Abandoning the Rules

by Jp Grace

  Her stomach heaved. She held in the urge to vomit by sheer force of will, now was not the time to fall apart. Her first concern was to ensure Beth and Josh came out of this as unscathed as possible and they wouldn’t if she couldn’t keep it together.

  She added the keys to the watch in her pocket, grabbed the letter and the bank bonds, folded them into fourths and shoved them into a small pocket in her purse. Spying her cell phone in the cluttered contents, she slipped it into her other pocket.

  A brief internal struggle ensued as she questioned the advisability of removing evidence, but if she left it she ran the risk of Steven removing it, which would get her nowhere.

  Closing and locking the safe, she attempted to breathe normally, but it was a pointless endeavor. She had to make it to her car and out of the garage, then she’d call Tony and tell him what she’d found. She prayed it was enough; it had to be, she wasn’t cut out for this level of deception now that she knew what Steven was capable of.

  Gathering her thoughts and her purse-she had to act as natural as possible; just a normal evening out-she left the room, walked to the stairs and stopped.

  Steven waited for her at the bottom.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “WHERE have you been?” he demanded.

  Heart hammering in her chest, Bree forced herself to meet his glare, her insides churning in fear.

  Raising her chin, she replied coolly, “I went to Stargazer’s Spa. I told you about it last week.”

  He eyed her speculatively but kept his silence.

  She walked down on trembling legs and stopped on the last tread, unable to move around his bulk. She waited for him to move.

  He didn’t flinch.

  “What time is dinner?”

  She forced out a brittle laugh.

  “Did you forget Beth and Josh are at camp? You know I don’t cook when they’re gone. Order something, I’m going out.”

  She attempted to sweep past him with her head up, hoping for a quick escape.

  His hand snaked out and grabbed her elbow, stopping her in her tracks.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Really, Steven, you’re being ridiculous. Tonight is my book club meeting; we meet at the library every week at this time.”

  She tried to dislodge her arm, but he held fast.

  “What if I want you to stay home and cook dinner? Are you going to put those snooty women above me and my needs?”

  Bree sighed. She hated it when he was petulant. It never boded well.

  “I am not putting them above you, Steven. I have commitments. I am bringing the main dish for our potluck, how would it look if I didn’t show?”

  Steven wasn’t nearly as handsome as he had been as a teenager. With sunny blond hair and sparkling blue-eyes, he had charmed all the girls. Now the permanently pinched scowl he wore combined with his arrogance turned him into a different person altogether, one whose looks managed to match the ugly personality inside.

  He leaned in closer and adjusted his grip on her arm, tighter, of course, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath.

  Shit.

  “You cook for them, but don’t have time to cook for me?” he said, his voice low and unassuming.

  She knew better than to trust his tone. Still, she refused to show the fear clawing through her veins at the implied threat in his voice and stance, but oh, how she wanted to run away from this man and every vile secret he had ever kept and by extension, had forced her to keep.

  “In case you didn’t notice, I haven’t cooked at all,” she said her voice amazingly normal even though her stomach was liquid with fear. “However, I do have to pay the caterer tonight. Otherwise it will look like I didn’t show and didn’t pay. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to be late.”

  He stared at her hard.

  She didn’t even blink. If her life was going to be reduced to one moment in time, this was the one moment she absolutely could not blow it. She was no longer just facing the possibility of stitches and a hospital stay-not when she knew he was a monster in hiding-no, next time he wanted to teach her a lesson could very well be her last.

  He must have seen something in her eyes he found satisfactory because he stepped back, releasing her arm in the process.

  Bree’s breath whooshed out silently.

  “Fine. I expect dinner to be ready tomorrow night when I get home.”

  Bree looked away before nodding, “of course.”

  Quaking inside, she walked to the garage. Fumbling blindly in her purse, she located her keys, hit the automatic door lock, and slid into the car. Just a few more minutes and she could make the call that could change her life forever.

  Please God, let it be enough.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SHE clicked the automatic garage door opener and tried to slide the key into the ignition with wobbly hands, turning an easy task into a monumental one.

  With an urgency bordering on hysteria, she gave it one last try and finally succeeded. The relief was instantaneous as the engine roared to life even if short-lived. She had a long way to go before she could claim victory.

  Placing her purse and the precious evidence inside containing her ticket to freedom on the passenger seat, she put the car in reverse, checked her mirrors, and screamed…

  Steven. Oh God, Steven.

  He motioned for her to roll the window down.

  Bree didn’t want to. In fact, there were about a million other things she could think of that she wanted to do besides roll down the window for the sadistic murderer currently passing for her husband, but she reached for the button and watched him warily as the window descended between them.

  “What were you doing in my safe?” he barked.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  She searched her brain for a plausible excuse, anything that would detract him from questioning her further.

  “What safe?” Bree asked, screwing her face into a puzzled frown.

  Steven pierced her with a look that clearly said he knew she was lying.

  “Don’t bullshit me. What were doing nosing around in my personal property?”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t even know you had a safe!”

  He jerked open the door and yanked her out of the car, pulling her so close she could see the spittle on his lips. She was hyperaware of the watch and keys in her pocket.

  Bree yelped before remembering who she was dealing with. Of course she had always been afraid of Steven-how could she not be afraid of a man who hit her?-but now there was layer of menace to his face she hadn’t seen before, a demon hiding under the handsome veneer.

  She swallowed the rest of her protest and resisted the urge to run for all she was worth. It was only the thought of the evidence that kept her rooted to the spot, determined to see it through to the bitter end.

  “Then explain to me why your footprints lead straight to the safe?”

  Footprints? Bree struggled to remember if she had left tracks in the carpet. Probably. It had been foolish of her not to check the carpet. How was she supposed to know though? It’s not like she spied on her husband everyday.

  “Steven, I was in our room getting ready. I’m sure I left footprints all over the place.”

  He studied her in silence for a moment, his expression inscrutable.

  “I didn’t tell you the safe was in our room.”

  Oh. Right. He hadn’t. She’d royally screwed up this time.

  “Our room is the only room I went into, it’s only logical for me to assume that’s what you meant.”

  Steven eyed her warily.

  She sincerely hoped he bought the lies tumbling from her lips with such ease she marveled at her ability to deceive.

  “What book is your little “club” discussing this week?”

  She went blank. Her muddled thoughts were having trouble keeping up with the rapid change in topic. Steven didn’t read a lot, but she was sure if she lied he would catch her. It was just the way her luck was going
tonight.

  “We finished reading J.K. Rowling’s new book, The Casual Vacancy, and plan to discuss it tonight.”

  She chose a book they had read earlier in the year, hoping he wouldn’t ask too many questions.

  “Didn’t you already read that one?”

  Christ, trust Steven to start paying attention now.

  “Some of us did. A few of the other members didn’t finish in time and asked for another discussion.”

  She pulled another lie out of the swirling whirlpool of thoughts in her mind.

  “Sounds like you ought to jettison those losers if they can’t keep up,” he sneered.

  Straining to keep her emotions in check, Bree resisted the temptation to peek at her open purse sitting on the passenger seat. What if Steven got nosey? The outcome if he did would not end well for her.

  “They aren’t losers. Some people just read slower than others.”

  Steven pushed her away with a snort of disgust.

  She stumbled before righting herself. It always started like this. An angry word, an accusation, and then…she shuddered, not wanting to go there.

  “Whatever. I don’t see why you have to go. Call the caterer and have them run your credit card.”

  Fuck. What was she going to do now? She could refuse, but at what price? He would grow even more suspicious and take it out on her.

  “I have commitments, but if it’s really important, I’ll stay home.”

  She wanted to choke on the bitter and vile words coming out of her mouth. Bowing and scraping to his needs and ignoring her own had turned her into the sniveling woman now cowering before her man. What choice did she have though? Steven expected to get his way. If she behaved any differently, he would know the difference.

  “I just said so, didn’t I?”

  Holding out a hand, he waited for her to take it.

  Bree swallowed hard. She did not want to take the hand of a cold-blooded murderer. Never mind what else he was guilty of.

  “Hold on, let me get my purse.”

  “You can get it later,” he snapped.

  She looked at the pinched lines around his mouth before nodding.

  “At least let me turn the car off.”

  “Oh, for fucks sake,” he snarled and stomped to the car. Leaning in, he twisted the keys out of the ignition and slipped them into his pocket.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WALKING into the kitchen, Bree was supremely conscious of Steven’s bulk behind her and that he had her keys. There were spares, of course. But they were in his office and she couldn’t very well go digging for them now.

  “Call the caterer. And order some dinner while you’re at it. Chinese sounds good,” Steven ordered. “I’ll be in the den.”

  Bree nodded and pulled her cell phone out of her pocket to make the calls. Her fingers brushed Ben’s keys, emphasizing the precariousness of her situation. She had to find a place to hide them before Steven noticed.

  But first she had to “pay” the caterer. She dialed her voicemail and pretended to give her credit card information to the female recording. There wasn’t a book club. Well, there was, she just didn’t belong. It had been an excuse she had used to get away.

  Ordering Chinese took all of thirty seconds; they were frequent patrons and big tippers so the owners took great care to get their orders to them fast. After the call, Bree was left wondering how she was going to get through the rest of the night.

  Steven was suspicious. Worse, he was up to something. She could feel it in her bones, in the emotional and physical scars he had left behind, and in her stomach, taut with nerves. She realized that so many years spent living under his thumb had numbed her to the nightmare existence. No more though. She would do whatever it took to avoid the soul-sucking abuse he had perpetuated against her for too long.

  Not wanting to be anywhere near Steven, she loitered in the kitchen under the guise of cleaning to avoid the inevitable confrontation he was sure to start.

  “Bree!” Steven shouted.

  Damn. He wasn’t going to leave her alone.

  She frantically looked around for a hiding place and spied the coffee jar on the counter. She grabbed a Ziploc bag from a drawer, slipped the watch and keys in, sealed it, and placed it in the coffee can, shaking coffee over the top.

  “Bree, damn it! Didn’t you hear me?”

  Footsteps echoed on the tile hallway and she rushed to close the lid, hearing the distinct snap before turning around to greet Steven.

  “Sorry, Steven, I was just getting off the phone,” she placated, hoping, praying he wouldn’t question her.

  “How frigging long does it take to make a few phone calls? Christ, I’m on the phone all day and get more done in a two minute call than you do all day.”

  Bree stayed silent. He was just beginning. The comparisons between how good he was, how virtuous and hard working he was while she sat at home doing nothing but spending his money and whoring around. It was a familiar tirade.

  Next, he would start in on her appearance, saying she wasn’t doing enough to please him with her body, or her face, or her smart mouth. She’d heard it all before. It made her long for Adam. Sweet, kind, and loving Adam was nothing like Steven and never would be.

  “You just gonna stand there staring at me? Christ, you’re useless. Since you’re not doing anything important, think you could get off your ass long enough to make me a drink?”

  Bree bit her tongue and nodded mutely.

  He stared at her before turning his back and walking out of the kitchen.

  Bree made her way to the bar and mixed his martini the way he liked it, dry with no olives.

  It took a few seconds for her hands to stop shaking long enough to mix the drink. Then she thought of James Bond and suppressed a hysterical laugh. Shaken not stirred. Steven was definitely getting his martini shaken.

  She knew the drill, make his drink and bring it to him in the den like he was the king. God, she was sickened thinking about how long she had put up with him.

  To think of all the years she had wasted believing his lies…

  Just a little bit longer and she could start to rebuild her life on her terms.

  She placed his drink and the shaker with enough for another drink on the tray and went to face her fate.

  ~

  Steven lounged on the colossal navy couch he had demanded they purchase. It wasn’t her preference, but he had insisted she couldn’t be trusted to know what good quality was if it had stood up and slapped her in the face. He should know. He was supposed to be from good quality people and he slapped her often.

  She placed the tray on the coffee table, another one of his purchases, and handed Steven his drink.

  He grunted and took a healthy swallow.

  She perched on the adjacent chair and pretended to ignore the mounting tension in the room.

  “What did you order for dinner?” he barked, the alcohol only exacerbating his petulance.

  “The usual. Pot stickers, Short ribs, and Orange Chicken.”

  “Better hope they get here quick. I’ve had a long day. A man needs to eat and it would be useful to have a wife who actually cooked a decent meal instead of relying on takeout.”

  She didn’t reply, hoping he would take her silence for agreement.

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  Bree knew if she didn’t reply it would only piss him off more.

  “No. I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

  Steven’s eyes bulged and he opened his mouth for what she assumed would be another put down when the doorbell rang.

  Saved by the bell.

  She went to the door and peeked through the window. T.C., their usual deliveryman stood outside waiting.

  Before she could open the door, Steven came up behind her.

  “Are you going to get the door or do I have to do everything around here?” He reached around her and opened the door.

  She attempted to smile at T.C. but the funny look he gave her
told her she wasn’t very successful. She signed the credit card slip, added a tip, and thanked him before reluctantly closing the door on what felt like her last chance at escape.

  “Bring the food into the den, there’s a game on I don’t want to miss.”

  Steven turned around and walked away, fully expecting her to follow.

  She did, carrying the food in and placing it on the table.

  “I’ll get plates, forks, and napkins,” she murmured, trying to walk sedately out of the room as if nothing was wrong.

  Steven didn’t acknowledge her, his eyes locked on the game blaring on the large screen T.V.

  She made a quick detour to his office, grabbed her spare keys and tucked them into her bra before going to the kitchen for cutlery and plates.

  Before entering the den, she smoothed her hair and took a deep breath; don’t set him off her only mantra.

  Careful to avoid obstructing his view, she placed a plate and silverware in front of him. Opening cartons, she served him healthy portions of his favorites. Who was she kidding? They were all his favorites. When had he ever cared if she hated Orange Chicken or not? Never and she had to keep reminding herself of that fact.

  Somewhere along the way, she had completely lost sight of who she had been. The old Bree had ceased to exist and in its place was a shell of a woman. A woman who had sold her body and soul to the worst possible bidder.

  She wondered if it was possible to find that woman again or if she was gone for good.

  After serving him, she grabbed an eggroll and a pot sticker and put them on her plate. She wasn’t the least bit hungry, but he would notice if she didn’t at least pretend to eat.

  Lifting his empty martini glass, he shook it at her like she was a dog awaiting a command from her master.

  And like a dog long beaten by her master, she jumped and rose to do his bidding.

  She poured him another drink and sat back down, picking at her food.