Something Borrowed (New Castle Book 3)

by Lydia Michaels

  New Castle Book 3

  Romantic Suspense

  www.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com

  Lydia Michaels

  Romantic Suspense

  SOMETHING BORROWED

  Copyright © 2015 Lydia Michaels

  First E-book Publication: TO CATCH A WOLFE September 2013

  Second Edition: SOMETHING BORROWED

  © Lydia Michaels 2018

  All Art & Cover Design copyrighted © 2018 by Lydia Michaels

  ISBN-13: 978-1987522266

  ISBN-10: 1987522265

  ASIN: B07BBSLFL1

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer. WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  www.LydiaMichaelsBook.com

  Other Titles by Lydia Michaels

  First Comes Love

  If I Fall

  Simple Man

  Breaking Perfect

  La Vie en Rose

  Sacrifice of the Pawn

  Queen of the Knight

  Falling In

  Breaking Out

  Coming Home

  Sacred Waters

  Skin

  Chaste

  Faking It

  Forsaking Truth

  As Tears Go By

  Hold Me Fast

  How to Love Her

  Forfeit

  Lost Together

  Atonement

  Protégé

  Blind

  Calamity Rayne

  Disclaimer

  This is a story about survival and contains graphic scenes of violence that may not be suitable for sensitive readers. Domestic violence is a real issue and faced by too many on a daily basis. The author wished to portray the truth of such circumstances as realistically as possible. Some scenes may be unsettling for sensitive readers. The fear, the strength, the fragility, and even the mental and emotional uncertainty told in this work of fiction were inspired by true stories of survival.

  In the United States, 1 in 3 adult women (35.6%) have experienced rape, severe violence and/or stalking by an intimate partner. These numbers do not take into consideration the cases that go unreported.

  If you are in an abusive situation and need a way out, the National Domestic Violence Hotline can help you develop a safety plan to escape and provide legal counsel.

  www.thehotline.org

  1-800-799-7233

  Dedication

  For Lori.

  You are, and will always be, a part of me.

  Thanks for all the sprinkles, root beer, and lipstick kisses.

  I love you.

  SOMETHING BORROWED

  Lydia Michaels

  Copyright © 2018

  Prologue

  Baltimore, Maryland

  “Mommy, can I have some candy?”

  Chloe Hunt watched the last of her items roll down the belt toward the clerk at the grocery checkout, her eyes following the pricey bag of pine nuts as she distractedly wiped her youngest son’s nose. “Not today, Dayton.”

  Her three-year-old bounced in the cart. “Please! I’ll draw you a picture.”

  Mattie, her one-year-old, babbled and blew raspberries into the air as she moved the cart forward and opened her purse. “I’d love a picture, but no candy today. It’s not on the list.”

  “Candy! Candy! Candy! Please, please, please…”

  Mattie’s glassy blue stare followed her, anxiety over justifications for the children’s cold medicine already running through her mind. Over the counter was always cheaper than a prescription and trip to the pediatrician but, again, it wasn’t on the list.

  “That’ll be ninety-seven twelve.”

  Chloe handed the clerk a hundred dollar bill and pushed the cart forward. According to plan, once she had the change in hand she tsked. “Oh, I’m sorry. These are the wrong nuts. Can I return them?”

  Her heart hitched behind her ribs as the cash register drawer opened again.

  “Wow, that’s a lot of money for a little bag of nuts,” the young clerk commented as she counted out the fifteen dollars and change.

  Exactly.

  She pressed the money into her palm. Chloe tucked it carefully in her pocket and folded the original receipt into her wallet and lifted the last few bags into the cart. Mattie would likely fall asleep before the car left the lot. She’d give him a dose of the cold medicine once they got to the car.

  As she pulled the Volvo into their garage, her gaze flashed to the clock—just under two hours until he came home.

  “Don’t wake your brother, Dayton. Go to the couch and I’ll put on Thomas the Tank as soon as I lay Mattie down.”

  With the boys situated and the groceries carried in, she caught her breath and got to work. She laid the receipt on the counter where Marcus always looked to review what she’d spent. To think, there was once a time when she’d lived independently, attending college, paying her own bills, organizing her own schedule… But her dreams of ever becoming a therapist and helping others were on hold until she figured out a way to help herself.

  Her gaze again went to the clock as she silently pulled down the flour canister, keeping her ears open for her husband’s possible early arrival. Moving to the sink, she set the canister in the basin and sifted the white powder into a large bowl. There, buried on the bottom, was her lifeline. Three hundred and sixty-two dollars, and a white-coated plastic bag of almost ten dollars in change.

  Her hands trembled as she shook out the money, counting it yet again, making sure nothing was missing and adding the newest addition. Loading the bills back into the canister, she carefully scooped the flour back on top, rinsing the sink and carefully cleaning the counter. Even a speck of powder could throw her husband into a rage.

  With Dayton now napping, she took the stairs quietly, rushing to the master bedroom. The room was pristine, exactly as Marcus preferred it. She walked the perimeter of the room so as not to interrupt the vacuum tracks and went to the back of the walk-in closet.

  Last on the hooks was an old designer purse, seemingly empty and unused for some time. She had a plan and this time it was a good one, one even he couldn’t figure out. Old injuries tightened her fingers at the thought of getting caught again. There could be no messing up or he might actually cut her fingers off this time. Her attention skated to the safe in the wall and she shivered. He had all the money a man could need sitting just four feet away. But that wasn’t hers to touch. If she even tried to figure out the code an alarm would go off and he’d be home in minutes. But she knew what he kept in there. He loved opening it and taunting her, polishing his gun and loading it, taking an excruciatingly long time before removing the bullets and locking it back in the safe. She had to get out of here.

  Pulling the purse off the hook, she examined the seams and stitching, testing the secret pocket she’d sewn. She should probably cash in some of her ones for some larger bills to save space. She fumbled to replace all the bags exactly as they were and
tiptoed out of the room. At the foot of the stairs, she glanced out the window.

  Her mind returned to the last time he’d played with his gun, flaunted it like a boy without rules or fears, a rotten brat who loved to terrorize those beneath him, watch them cower and scurry like irrelevant insects under a burning magnifying glass. Just the thought of his deranged laugh caused a cold sweat to break over her skin.

  The cold metal teased over her trembling lips. “Open your fucking mouth, Chloe.”

  “Marcus…” Tears welled in her eyes as she turned her face toward the pillows, his fingers cutting into her jaw as he smiled like a crazed lunatic above her. “Please…”

  His grip tightened, the hard tip of the handgun grazing her temple. “This time, I want you to suck my dick like you mean it. If you can’t, we’ll practice with the gun.”

  Her mind slammed away the memory, her hands shaking as if tuning out his remembered words took a chunk of physical strength. Don’t think about that now.

  The groceries were put away in a mad dash, leaving her only a few minutes to touch up her appearance and do one last inspection of the house. She doused a paper towel with lemon cleaner, knowing the scent gave the impression of a busy day that only just concluded. She wiped the banister and foyer tables and then went to wake her sons.

  “Dayton.” She gently shook her oldest. “Come on, sweetie. Time to get up. Daddy’s going to be home soon. Go potty and comb your hair.”

  “I don’t wanna.” He curled back into the couch pillows.

  “Come on, honey. You have to clean yourself up.” She shut off the television, resetting the cable box so it wouldn’t show the cartoon channel as last watched and scooped Dayton off the couch. Bending, she fluffed the pillows back into place. “Let’s go wake up, Mattie.”

  By the time the garage rattled, dinner was ready and both boys were clean. Bracing her hands on the lip of the counter, she drew in a fortifying breath. The door opened and she stood straight, shoulders back, and smiled. “Welcome home.”

  He placed the mail on the counter and lifted the grocery receipt. “Good day?”

  “Yes, but Mattie’s getting a cold.”

  Her husband glanced at his son who smiled back, his grin forming around the thumb in his mouth. Marcus went to the highchair and removed his hand. “No thumb sucking.” His inspecting gaze turned to Dayton. “How was your day?”

  “I’m drawing a train, Daddy.”

  Marcus smiled, enough to appease their son, but she recognized the insincerity in his eyes. He had wanted sons so desperately, yet never showed any true interest in their little worlds. Like a spoiled child, her husband wanted her focus to solely revolve around his needs alone and there was no masking his resentment that intensified every time the boys’ needs took precedence over his.

  “What is this?”

  Her shoulders knotted as he lifted the change from the counter—short a few dollars. “I had to pick up cold medicine for Mattie. It’s on there.”

  He examined the receipt with a more critical eye. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Pasta with a light pesto sauce, fresh baked bread, and the salad you like.” Normal conversation often brought unpredictable consequences.

  He had the outward charm and magnetism of a favored politician but saved none of those efforts for them. At home, he was just mean Marcus, a man with wafer-thin patience and an iron fist. Polished banisters and pristine holiday cards distracted outsiders from the blemishes of reality, camouflaging the misery so plain to see if only one took the time to look beyond the well-manicured facade. But how would they? They, too, were props meant to amuse her husband, the audience that applauded his success, the voices that praised his beautiful family, and the hands that stroked his ego.

  Dinner was a quiet affair laced with unspoken tension. It wouldn’t be long. Her mind had only the echo of her adult thoughts to keep her sane, but even that teetering balance had been slipping. She was holding on by a thread.

  The following morning started with a ritual of humiliation. “Read it. What does it say?”

  Her body shook as she stared down at the scale, Marcus towering over her, ridiculing her for the weight she’d failed to lose since having Mattie almost a year ago.

  “I’m trying—”

  He scoffed and pivoted away in disgust. “Try harder. I want you on a vegetable diet for the next week. This has gone on long enough.”

  She was by no means thin, but she also wasn’t fat. She was five-foot-ten with appropriate curves for a woman of her height. Initially, Marcus adored her figure—or so he pretended.

  When she set the table for breakfast he removed her plate from the table. “You’ll have tea.”

  She grit her teeth. Coffee was a necessity. He kept her on a rigorous schedule and she’d be dead on her feet by noon if she didn’t have caffeine. But she didn’t argue. He’d be gone soon and she’d make a fresh pot once he left.

  Marcus continued to hover as she did the dishes after breakfast. Being as accommodating as possible, making him his favorite eggs and refilling his coffee so it never had a chance to cool, only curbed his chances for an outburst. He’d been angling for a fight since waking that morning.

  “Why are you using that cheap, runny dish soap? It’ll take you twice as long to do a simple task like washing a plate,” he snapped.

  “It’s eco-friendly—better for the environment.”

  He snatched the bottle off the counter. “It’s a scam. Look how much you’re using. Use your head, Chloe. Or do I have to make every decision around here?” He threw the bottle into the sink, an excessive amount of liquid spilling into the basin.

  The subtle snap of her tongue to the roof of her mouth was a thoughtless slip, but enough to stop him in his tracks.

  “Problem?”

  Her breath held as she shook her head.

  He crowded closer, his voice scraping over her nerves like a rusty blade. “If you have something to say, say it.”

  “It’s fine. You’re right. I’ll go back to the other brand.” Her mind was split between his volatile mood and the silent presence of her sons at the table behind them.

  “Pick it up.”

  Setting the sponge down, her trembling hand reached for the bottle of green detergent.

  Marcus twisted his fingers in the back of her shirt, tightening the material and slowing her progress. “Next time I hear you snap your tongue at me, your mouth will be sore for days. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wash the dishes.”

  The sponge lacked suds as she gave it a squeeze. Too afraid to drive his point home, she wiped the plate without soap. But Marcus saw what she was doing.

  “Does that look clean to you? Wash it right!” His hand snapped out and green detergent spewed over the dish, spraying onto her shirt.

  She gasped, her breath provoking a clipped snick against her teeth, sounding horribly familiar. The air stilled. “I didn’t mean to—”

  The crack of his palm across her mouth rattled her head as pain exploded through her jaw and tears stung her eyes.

  “What did I say about talking back? You have something to say now? Huh? Say it again. I dare you.”

  “I’m … sorry.”

  His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. She glanced at the boys. Dayton’s head was down but Mattie, who didn’t know what was happening, watched them.

  “Marcus, please, the boys…”

  He seethed and shoved away. Without saying goodbye to the boys, he thrust his arms into his coat and barked, “Clean yourself up. You look like a fat slob.”

  A door slammed a moment later, followed by the rumble of the garage door and the sound of his car engine speeding away from the house.

  She shut off the water. “You boys finish your breakfast. I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”

  As she pulled on a clean shirt she turned and found Dayton watching her, his big, doe eyes curious and sad.

  “Hey, kiddo. Is Mattie done eating?” Her
false cheer sounded incredibly transparent to her ears. Dayton wasn’t immune to his father’s outbursts.

  His lip quivered, as he timidly stood in the doorway of her bedroom looking so small and fragile. “Why did Daddy do that?”

  Unable to explain their father’s behavior, she crouched to his height and deflected, “How about we go to the library today?”

  But, once in the car, Chloe grew more and more angry about the way her husband treated her in front of their children. At the library, holding Mattie on her hip and distracting Dayton with a book, she used the pay phone to call the only person in the world she could trust.

  “Hello?”

  “Aunt Regina?”

  Regina Wolfe, Marcus’s estranged aunt, was one of the only friends she had left in this world. The older woman’s sigh caused static on the line. “How bad, sweetie?”

  She gave a quick summary of the recent incidents with Marcus, but Regina had enough experience with the men in that family to understand it was so much more than soap and a fat lip.

  “If you wait until he really explodes, he’ll be watching more closely. How much money have you saved?”

  Regina had been married to Marcus’s Uncle Maxwell on his father’s side. Marcus and his uncle had more in common than their genes and portfolios. They shared a penchant for beating women. After Maxwell died, she reverted to her maiden name and cut all ties to the Hunts.

  Regina was a godsend. She saw through her nephew’s façade and knew he wouldn’t be an easy man to mislead. Regina had been helping Chloe plan an escape since the day Marcus induced her labor with Mattie by shoving her into a dresser. Thank God she’d been only two weeks ahead of her due date and the baby hadn’t been hurt.

  “You’ll have to move fast, Chloe. Don’t worry about clothes. Dress in layers and I’ll have stuff for the boys. We’ll take care of your needs when you get here.” She believed her, recalling promises that Regina would not only feed and shelter her but clothe them and even offer her name—Wolfe—if it made them safer.