Chad wrenches the door open, reaches in, and grabs my hair, yanking me out of the car. I fall to my knees and as he reaches down to grab at me, I swing my keys at his face.
He recoils as the metal scrapes his cheek, but I don’t carry many and they’re not that heavy. The impact isn’t enough to stop him. He slaps them out of my hand and they land in the grass with a muted jingle.
“I just wanted to talk to you. Why are you so hysterical?” he asks as if he didn’t just slam a car door into my body and try to rip my hair out by the roots.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I can’t stay away from you. You know that.” He crouches down in the grass next to me and lightly slaps my cheek.
Playfully, you know, the way a cat slaps a mouse around right before he eats it.
Playtime’s over. He wraps his fist in my hair and his arm around my neck, pulling me off the ground with him.
Go limp.
I imagine my body boneless and try to get loose, but he tightens his hold.
I kick, sputter, and claw the whole time he drags me up the stairs. At the front door, I grab onto the doorframe and use what little strength I have to hang on.
He laughs and releases my hair, painfully prying my fingers loose.
Inside, he lets me go and slams the door shut. I back into the living room and he stalks toward me without saying a word.
Somehow that’s more frightening. Chad’s usually full of words. Especially when he’s pissed.
“Why are you doing this?” A question I’ve asked so many times before.
“What am I doing, Bree? I just wanted to have a normal conversation with you. You’re the one acting hysterical.” That familiar manipulative tone fires me up again. How many damn times did he try to convince me I was the crazy one? That I somehow deserved being hit or punched. How many of our friends did he try to gain sympathy from by telling them he loved me so much, he put up with my over-emotional behavior?
Too many.
“There’s nothing to talk about. We’re done.”
His expression darkens. “Don’t say that.”
He rushes forward and I dart to the right, heading for the kitchen, but he catches me easily, wrapping his hands around my upper arms and pushing me backwards until my back hits the wall.
“I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want? Tell me you’re not leaving.”
“I’m already gone.”
“It’s your cop friend, right? The one who came to rough me up?”
My wide eyes meet his crazy ones. Liam did that?
It gives me the courage to push back, struggle harder. “No, Chad. You did it. You almost killed me! I’m done.”
“You were planning to leave me!” he roars in my face.
I cringe and turn my head. “You hurt me. Over and over.” There’s no reasoning with him. I shouldn’t even bother. But the alternative is worse.
“Bree,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to my cheek. My shoulder draws up, squirming to get away from him.
“Not so fast, baby,” he says against my ear, spinning me around.
My back hits his chest and an “uh” leaves my lips. He locks one arm over my chest and the other around my middle.
Oh God. I recognize the smell of him. The feel of his body. Hard. Terrifying. Breathing heavy.
“Let me go!” I scream.
“Feisty today. I like that, babe.” His arms tighten around me like a damn python. “Feel that? I had lots of time to work out and think about you.” He runs his nose along my neck, inhaling heavily. “You smell so good. I missed you.”
His lips pull and suck at the skin below my ear and bile rises, burning the back of my throat.
“Let go.” My nose twitches and my eyes water. I will not cry or beg.
Still bear-hugging me, he tries walking us to the couch. In a rush I remember a move from Sully’s class. As Chad shuffles forward, I pick up my foot and slam it into his instep.
“Fuck!” he shouts.
Finally, his grip loosens. Frantic, I jab my elbow back into his chest. I turn and punch forward with the heel of my hand, catching him on the chin. I’d been aiming for his fucking nose, but I’ll take it.
Chad’s not used to me fighting back. He circles me. Eyeing me with caution now.
That’s right, motherfucker.
Desperately, my eyes search the living room for anything I can use as a weapon.
“You’re trying to hurt me today, baby.” He lunges, grabbing my wrist and yanking me closer. I push forward instead of away and almost slip out of the hold, but he grabs my other arm right above the elbow, shaking me like a rag doll. “You want it rough? That what you want?”
He pushes me onto the couch and when I try to launch myself off, he uses his body to pin me to the cushion, straddling my lap.
I push and shove, wiggling and sliding my way out from underneath him, going limp and melting onto the floor.
Before I get my feet under me, he tackles me back down. Pain explodes through my skull as it thumps against the hardwood.
We grapple, me slapping at him and trying to get my feet up to kick him. Him trying to pin my arms down. He manages to trap my legs underneath him.
Soft spots.
As soon as I go for his eyes, he ducks and grabs my wrists.
“You think those cute little self-defense moves can stop me?”
With one hand, he pins my wrists above my head. His other palm comes flying at my cheek. This time it’s not playful slaps he delivers.
One. Pain explodes over my cheek.
Two. Flashes of red burst behind my eyes.
It’s jarring, but only a fraction of what he’s capable of. My back arches and I wriggle my legs, my hips, my butt, anything to get out from underneath his heavy body. But his weight presses me into the floor and at a certain point all my squirming only seems to turn him on more.
His free hand wraps around my neck, holding me down.
“Look what you’re making me do,” he snarls.
“Don’t.” I choke out the word.
Can’t breathe.
Desperate, hot, frustrated tears leak from the corners of my eyes, dripping into my hair.
Helpless and held down, my mind recalls other fights we’ve had.
Never like this.
This time, he’s really going to kill me.
My terrified heartbeat pounds in my ear. Help, help, help.
He eases up the pressure around my neck and I suck and choke in enough air to clear my head.
“Kee
p fighting me, Bree.” His voice grates over my nerves. “You know it only gets me harder.”
Oh, how I knew.
I screw my eyes shut, unable to stand staring at him any longer. Once, I thought Chad was beautiful. Now, I know better. He’s the fucking devil.
“Does lawman know what a dirty fucking whore you are?” He releases my hands and palms my breast, squeezing hard, pinching my nipple through my shirt. “Has he figured out all the dirty things that turn you on?”
He tightens the hand around my throat again.
I can’t breathe.
The edges of my vision darken.
This is it.
Thank God. I don’t want to be conscious when he rapes me this time.
“Please,” I beg with the last bits of air I have before his fingers tighten around my windpipe and cut off my air for good.
“I love you so much, Bree.” He whimpers the words and squeezes his eyes shut. “Why do you make me feel like this?”
This isn’t love.
My hands tingle, but they’re free.
Free.
My arms are lead weights as I raise them and slip them between Chad’s arms, exploding outward like Sully showed me.
I don’t have enough power or energy to knock him totally back, but he releases my throat. Coughing and gagging, I roll to the side and throw my elbow back, hoping to catch his face.
There’s a satisfying crunch and I wriggle out from under him, kicking as I go. My foot hits something hard, his chin or his head, I don’t know.
I kick again.
There’s a thump.
Don’t look back. Just move.
I’m still struggling to get air in my lungs, but I stagger to my feet.
The back door’s straight ahead and wide open.
But so far away.
Run.
The closet where my brother keeps the shotgun is to my right.
Escape or shotgun?
CHAPTER THIRTY
On the way to my apartment, the radio chirps and Brady turns the volume up. “911 Domestic Dispute. 29 Sand Lake Road. Female caller states…”
No.
Blood roars through my ears, drowning everything else out.
“That’s Vince’s house!” Brady shouts.
“Why is she there?” She should be safely tucked away in my apartment.