Perfect End: A Dark Romance Thriller (Beautiful Ashes Book 2)

by Dori Lavelle

  “Well, then I guess it’s time for you to experience what happens when you disobey me.”

  I drag her across the room. She makes it difficult, screaming and kicking as if she can release herself from my grasp. I throw her into the small closet and slam the heavy wooden door, locking it and throwing the key in my pocket.

  She once told me she feels claustrophobic in small spaces. It’s time to put that to the test.

  The only way I can mold her into the woman I want is by teaching her a lesson she won’t forget, by showing her how hard things could get if she fights me.

  I throw myself onto the bed and listen to her screaming for me to open the door. For four hours straight, she alternates between screaming and whimpering, then she goes quiet only to start again five minutes later. She begs me to let her out, claiming she needs to use the bathroom. I don’t give a damn.

  I close my eyes and draw in a few deep breaths. The smell of power is invigorating. It relaxes me to the point I fall asleep.

  When I open my eyes again, the now quiet room is bright with sunlight.

  As I approach the wardrobe, I notice a puddle of liquid in front of it. A smile curves my lips.

  The job is done. I’ve broken her. She’s mine now.

  “Are you ready to be a good wife?” I ask, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

  “Yes,” she answers, her voice so weak I almost don’t hear the word. “Please, let me out.”

  When I let her out, she doesn’t fight me anymore. Her eyes are red and swollen from crying. I can barely recognize her as my beautiful wife. She’s also much too thin now than she used to be. Everything would have been so easy for her if she only obeyed me from the start. Her suffering could have been prevented.

  Ignoring the dark, wet patch on her nightdress, I pull her to me and hug her for a long time. She stiffens in my arms, but she doesn’t push me away. With time, she will learn that she’s safer in my arms than out there in the world.

  “Come on,” I say, “you need a bath.”

  I run her bath and sit on the toilet while she washes herself. When she’s done, she allows me to wash her back. As much as I love her in this weak state, her eyes have a faraway look that makes it seem as though she’s not even inside the room with me. I ignore it for now.

  I wrap her in a bathrobe and sit her down on the bed. A tear rolls down her cheek. I kiss it away and kneel down in front of her.

  “My sweetheart, things don’t have to be so hard. We can have such a good life here. You just need to forget your old one.”

  She doesn’t respond so I continue.

  “I know you had a job you loved, but you will find pleasure in looking after your home and your husband. That’s what a real wife is for.”

  I open the drawer of my nightstand, smiling when my eyes land on the second copy I bought of The Perfect Housewife’s Bible. She had not appreciated the first one I gifted her in Houston, but I’ll make sure she puts this one to good use.

  I place it on her lap. “Read this and you’ll learn everything you need to know about being the perfect wife. Now that you’re feeling better physically, you should assume your wifely duties. The house needs cleaning and the kitchen needs to be used. Make this place a home for us.”

  She looks up at me and for a moment, I fear her stubborn streak is about to surface, but instead, she simply blinks and gazes down at the book.

  “Do I make myself clear, Amanda?”

  “Yes,” she whispers. “Very clear.”

  “Good.” I pull her to my body again for a hug, then I let her go and pull a black suitcase from underneath the bed.

  “I have new clothes for you,” I say with a smile. “A brand-new wardrobe.”

  I unzip the suitcase and remove the seven dresses I bought her, one for each day of the week, all the same color and style. The gray button-down linen dresses have long arms and they reach down to the ankles. In truth, they’re pretty ugly, but that’s why I like them.

  I love the idea of peeling away the ugliness to reveal my wife’s naked beauty. She also doesn’t have to be attractive for anyone else ever again. Gone are the tight jeans, short skirts, and revealing blouses.

  She doesn’t say a word as I help her get dressed. When she’s done, I lead her to the full-length wardrobe mirror.

  “Look at yourself.” I kiss the side of her neck. “A new life comes with a new look. I like what I see. Now let’s go downstairs. It’s time for you to cook in your new kitchen.”

  Chapter 7

  BREE

  Hunter orders me to cook him scrambled eggs. I do as I’m told. Fighting him only leads to more pain, pain I can no longer handle because I’m carrying so much of it already.

  When he brought me downstairs to make breakfast, I almost lashed out at him again, but then I remembered the night I spent inside the wardrobe, the shame I felt after urinating on myself.

  Even though I tried to be strong, to show him that he can never win, urinating on myself showed me just how much power he has over me, at least for now.

  I don’t know how long he thinks he can play this game of forcing me to live a life I don’t want to be a part of. It can’t last forever. There’s justice in the world.

  Sooner or later, it will be over and he will go to prison for murder and kidnapping.

  Inside the wardrobe, I prayed like I’ve never prayed before. God has always seemed distant to me, but suddenly he was near and I felt comforted. I asked him for help and for strength to be able to deal with Hunter’s cruelty until rescue comes.

  As I move across the kitchen, making him scrambled egg and toast, the rough fabric of the dress I’m wearing scratches my skin.

  I refrain from looking at him because when I do, I’m tempted to attack him. The most important thing right now is to gain his trust, to be patient until he makes a mistake that will cost him dearly.

  The truth is, disobeying him right now could end with my death. He’s sitting at the kitchen island with a gun hidden underneath the kitchen towel next to his plate.

  He warned me a few minutes ago that if I step out of line, he will be forced to use it. I don’t doubt him. He killed my friends. What would stop him from killing me? If someone crosses the line of humanity and takes another’s life, it would be so much easier to do it again.

  In silence, I serve him his food and pour him a glass of orange juice. He smiles at me as he eats.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” he asks, chewing his food.

  “I’m fine.” It’s a lie. My stomach is cramping with hunger, but a small part of me still wants to hold on to any kind of power I still have. And right now, I have my power of choice. I can choose whether to eat or to remain hungry.

  Instead of pressuring me to eat, he simply shrugs and finishes his food, dabbing his lips with the kitchen towel that covers the gun.

  “What else do you want me to do?” I ask. Before he can respond, the doorbell rings.

  He grabs the gun and pushes it into the back of his pants, then he comes to me, gripping me tight behind the neck until I whimper. “Make a sound and it’s game over.”

  My heart flutters with anticipation when he leads me into the hallway to get me away from any window. Hope blooms inside my chest. Maybe the person at the door has come to help me. There’s a chance one of the neighbors who saw me running naked on the street figured out that I’m being held captive. Someone would be curious to know if everything is all right with me.

  Hunter holds me against his body, his large hand on my mouth, his scalding breath in my ear.

  “Whoever it is will go away. Just be quiet.”

  I pray that the person stays, that they persist. My silent prayer is answered. When we don’t react to the doorbell, the person on the other side starts knocking.

  Hunter curses under his breath. The thudding of his heart makes his chest vibrate against my body. It gives me pleasure to know he’s afraid.

  Finally, he removes his hand from my mouth, but puts the gun to my head. “I gues
s we have to act normal,” he whispers. “We’re just an ordinary married couple with nothing to hide.” He pauses and pulls in a long breath. “If you don’t behave, you know what will happen.”

  I nod. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

  “Stay here,” he says, shoving the gun into the back of his pants. “I’ll get the door.” As he walks away, he glances back at me. “No need to look so scared.”

  I inhale sharply and force myself to look normal, which I think is impossible.

  I’m grateful that he did not send me to the room. Maybe he wants me to be seen. As soon as he opens the door, the person out there will get to see me immediately.

  Once he arrives at the door, he throws me another warning look. Then he reaches for the door handle.

  Three women are standing on the doorstep. One of them walks in without waiting to be asked to enter. She’s a slim brunette with a curly bun. She gives me a smile and rushes to me, taking my hands in hers. “Good morning, Mrs. Brooks, we’re sorry to disturb you this early. My name is Rosemary Slovak. I’m Officer Slovak’s wife.”

  “Did he send you?” Hunter asks, a thread of annoyance in his voice.

  The woman lets go of my hand and turns back to him, as if noticing him for the first time. “No, Mr. Brooks. My husband doesn’t know I’m here. But I felt it was my responsibility to come.” She cranes her neck to look at the other two women who are still standing outside the door.

  “By the way,” she continues. “These are my friends, Eileen and Marcella.” She brings her attention back to me. “We came because we thought you might need help.”

  For a moment, I wonder whether miracles really happen. How do they know I need help?

  “Help?” The word comes out as a question, but it’s not. I’m secretly agreeing with her.

  “Yes, my husband told me what you went through. That you lost your baby and—”

  “Mrs. Slovak,” Hunter says in a sharp tone as he folds his arms across his chest. “I hate to be disrespectful, but my wife needs to rest. She doesn’t need company. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Yes, of course. I understand that.” Rosemary dips her head to the side as she meets his gaze. “But you’re a man, Mr. Brooks. You will never fully understand the extent of pain a woman experiences after losing a baby. When I heard what happened to your wife, I had to come. I understand you are also grieving, but the pain a woman goes through is so much deeper.”

  I don’t know whether Rosemary hears the silent snort coming from Hunter, but I do.

  For the first time, I’m grateful for Hunter’s lies. He must have told the officer that I lost a baby, which now turns out to be a good thing. It brought Rosemary to me.

  I want to speak up, but I’m afraid I might say the wrong thing and pay a high price for it later.

  “We came to offer our support,” one of the women at the door says, stepping into the house, followed closely by the other. Like Rosemary, they both look to be in their late thirties and they have the same hairstyle.

  I glance at Hunter’s face. The thunderous expression makes me shiver with fear. What if he throws them out before they have a chance to help me?

  “It’s very kind of you to stop by,” he says, “but it isn’t necessary. My wife is doing great.”

  “If she really is fine, then why...” Rosemary averts her gaze from mine and clears her throat. “My husband told me what happened a few days ago.”

  The humiliating memory of me running naked outside warms my cheeks. But again, that was probably a good thing as well. It was a cry for help and it seems as though I have been heard.

  When Officer Slovak came by later that evening, after another neighbor complained, Hunter promised him that he’ll make sure it never happens again and blamed it on my mental illness. The officer didn’t look happy, but he let it go.

  I’m been given another chance to escape. I can’t let Rosemary and her friends leave the house without letting them know in some way that I’m in danger. I need more time with them, to give them a chance to read the signs. I’m surprised they don’t notice that something is wrong. Or maybe they do. Is that why Rosemary is insisting on talking to me?

  “Thank you for coming by,” I say quickly. Hunter shoots me a look, but I keep talking. He can’t hurt me in front of them. “Can we offer you something to drink? Coffee maybe?”

  I hold my breath as I wait for Rosemary to respond. This could backfire on me.

  “That would be perfect,” Rosemary says with a bright smile. “It would give us a chance to chat and get to know each other.”

  Even though Hunter says nothing, his rage crackles in the air. If Rosemary were not a cop’s wife, I’m sure he’d have thrown her out.

  As soon as the women settle down in the living room, Hunter accompanies me to the kitchen to get the coffee.

  “Are you sure that was a good idea?” he asks in a whisper as he turns on the coffee maker.

  “It would have been strange if we didn’t welcome them.”

  “You should have waited for me to make the decision,” he says, his jaw tight. “I’m your husband.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, anger burning the back of my throat.

  The time has come for me to let someone know what’s going on behind closed doors. Who better than a cop’s wife?

  “Fine,” he says. “Just be careful what you say to them. One wrong word and you’ll end up like your friends.” He finishes making the coffee. I’m surprised he didn’t ask me to do it. After all, I’m supposed to be the perfect wife and homemaker.

  When he reaches for the sugar inside one of the cabinets, he tells me to go ahead and talk to my friends. “I’ll bring in the coffee.”

  It’s not long after I leave the kitchen that he follows, a wooden tray in his hands. There’s no way he’ll leave me alone with the women.

  With a fake smile on his face, he hands each of us a cup of coffee and lowers himself into an old suede armchair.

  The three women look at him suspiciously, perhaps wondering why he’s still hanging around, but they don’t say anything.

  I take a gulp of my coffee to ease my discomfort.

  “Mrs. Brooks,” Rosemary says, taking a sip. “Do you mind if I call you by your first name?”

  “Of course,” I say, taking another drink. “My name is... My name is Amanda Brooks.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I’m sure Hunter must be satisfied.

  “Amanda,” she says in a gentle tone, “we know how hard it is to heal from the loss of losing a child.” Rosemary takes a sip of her own coffee. The other women do the same.

  The woman named Eileen puts her cup on the coffee table and leans forward. “We’re members of a church group that supports women who have experienced the loss of a child. We were wondering if you would like to join. Each one of us here has lost a child. We know how healing it is to be surrounded by people who have gone through the same thing.”

  I glance at Hunter, whose eyes are fixed on my face. My hungry stomach cramps with fear.

  “That’s fine,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m seeing a therapist. It’s... it’s helping.” I drink more of my coffee, trying to come up with a way to communicate my message to them without making Hunter suspicious. The idea to write a note and slip it into one of their handbags comes to me. But it’s too risky. Hunter is watching my every move.

  The other women go quiet. Clearly, they don’t believe me, especially since I was seen running around the neighborhood naked. The whole town probably knows.

  “You know what,” Eileen says. “Give yourself a couple of days to think about it and decide if you want to join. We meet once a week at the Trinity Church to catch up and support each other. My husband is the pastor. Our next meeting is in six days... Saturday. Feel free to drop by and see if you feel at home.”

  While I drain my cup of coffee, the women go on to tell me more about what they do to support each other. I listen until my head starts to feel light, too light.
r />   “I appreciate your...” My voice trails off and I forget what I wanted to say. My tongue feels suddenly thick inside my mouth. My head is spinning even more and the urge to throw up builds inside me. I wipe my sweating brow and swallow hard. “Thank you. Thank you for coming.” There’s a slur to my voice and it’s getting stronger with each word. My clouded eyes flicker to Hunter and anger bursts to life inside me. I get to my feet. I’m swaying from side to side.

  I look at the women who came to help me, but their faces are blurred.

  The coffee. Hunter made the coffee because he wanted to drug me.

  “You bastard,” I yell at him. I sound like a drunk person.

  Gasps and whispers break out in the room. They sound distant to my ears.

  Hunter apologizes for my behavior.

  “You asshole.” Driven by rage, I stumble toward Hunter, my anger boiling to the surface. I’m about to attack him when I lose my balance and fall forward, the floor rushing up to meet my face.

  Everything that happens after is a blur. All I know is that the women are suddenly standing up and I’m crawling on my hands and knees trying to stop them from leaving, telling them what he did to me. My words don’t make sense even to my own ears.

  I listen as Hunter continues to apologize on my behalf. The words drinking problem hit my ears and heat flushes through my body.

  There are two emotions Hunter introduced me to when he walked into my life, how to truly love someone, but also how to hate someone from the deepest core of my being.

  “Problem solved,” he says, after the women leave. He comes to kneel in front of me. “I don’t think they’ll be coming back. No one likes to be around a drunk, especially one with mental issues.”

  Chapter 8

  It’s the middle of the night when his hand finds my naked breast. When we went to bed, he insisted that I sleep naked. I didn’t fight him. Disobeying him has led to nothing but pain. I need to recover and get back my strength before I can fight him again. And I will fight him to the end.