by Ranae Rose
There was nothing more disgusting than a coward like this, an insignificant nothing of a human being who demonstrated his complete worthlessness by abusing and tormenting people who died before they figured out how to escape the cycle of being used as a punching bag.
“Shut up,” Grey said as the man protested being cuffed and howled about the burn in his eyes. “You’re even stupider than you look if you thought you could win that fight. You’re lucky to be alive.”
Not surprisingly, the smaller man had come out on the worse end of the fight. His nose was crooked and one eye was already black, while the larger man looked fine, save for the inflammation and redness caused by the pepper spray.
Liam caught Grey’s eyes and held his gaze as he pulled the larger man, now restrained, to his feet.
Grey didn’t say anything else as the noise faded to a dull roar and they escorted the two men away, depriving the other inmates of their entertainment.
Later, when he and Liam headed to the break room after rinsing their faces for ten minutes straight, he didn’t have an appetite and had to force down his lunch. For once, he wasn’t jealous of Henry’s gourmet food. He couldn’t even think of a good comeback when Henry looked at his and Liam’s red, puffy eyes and asked them if they’d been watching the Lifetime Channel with the inmates.
All he could think about was that piece of shit who’d slaughtered two women plus his own unborn child and then thrown out their bodies. And who, after all that, had the audacity to whine because he’d been pepper sprayed.
Someone like that had hurt Kerry. The fight had brought that reality to the surface of his mind, along with other unbearable truths. As he ate, he thought of her, and he thought of his mom, gone now for the better part of twenty years.
And he felt so angry that he longed to rip someone apart, make them pay.
The worst part was, he knew that even if he could do that, nothing would change. What had been done to Kerry, his mother – even him, as a child – was done.
CHAPTER 16
“I said open your damn eyes!”
Kerry braced herself against the cheap polyester bedspread and tried to comprehend how this – Brad looming over her, God only knew how drunk, and her cheek stinging from his hand – had become her reality.
She didn’t understand, but she knew it wasn’t a dream. On the contrary: it was as if, after three years, the other shoe had finally fallen. It was terrifying, but it didn’t feel wrong. It felt terribly familiar.
Had she really changed at all?
As she looked into Brad’s eyes, she tried hard to summon up enough outrage to overcome her paralyzing fear.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” He made the demand over and over.
She figured she had two options. She could tell him she didn’t owe him an explanation, that she’d been entitled to take every action she had and that it was none of his business. Or she could pander to his asinine urges, his sense of entitlement. She knew how his brain worked and the thought of trying to appease him crossed her mind, an old habit that filled her with shame now.
She wouldn’t do it. Even if she’d been willing, it wouldn’t have saved her anyway. She’d learned that lesson time and time again, had finally left him when she’d grasped the reality of it.
There was nothing she could do to diminish his anger, not when he was like this.
“I don’t have anything to say to you.” She pushed herself up into a sitting position, bracing herself to be knocked back down.
His face was red; now it turned blotchy with pale patches, like his anger was so absolute it threatened to rend him colorless.
It felt like she was back in their house in Kentucky. She could almost see it: the aging 1960’s ranch with its kitchen dated by yellowing Formica and linoleum, its faded carpets and scratched hardwoods. She recalled the smell of the place, a combination of heating fuel and dampness, underlaid by whiskey and always with a certain staleness that reflected the way her life had stagnated within those walls.
She’d hated that house, and hated remembering it so clearly now, feeling as if she might at any moment find herself standing at the sink in the dated kitchen, soaking soda and whiskey rings out of the bottoms of glasses.
“You slut! You were always a slut!” Brad was as eloquent as always. “I saw you with that son of a bitch back in North Carolina!”
Back in North Carolina? Where were they? Kerry’s frayed nerves unraveled a little more. She looked toward the window, but the curtains were drawn.
“It’s none of your business! Nothing I do is any of your business. We’re not married!”
He shook his head, the motion exaggerated, his eyes ticking ever so slightly from side to side in the telltale fashion of a drunk. “You think you can just run away? You think you can humiliate me like that and go and live the rest of your damned life by the beach – you think it’s that easy?”
No, it had never been easy. But this was why she’d done it, why she didn’t regret it.
At least she’d had three years of freedom. And two days of getting to experience, for once, what it would be like to be a regular person – one whose choices were her own, who might find happiness, if she looked hard enough.
The thought of her time with Grey made her heart swell and her eyes sting. It’d been stupid to think she could get away with it for long – she saw that now. But she didn’t regret it. It’d been good while it’d lasted, good to have a taste of what her life might’ve been like if her path hadn’t been set years ago by a series of bad decisions.
Brad grabbed her by her upper arm and yanked her up off the bed.
Hanging in the air, she struggled to touch the floor with her toes, to take the stress off her shoulder, which ached in protest.
“Let go of me!” She looked toward the motel room door and saw that he’d tilted a chair against it, wedging the top beneath the doorknob so no one could enter, even if they had a key.
He shoved her up against the wall and leaned down, his breath streaming over her face. “You listen here, bitch. You’re mine, and you’re coming back to Kentucky where you belong. You’ve got every last damn day of your life to think about what you’ve done and convince me you’re sorry.”
He still had ahold of her arm, and she could feel it bruising. She considered hitting him in the face with her other elbow, maybe jabbing at an eye. But he was big and drunk and despite her fear, she wasn’t completely delusional. If she fought him and did anything less than debilitating damage, he’d pay her back tenfold, maybe even kill her.
She needed to be smart. God, she needed to be, but she was shaking, and everything hurt. She remembered now that she’d wrecked her car. Had he run her off the road in his vehicle?
She couldn’t remember.
“If I don’t think you’re sorry, I’ll make you sorry,” he said. “And guess what? I can tell you’re not fucking sorry. Not yet.”
He drew back the arm he wasn’t holding her against the wall with, and for the first time, she noticed that he was holding a whiskey bottle.
She closed her eyes in reflex when he swung it at her head, and even though she’d known for years what he was capable of and had run away because of it, she was shocked that everything was ending so quickly, over so soon.
* * * * *
Grey had never been so glad to get out of uniform, and it had nothing to do with Kerry. Or rather, it had a lot to do with her, but not in the sense it had the day before, when he’d put on a clean uniform just for her, just so she could watch him take it off.
After the fight, he’d spent the rest of the day at work feeling off. Shitty. More or less hating his job.
He was home now, stuffing his shirt into the laundry hamper, throwing his pants in after it. His skin still burnt faintly from the pepper spray exposure – he’d have to warn Kerry, be careful with how he touched her. The stuff could easily rub off on another person.
The thought was depressing. How the hell was he supposed to avoid tou
ching her after the couple of days they’d just had? Everything between them was new and fresh and just begging to be taken further, hashed out in bed over and over again.
He got hard just thinking about her; even his shitty day and bad mood couldn’t stop that reaction.
He made himself take a long shower, unable to help thinking how ironic it was that thanks to the pepper spray, he didn’t dare touch his dick, couldn’t take the edge off to make it easier not to put his hands all over Kerry as soon as he saw her.
Once he’d put on jeans and a t-shirt, he headed for her place, like he’d promised to that morning, after they’d woken up together.
* * * * *
The bottle hit the wall and shattered, glass and whiskey spraying everywhere like a flower blooming at warp-speed, its sharp, wet petals slicing through the air.
Brad was left with his fist curled around the handle, two thirds of the bottle soaking into the carpet at his feet. It hit him, then, what he’d just lost: the better part of a bottle of perfectly good whiskey.
Perfectly good whiskey she’d made him waste.
He shook her by her skinny little shoulder. “See what you’ve done?”
She didn’t apologize. Of fucking course she didn’t. She’d been running wild for three years and obviously thought she could get away with anything, keep on disrespecting him, as if leaving him hadn’t been bad enough.
On top of that, there was the guy she’d been fucking. There were probably more he didn’t know about. And now the whiskey.
“Say you’re sorry.”
He didn’t know why he was doing it, but he was giving her one more chance. One more chance to apologize, beg him for mercy before he started giving her what she deserved. Maybe if she begged hard enough he’d take it a little easier on her.
Either way, she still needed to be taught a lesson. Three years’ worth of lessons.
As he watched the woman he’d laid claim to nearly a decade ago in front of God and everyone, he thought of the house and how she’d left it: filthy, filled with stacks of dirty dishes, the trash reeking in a corner of the kitchen. She’d run off to her parents’ and hadn’t even left him so much as a note, just the big fuck you that was the empty, dirty house.
And then had come the months of her whoring around town like she didn’t owe him anything, holing up at her ma and daddy’s like she didn’t have a fucking care in the world.
Then the papers she’d sent to him, the ones he’d thrown in the trash over and over, stuffed into her daddy’s mailbox along with their stupid cat.
Then the court, and the divorce – the piece of goddamn paper she liked to pretend cancelled out everything she’d sworn to, right in church.
Goddamn, she made him mad, but she was his. He’d take her back – he’d drag her back if he had to. He wasn’t about to let what was his go whoring around any longer, dragging his name through the dirt.
She’d say she was sorry. And eventually, she really would be, would wish with everything she had that she’d never left him. That she’d been a good wife, like she’d promised to be.
“L-let me go, Brad! Now! Ungh!” She tried to twist away from him, but she was weak as a newborn kitten.
There was nothing funny about what she’d done, but he laughed at her trying to get away from him, slapping his arm like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
“Shut up now,” he said when he was tired of watching her make an ass of herself. “Shut the fuck up and listen. You’re going to pay for what you’ve done – every day you’ve spent away from me, neglecting your duties as my wife. Every dollar you took from me when you left and every man you’ve ever fucked that wasn’t me.
“But when it’s done, when you’re good and sorry and I know you’ll never even think of running away again, I’m gonna give you another chance. Let you live in my house and sleep in my bed. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll even let you have another baby.”
She stopped hitting him, stopped trying to twist away. Maybe she’d realized what a weakling she was – what a man he was – or maybe it was talking about the baby that’d shut her up. It’d always done that; mentioning it was like slapping her without having to lift a hand. It was nice.
“You’ll have to get on my good side though Kerry, and you’d better start trying now, because you’ve got a hell of a lot to make up for, and it ain’t gonna be easy.”
* * * * *
Bile burnt in Kerry’s throat, hot and sour. Brad’s breath reeked unbelievably, and then there was what he’d actually said…
She sucked in a quick breath and tried not to gag. A minute ago, she’d been so sure that whiskey bottle would be the end of her. But it had hit the wall beside her head. Now, having emerged from her brush with death, she experienced a precious surge of inexplicable clarity and bravery.
She had to get out, now. Before he really killed her.
Pretending to be weak, she gave his arm another pathetic smack. Brad was clearly buying her charade – he’d always underestimated her. The idea was to look like she was panicking, though in truth, it wasn’t much of a stretch to fake it.
His mouth twisted in a mocking smile, and another blast of his breath hit her face. “That’s not gonna help you get on my good side. That’s—”
She moved quickly, throwing the hardest, most vicious right hook she could muster.
She hit him right on the jaw, and his head snapped to the side.
He looked at her, rage flashing in his eyes, but he didn’t let go.
And when she jerked, pushing against the wall with all her strength, she couldn’t get free.
Really frantic now as the reality of her failure dawned on her, she succumbed to a primal last resort: she screamed, loud and long, hoping that someone – anyone – would hear and do something about it.
* * * * *
God. The bitch had nerve!
Through the haze of whiskey – not nearly enough whiskey – Brad’s jaw ached where Kerry had hit him. Hit him, after he’d explained to her how he was going to let her be his wife again, let things get back to normal, after she paid her dues.
He slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her screams and forced her down to the floor.
Beneath his weight, her knees buckled on the whiskey-soaked carpet.
“Shut up!” He’d always had an iron stomach, but it roiled and twisted now, churning with rage. So she thought she could hit him and get away with it? She must’ve forgotten who she was dealing with. Too much time in the sun had made her even stupider than before.
He raised a hand, looked into her hateful, mocking eyes.
She moved fast, like a snake sneaking and striking when your back was turned. Her fist was a small white blur and he braced himself for another blow, ready to show her exactly how useless her resistance was.
But she didn’t hit him with a closed fist. She opened her hand and smashed it against his face, causing it to explode with sharp, biting pain.
He rocked back on his heels, pulling his hands to his face. God, it fucking hurt! His head spun, and when he touched his face, he felt the hard, jagged pieces of the whiskey bottle she’d mashed into his skin.
Still reeling, he lunged and stumbled after her as she sprang across the room.
She made it to the door and struggled with the chair, screaming as he closed in on her.
CHAPTER 17
Grey was still a block away when he saw that Kerry’s car wasn’t in her driveway. A sinking feeling hit him like a blow to the gut, making him realize more than ever how much he’d been looking forward to seeing her.
As he parked in front of her house, he pulled out his phone, remembering what she’d said about working overtime. He’d figured she’d be home by the time he showered, changed and made it to her place, but maybe she was working later than she’d anticipated.
If that was the case, he could kill some time by driving to Cypress’ little downtown and picking up dinner for them both. Something good, and not junky – seafood, maybe. He could
grab a bottle of wine too, make a romantic surprise out of it.
She’d like that, he was sure. Though every time they’d been together had been hot and intense, they had yet to have a truly normal date night. She was understandably shaken by the fact that someone was harassing her and the possibility that it might be her piece of shit ex-husband. But today and the day before had gone smoothly; they should be able to enjoy themselves in the safety of her home.
He didn’t get an answer when he called, which wasn’t that weird, when he considered that she was probably still working. After sending a text message asking her to call when she was free, he sat in her driveway for a few seconds, deliberating.
Eventually he turned around and headed toward downtown, mentally cataloguing the local seafood offerings. He’d pick something up and hope to hear from her by the time he got back.
Twenty minutes later, he’d just emerged from a restaurant with a bag full of peel-and-eat shrimp and a chilled bottle of white wine when his phone went off.
He barely paused to check the ID, he was so sure it would be Kerry.
But it wasn’t. It was Henry.
“Hey, man.” He loaded the food into his car, disappointed.
“Where are you?” Henry sounded like he was auditioning for a job as a Clint Eastwood impersonator, but then, he sounded like that a lot.
“Downtown. Why?”
“Have you heard from Kerry today?”
Grey hesitated. Liam and Henry didn’t know he was sleeping with Kerry. No one knew, as far as he was aware. “Yeah. This morning.”
“What time?”
“Early. Before she left for work.”
There was a pause, but Henry didn’t ask any questions. “I have bad news.”
