s buried her way into every surface, every fiber of the place, to the point it doesn’t feel like home without her.
I shake my head at my own stupid thoughts. It’s impossible for us to feel this fucking deeply about a woman we’ve spent such a short amount of time with, and that has left us on multiple occasions for an abusive piece of shit, but that doesn’t seem to matter.
Wyatt collapses into the armchair and stares at the blank television. He’s taking this harder than even I expected. He’s always been the one of us to feel things more deeply, even if we both have pretty low capacities for such things, but this is worse than I’ve seen him.
“You should take a shower,” I say as I unbutton the top few buttons of my shirt, finally allowing myself to breathe. I may wear a suit most days but I fucking hate the things.
“Yeah.”
