by J. D. Mason
She looked at him with tears in her eyes and knew that he was right. Abby didn’t have go through with this. She didn’t have to marry the man she loved more than she ever thought it was possible to love anyone. She could walk away and leave Jordan Gatewood to his own devices and get back to her life the way it had always been, well, except for having to raise two babies now.
She could do it, alone if she had to. But life without Jordan wasn’t an option. Not anymore.
“I want to, Daddy.”
Deep mahogany doors swung open, and Abby nearly fell over at the sight of the white silk carpet spread across the lanai and out onto sand, leading to waters as vast and as blue as the sky. She took a pensive step with her father, and everyone she loved, her brothers, her aunts, and friends, all from Blink, stood up and smiled back at her. He had done this—for her? He’d bought the people she loved to Saint Lucia for their wedding?
“I think I’m gonna fall,” she whispered to her father.
“Nah, I got you, baby,” he assured her.
Roberta Flack’s “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” wafted through the warm sea breeze. Oh Lord! Could he possibly really be that much of a cornball?
Abby’s tearful gaze followed the path to the end of that pathway and there he was, standing waiting for her, with that same expression on his face that she felt she had on hers, like, Is this really happening?
Yes, it was. And it should. Nothing in her life had ever felt more right than this moment here.
Finally, she and her father stopped next to Jordan. That preacher said something, but she didn’t really hear him. Her father kissed her cheek, and placed her hand in Jordan’s.
With tears in her eyes, Abby looked up at him and asked, “Did you choose that music?”
He laughed. “Phyl did.” Jordan shrugged. “But I kind of like it.”
* * *
“Naomi left you,” some motha fucka said over the phone. “But I know where to find her.” He hung up before Thomas could confront his ass and cuss him out, and then he texted Thomas an address.
Of course he knew that she’d been fucking around. Neighbors had seen some black bastard showing up at Thomas’s house talking to Naomi when he wasn’t home. All he could think was that she’d run off with the sonofabitch, leaving him to raise their boys.
He immediately dialed the number that the asshole had called from. “Where’s my wife, mother fucker!”
He left the boys sleeping while he took off to bring their mother home, if she was lucky, in one piece.
Thomas squeezed the steering wheel so tight that his hands ached. Naomi had done some stupid shit, but this took stupid to a whole new level. He hated whipping her ass. Despite what she might think, he loved her. Jesus! He loved her more than he loved his own life. But she needed to know that she couldn’t just do anything. Thomas had rules. Simple rules that weren’t hard to follow. How come she couldn’t see that? How come she had to make it so hard all the damn time?
Thomas got to the end of the dirt road and stopped.
“Shit,” he said out loud, looking around. He’d literally come to the end of the fucking road. He looked down at the directions that bastard had given him.
“Turn left at the sign,” he read, glancing up and seeing a sight in front of him.
MISS PEACHES’ SOUTHERN HOME COOKING
HOME OF THE BEST PEACH COBBLER IN TEXAS
Thomas peered left and saw what looked like a road that had been carved out over time by car tires. He put the car in reverse and then made a sharp left turn onto that road. He was going to double up on that ass whupping when he found her, just for dragging him all the way out here in the middle of the fucking nowhere.
* * *
Plato didn’t owe Naomi Simpson a damn thing. But he’d paid up anyway. Now her children could go and live with Grandma.
ALSO BY J. D. MASON
And on the Eighth Day She Rested
One Day I Saw a Black King
Don’t Want No Sugar
This Fire Down in My Soul
You Gotta Sin to Get Saved
That Devil’s No Friend of Mine
Take Your Pleasure Where You Find It
Somebody Pick Up My Pieces
Beautiful, Dirty, Rich
Drop Dead, Gorgeous
Crazy, Sexy, Revenge
The Real Mrs. Price
Seducing Abby Rhodes
About the Author
J. D. MASON is the author of Seducing Abby Rhodes; The Real Mrs. Price; Crazy, Sexy, Revenge; Drop Dead, Gorgeous; Beautiful, Dirty, Rich; Somebody Pick Up My Pieces; Take Your Pleasure Where You Find It; That Devil’s No Friend of Mine; You Gotta Sin to Get Saved; This Fire Down in My Soul; Don’t Want No Sugar; And on the Eighth Day She Rested; and One Day I Saw a Black King. She lives in Denver, Colorado, with her two children. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Wave My Own Pride
Go My Severed Way
The Woman Trapped in the Dark
My World Crumbles
Day 1
Ashes in Your Ashtray
Working Too Hard
I Try to Hide
I Love You Now and Ever
Thieves in the Temple
Dug My Own Grave
Games, Changes, and Fears
He Loves Me Wrong
No More Dawn
Love Come in a Hurry
Day 2
In My Dawn
A Little While Longer
I Got My Patience
Run This Game
You Work All Day
I Should Be Gone
Much Too Much
The Word Came to Me
A Honeycomb Tree
Day 3
All This Cold Despair
Back to the Lab Again
Cut Other People Open
I Got the Antidote
Hold Your Nose
Couldn’t Fake It
See Dishonor
Too Afraid to Lose It
Love, Please Let Me Be
Day 4
He’s Chokin’
If You’re Not There
Like a Poor Man Looking for Gold
Feet Fail Me Not
Both My Hands Are Tied
Sickness over You
Some of Us Cannibals
Taking over Me
Day 5
Better Never Let It Go
Too Good at Good-byes
Lose Yourself
He’s Cold Product
Lessons from the Ancient Roots
Right Down to the Bone
Don’t Care Where They Kick
Looking for My Soul
As Cool as I Remain
The Better Man
Self-Inflicted Pain
I’m Holding On
Also by J. D. Mason
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE WOMAN TRAPPED IN THE DARK. Copyright © 2018 by J. D. Mason. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by David Curtis Studio
Cover images: woman © Alexey_M / Shutterstock.com; face and hair © Ostill / Shuutterstock.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon re
quest.
ISBN 978-1-250-05227-8 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-4668-5377-5 (ebook)
eISBN 9781466853775
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
First Edition: September 2018
