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He knocks again, but I spare a moment to find it next to the typewriter and slip it on. Then I go answer, pulling open the door with a broad smile.
The smile drops when I see, instead of my adoring fiancé—my loathsome husband.
“What do you want?” I snap.
He steps forward. “Is that any way to greet your husband?”
I shake my head. “Maybe if you acted like one?—”
He forces his way in, kicking the door shut behind him. My stomach flips, especially when he grabs my upper arms and walks me backward. Because this is new and…interesting.
I hate that it’s interesting. Hate that I’m actually intrigued by what he’s doing. I mean, I know him.Knewhim. He’s good at his core. But did I somehow damage it? His core. His soul. Blacken it, twist it.
“What were those abandonment conditions you threw at me?” he muses, still walking me backward until I hit the wall just beside the window. “Financial… well, we both know you still benefit from me in that regard.”
His gaze drops to my chest.
I push at him, but he just shakes his head.
“Let’s see it, shall we?”
“You better not?—”
He grips the collar of my shirt and rips it.
He fucking rips my shirt open like a heathen, revealing my dark-grey sports bra. “This explains the uniboob,” he mutters. “But it’s got to go, too.”
I laugh. “You’re going to come in here and assault me?”
“Are you going to tell me you don’t secretly like it?” He tilts his head, his blue eyes lasering in on me. “Don’t you write about this in your book, sunshine? The villain does despicable things to the girl, but she’s okay with it. She’s Stockholm Syndromed into giving a shit about him. And they live happily ever fucked-up after.”
“That’s fiction.” I lift my chin. “It’s different.”
“You’re just as depraved as me, I think. Shall we find out?” He leaves me standing against the wall. He goes to my kitchen like he owns it, opening and slamming drawers until he finds what he’s looking for. “Hold still. Wouldn’t want to cut you.”
He returns with a box cutter.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Do you think Joel will get the picture when my name is carved across your breasts?”
He flicks the shoulder of my shirt off, revealing the bite that I fuckingbandagedto hide it from Joel. I said something about burning myself with my hair curler a mumbled lie that doused me with guilt.
“I think he’d believe me if I said you did it against my will,” I counter.
“Do you think he’d still feel that way if he knew we were married? Do you want to bet on that?” He smiles. Wicked, fierce thing.
“Get out.”
He laughs. “Now, now. You’re not running this show.”
I try to move past him, but he rushes me. He slams me into the wall, his shoulder digging into mine. My breath leaves me in a whoosh, and I grab on to his arm automatically. He pulls at thefront of my sports bra and slices downward. The strain on the fabric eases the blade’s path, and I close my eyes when it falls open.
“You asshole.” I cover myself, turning half away from him.
He leans back. Staring down at my breasts, even as I try to cover them up.
“There it is,” he breathes. He traces the scar that goes straight down my chest. “Myfinancial contribution. The gift that keeps on giving, isn’t that right?”
