I jerk away, unable to hold back the bile racing up from my stomach and retch into the drain. My stomach lurching again and again until only long strands of saliva dangle from my lips. With panting and sobbing I can’t control. Even when he rears back and kicks me in the ribs.
I slide across the porcelain, slamming into the bench seat, and curl into a ball. Lying in disgusting water swirling with vomit, come, and dirt. Wishing he would just kill me. Knowing he won’t. Not with his cheerful whistle saturating the steamy air.
9
Chapter Nine
I never expected to come home alone.
Even the damn dog is lost without her. His tail wags when I step near him, but he refuses to surrender his post in the foyer. Not even to go to the fucking bathroom. So adamant against leaving without her holding his leash, the Lab had to be fucking carried downstairs for his walk.
Exhausted from our worthless bloodbath and the hell gripping my body without her here, I drop down next to him like a fucking pussy ass baby. He scoots closer, resting his head on my thigh. His gaze skipping from me to the door and back again. A small whimper whines in his throat. As if questioning why I’m here and she’s not. “I’d trade places with her in a fucking heartbeat if I could.”
Trinity’s sweet giggle tickles my skin from Midnight slinking across my chest, snuggling next to her nestled in the crook of my arm. I’m surprised he can even make the jump up since our platform bed sits so high. Damn clever though. Always waits until I’m done fucking her to worm his way in. Bright enough to love her like I do. “How did he lose his leg?”
He nudges her hand with his nose, reminding her he needs some attention too. Her delicate fingers stroke over the slick fur on his head and his eyes drift shut.
“His owners left him outside in a bad winter storm. It got so cold his paws froze to the ground. The other three healed, but the frostbite was too bad on that one and it couldn’t be saved.”
Motherfuckers. What cruel dumb asses.
“When we asked them how they could do that to him, they said…”
She shakes her head. That hollow look I fucking hate stealing the animation from her expression. “What?”
“They forgot about him.” Her voice falls to a whisper. Rooted with her own heartbreak. “I never have figured out how a person could claim to love something and then forget about it.”
Silky fur glides under my fingers. Smarter than all of us. He knew. Fucking realized Butcher couldn’t be trusted. Always growling when the bastard got near her. “Why didn’t I follow your instincts?”
His ears flick from a loud knock. Only to droop again when Noah steps inside the loft. Not the only one disappointed from the unrealistic hope stirring for an instant that the visitor could be her.
My brother doesn’t even acknowledge my stupid broken ass sitting on the floor. Just slides down too, tapping the stack of papers in his hand.
“McAdams has buddies on the defense committee. So he knew about the development for this device and somehow got a sample to Butcher.”
I can’t listen to anything until I know one thing. “Is it lethal to her?”
“No.”
That’s all I fucking need to know to keep going. To not put my gun in my mouth and blow off my fucking head.
“But it’s really bad. They’re prototypes, so each version is a bit different. All of the feedback is based on the test subjects whose experiences were similar but had a few variations.”
I can’t fucking believe this bastard exposed her to this fucking science experiment. He knows how delicate she is. How fucking fragile. How innocent. “Just say it.”
“There are two transmitters. That’s why they sliced her arm, to embed the main receiver which is about the size of a corn kernel. The other half is applied to her head. Maybe in an earring or a patch to her scalp. When it’s first implanted, it causes a severe headache. Almost debilitating. Once the body gets used to it, the pain lessens to a dull ache with a feeling of confusion or fuzziness. Described as a radio playing between stations, like white static in the background.”
My own head throbs. Killing me to know she’s suffering. Without me there to help her. Or fucking stop him.
“The amnesia is invasive. Occasionally a memory may surface, but doesn’t last more than a second. If the person attempts to resurrect a memory, they’ll experience horrific pain that may lead to unconsciousness. If that happens, the entire absorption process starts over.”
Done. I am so fucking done. I cannot take any more.
"Once the device is removed, the person doesn't remember anything that happened while they were under the effects. Just a blank space from a few hours before the insertion until they wake up."
I push my back up the wall and get to my feet. Unable to sit here and do nothing. Not wallow in my pity party without doing a damn thing while my wife is being tortured.
Noah hops up too, his head tilted in exasperation. “Where you going?”
I fucking hate the condescension in his voice. Like I’m a fucking wayward child who needs to be guided. Like he can fucking stop me. “Back off or I’ll beat your fucking ass.”
“And then do what? We don’t know where she is yet, and I-“
Fuck him. I don’t want to hear his reason or logic or rationale. There’s no more time for all this shit. Fucking waiting and talking and researching. It’s all fucking bullshit, and he knows it. I know it. Even the god damn fucking dog knows it.
I seize the bench that I fucked my stunning, wonderful, sweet wife on and slam the wood against the half block wall separating the kitchen and dining room. Shattered glass ricochets across the hardwood, making Midnight finally leave his waiting spot to cower behind Noah.
Tipping the table where she bared herself to me. Letting me enjoy her as dessert. Drizzling her with chocolate and whipped cream after I discovered her making my birthday cake. Flipping the sofa where she snuggled against my chest, struggling not to fall asleep while I watched the last of the game. Heaving the mixer, from the fucking cinnamon rolls she never got to finish, into the flat screen.
Overcome with exertion, I bend over and grab my thighs. Trying to catch my breath when I’m suffocating without her. All I can see and smell and hear is her.
“You done?”
I nod. A fucking lame ass temper tantrum that will only upset her when she comes back. I can’t let her see the destruction I’ve caused.
“I’ll call someone to clean it up.”
“Thanks.” Sweat drips into my eyes, and I swipe at my forehead. Welcoming the sting. I’ve got to get my shit together. “What’re we going to do?”
Noah’s blank look matches my stupid empty head. And aching gut. Neither of us has any genius ideas.
“Butcher’s from some small town on the coast, in the middle of a big tourist area. I’ve got guys already headed there to start a search. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got until they locate the car.”
Then it’s about all I’ve got too. Which scares the fucking hell out of me. Only one other option. I slide out my wallet and flip the leather open. My chest pounds from my beautiful sunshine’s shy smile looking back at me as I tug out her photo and hand the picture to my brother. No one looking for her would be able to miss those gorgeous, wild curls. "Call in all your favors and have the guys contact every PI, bounty hunter, and mercenary they know. Ten million. For her safe return. No questions asked about their search or retrieval methods."
"I'll get the word out."
Because I don't give a damn how they do it or who they hurt. I just want her back.
“Time for breakfast.”
Michael stands in the doorway, watching as I bend over the sink and rinse out my mouth with water. The best I can do without a toothbrush or toothpaste. More proof of his lies. No explanation for why we don’t have any luggage or clothes or toiletries on our supposed vacation. Only the meager offerings of travel size soap, shampoo, and conditioner left by the cleaning crew.
I return my gaze to the faucet. Unable to stomach looking at his face. So arrogant and smug. Oblivious to my torment. Or even worse, enjoying my torture. “I’m not hungry.”
“Don’t start another argument. You’re going to eat.”
Argument.
I guess that’s what he calls raping and beating me. No, I definitely don’t want to argue any more.
He gestures for me to come to him. Caressing my lower back as I walk past and escorting me through the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen in a phony display of concern and protection.
A dark-haired woman in a flowing purple sundress stands at the stove. Skilled hands flip eggs speckled with red and green peppers, while bacon crackles and spits in a huge silver skillet. Her face lights up when she sees me.
“Good morning, ma’am! Would you like some orange juice? It’s fresh squeezed.”
She acts normal. Happy. Like we’re normal and happy. Although all I am is relieved not to be alone with him again.
Smiling from my nod, she fills the tall glass to the rim. “Everything’s almost ready. Have a seat, and I’ll bring you your parfait.”
He gives me a little push toward the table, but luckily doesn’t follow me. Instead he slides out his buzzing phone. Engrossed with the words on his screen.
Such a big risk, I’m a fool to try. I shouldn’t ask. Shouldn’t aggravate him. Shouldn’t give him any more reason to be upset with me. But with her standing five feet away, he won’t hit me. I don’t think. “Where’s my phone? Why don’t I have it here with me?”
His gaze sweeps across the room before meeting mine again. He shrugs. Unconcerned. No loss to him. He holds out his cell. Offering me a lifeline. “Here. Use mine. Call anyone you want.”
Totally shocked, I snatch it out of his hand. My fingers trembling as I swipe the screen and tap to access the keypad. Floating over the white squares. I can’t remember any phone numbers. I can’t remember any names. Friends? Family? Co-workers? No one.
“I can even dial for you.” A sympathetic tsk I don’t believe vibrates in his mouth. Almost smirking. Reminding me he knows everything and I know...nothing. “Who do you want to call?”
Run.
I shake my head. Unwilling to let him hear my voice break. To confirm how terrified I really am. Pointless. Because he already knows.
He huffs and grabs the phone out of my grip. Impatient from having to deal with someone so obviously irrational. But at least he doesn’t attack me. Instead, just wanders into the living room typing his own message.
Good. I take a calming breath, soothing my fraught nerves. At least able to relax now that he’s no longer near me. No longer touching me.
The housekeeper drops thinly sliced mushrooms into the pan. They look good. I think I like veggie omelets. That makes sense. Maybe she knows me. I glance at his back. Still occupied with his call. Maybe she can help me escape. “Thank you for all of this.”
Pleased with my appreciation, she smiles again and turns back to her cutting board. Adding dollops of yogurt to a small dish of berries sprinkled with granola. Dread pricks my skin deeper than thousands of tiny needles.
I don’t like raspberries.
My fingers fly to my temple. Fighting through the sharp stabbing in my head. But I keep going. Keep pushing to grasp the memory sputtering in my mind. “Is this what I normally eat?”
Hesitation flickers in her eyes, and her gaze darts from me to the fruit and back again. As if I’m asking a trick question. “Ma’am?”
Panic wells up in me. She’s my only hope. She has to listen to me. “Please! I’m begging you. He’s hurting me, and I have to get out of here. I have to‒”
She jerks back from my shaking hand clutching her forearm. Now fear flushes her face. “I-I don’t…”
The thick blue bowl slips from her fingers, shattering against the hard tile. Harsh reality and sticky juice splashing my trembling legs.
He jerks around from the commotion. Anger throbbing in the pulse in his neck as he rushes over. “What the hell is going on in here?”
The housekeeper points to me. Accusations making me wince. “She’s unwell, Mr. Wire. She’s acting strangely again!”
Again?
“It’s all right, Mrs. Garrison. I’ll take care of her. Why don’t you go get the rest of the groceries? You can grill salmon for dinner.”
“Yes. Thank you, sir.” She awkwardly pats my shoulder. Sympathy pulling down her lips. “It’ll be okay.”
My stomach drops even more from her pitiful tone. She’s on his side. Helping him. Believing him. A person I hoped I could count on. Maybe trust. But I'm wrong. I can only rely on myself.
Risking his wrath, I turn on him. Wild and reckless with terror. But I have to know. "What is she talking about? What does she mean again?"
He tosses his cell on the table. Blows out a long sigh. Stalling and shrugging while she gathers her purse and grocery bags. Pretending he's trying to protect my feelings in her presence. But I don't believe him. I don't believe any of his concern. "Please just tell me."
"You've had these...episodes the doctors call them...in the past. Where your anxiety gets so bad you get confused."
I'm paralyzed by his words. A strange kaleidoscope twisting logic and absurdity. Possible yet unlikely. I've never heard of anything like he describes. But that's not saying much. I've never heard of a lot of things that he tells me. That I can't remember.
"You block out what you don't have the capacity to deal with. Your mind is weak, Cat. You can't handle real life. I have to take care of you. I'm all you’ve got who will put up with you and your outbursts."
Maybe it really is true. I'm difficult. Crazy. That's why I have no friends. Or family. No one sticks around when you're too unbalanced to love.
The door closes softly. She’s gone, but he keeps talking. Even though I don't want to hear it. I've learned all I need to know. I am alone.
"Last time it got so bad they had to treat you. They strapped you down...put the nodules on your scalp and forehead… your whole body jerked off the table from the current going through you."
Slow and torturous, his gaze burrows into mine. He enjoys punishing me. Scaring me.
“It was so damn painful. It broke my heart how terrified you were. Screaming and begging for me to make them stop. Swearing you’d do anything if I just keep them from hurting you so much."
"Please don’t‒"
"Is that what you need again? Do I need to call them to take you away and shock your brain? I mean even Mrs. Garrison saw how fucked up you truly are."
My punishment for asking for her help. The woman I hoped to be my savior now a witness to my instability. Using her to prove him right. To corroborate how broken I am. "No."
He shakes his head from my whisper. Expecting more. So much more. That I'm not sure I can give.
"What Cat? I didn't quite catch that."
A sadistic smile lights his face. He caught it. He caught my words. He caught me. And I don't know how to untangle myself from the chaos that binds me to him. But I can't make it worse. I meet his eye. The iris as black as his soul. I refuse to flinch. I may be weak but I'm not giving up. "No."
"Good." He leans back. Crossing his arms in victory. Gloating in his is triumph. “I'm glad we've got that settled. Now, what do you want to do today?"
Die. "Nothing."
"Don't be a bitch. We’re on fucking vacation. I don’t want to just sit around all day. Let’s go somewhere and do something.”
Hope swells in my chest. We’re leaving. Going outside. With other people. Another chance to get help. I try not to sound too eager. “I need some clothes. Maybe we can go shopping?”
“Yeah, sure.” His expression darkens, and he reaches down to adjust himself. Never breaking my gaze. “We’ll even get you another wedding ring since you’ve lost yours again. It’ll be like we’re on our second honeymoon. Would you like that baby girl?”
All I can do is nod to keep from vomiting on the table.
/>
I stand naked in front of the three-way mirror.
Counting the bruises.
One each on my forehead and cheek. My thighs flaming scarlet with the outline of his handprints. The blossoming black and purple knot swelling on my rib cage. The scrapes of his fingernails on my throat. The gouge in my arm, rough with angry scabs.
This is what he’s done to me in the last six hours.
What will he do in six days? Six weeks? Six months?
Will I even survive that long?
“Holy shit! What happened to you girl?”
Tears well up in my eyes from the shock in the sales lady’s tone as I wrap my arms around myself. Covering my nudity and my shame. What has happened to me?
She shuts the door behind her. The dresses draped over her arm flutter from her quick steps to stand behind me, studying me intently.
Just like Trish.
My body jerks from the searing spasm in my head. Gone in an instant with the thought that floated by too fast for me to latch onto.
“Did he do that to you?”
She points backward over her shoulder. Where he sits outside waiting for me to model my new clothes for him. Whispering as if she fears him as much as I do. The same terror keeping me from admitting the truth. “I’m fine. It was an accident.”
Her lips purse together as she shakes her tilting head. Not believing me with the reality so glaringly obvious staring back at us. “Girl, you’ve got to get away from him. You don’t deserve that shit.”
My earlier optimism floundering after seeing myself so battered. With the diamond band on my finger mocking me. Not at all a symbol of love or trust or commitment. Even that sales clerk questioning my discolored face and quivering hand. Michael answering for me by caressing over my backside. Reminding me of his punishment if I create any more problems.
I know if I describe what I’ve gone through, she probably won’t believe me either. The story too ridiculous to accept. So I lie to her too. “I know. I’ll try.”
On the Rocks: A Dark Mafia Romance Page 8