All in all, it had been a productive day, despite the disastrous beginning. Delaney had put in ten long hours at the studio laying down tracks for the first song in her new album. Slowly but surely, she was making progress. The hard part had been pulling her mind away from the threatening texts and focusing on her work. Every minute counted these days. She had to have all six songs written and performed by the end of the month. One down and five to go.

Delaney leaned back against the seat of the car and let her mind get lost in the blur of lights from the city. Every inch of her body craved sleep. As soon as she got home, she was taking a hot shower and crawling into bed. Thankfully, she could sleep in a little in the morning before starting on the lyrics for her next song. The title of her album was “Transformation.” She chuckled darkly. Transformation was a topic Delaney knew well. Maybe she should name her next song “Scratch and Claw.” That’s what she’d done—scratched and clawed her way to stardom despite all obstacles. But now that she was on the cusp of making it big, her past was catching up to her.

She fingered her neck, feeling like she had an invisible noose around it. She should’ve known her ex-husband Tuck would come lurking around when he realized she was on the verge of becoming a star. Sharks always came for the feed when they caught a whiff of fresh blood. An icy fear slithered down her spine as the all too familiar panic gripped her. Tuck wouldn’t stop until he killed her.

Maybe she should’ve stayed out of the limelight. Even as the thought entered her mind, she knew that singing was nearly as important to her as breathing. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life hiding in the shadows, fearing each day that Tuck would return. Tuck and his brother had taken away everything else from her. She wouldn’t allow them to steal this too. No matter what, she’d go down fighting. Her mind flitted over the recent events that had brought her to this point.

The first text came a little over a month ago, right after she made her first appearance on a popular late-night show. Her record label wanted to put her out there so that people would know Delaney Mitchell by the time her debut album came out. The plan was working. Delaney’s Instagram and Twitter followers were doubling daily and she’d gotten a half-dozen requests to appear on several more well-recognized talk shows. Unfortunately, the notoriety put her on Tuck’s radar.

Had she remained an obscure waitress, scratching out a meager income to get by, Tuck might’ve left her alone. But now that she was fast becoming somebody, he wanted a piece of the pie. No, what he wanted was a piece of her. In Tuck’s warped mind, he believed he owned her like property he could abuse at will and then push aside until it suited his whim to pick it up again. She swallowed, glancing at the bulky outline of her bodyguard Mason’s shoulders who was driving the car. It was good to know that she had someone with her always—a barrier that would hopefully keep Tuck from gaining personal access to her.

Immediately after receiving the first round of texts, Delaney had gone to the police and filed a restraining order against Tuck. Then she hired a service that would give her 24 hour, around-the-clock protection. It cost a pretty penny, but it was worth the peace of mind. Tuck and his family were from her hometown Noble, Alabama. Although there wasn't anything noble about the one-horse town of her birth. She’d hoped that moving from Nashville to San Diego would help Tuck stay away. But she’d been fooling herself. After all, it wasn’t like Tuck couldn’t hop a plane.

Delaney changed her number and the initial texts had stopped. She’d hoped the ordeal was over. But this morning, it had started again. The text came through as she was wolfing down a bowl of cereal and getting ready to dart out the door for work.

An hour later while she was at the recording studio surrounded by a team of musicians, another text came through. This one had her shaking.

And then …

After the third text, she couldn’t breathe. Tuck was here in San Diego, lurking somewhere nearby. He’d gotten close enough to see what she was wearing. Delaney rushed to the bathroom where she puked. Then she called her manager Milo Stanley. She was so panicked she could hardly talk, the words came out in strangled gulps as she slumped down against the wall and drew herself into a tight ball, rocking back and forth. Images from before burned through her mind … Tuck taunting her, a tiger playing with its food before going in for the kill. The last time she saw him, he’d beaten her so badly that he’d put her in the hospital. Delaney figured Tuck experienced a moment of regret over his actions, which is why he agreed to a divorce. She went from the hospital to a home for battered women. The police came and took their reports but realized prosecuting Tuck was futile. Delaney was unwilling to testify against him. Not that she didn’t want to see Tuck pay for what he did. But she was too afraid, not only of Tuck but of his older brother Hugh. She could see the relief in the officers’ eyes … knew they didn’t want to tangle with the ruthless Allen brothers either. They thought nothing of going after police officers or anyone else who got in their way.

Her manager Milo helped calm her down. He said he was on his way to the studio and told her to call the police. At least the police force here wouldn’t be cowed by Tuck. Two officers arrived to take her statement, then told her to call again if Tuck came anywhere near. “Tuck’s just trying to scare you,” Milo said. “You have highly skilled bodyguards surrounding you at all times. The closest Tuck can get to you is through texts.”

“But how did he get this number?” Delaney wanted to know. “You said it was private.”

“It is private,” Milo countered. “Geez, Delaney, I don’t know how he got it. But don’t worry, we’ll get you a new number.”

Milo had spent a full hour talking to Delaney, trying to calm her down enough that she could get back to work. The record label had paid for studio musicians to come lay down tracks. The song had to be recorded today, or else the label would lose money. And that was unacceptable, especially for a new artist. Delaney was lucky Montana Crew’s label agreed to produce her album. She couldn’t risk messing things up.

So, she offered a few heartfelt prayers, asking for help. Then she drained several cups of black coffee and went to work. In a way, it was good to have something to focus on besides Tuck. Luckily, her persistence paid off. Nine hours later they finally had a quality product.

“Here we are, ma’am,” Mason said politely as they pulled alongside the curb of her high-rise building. “Would you like for me to park the car and meet you inside your condo?”

“No!” The word came out more forcefully than she’d intended. She offered a strained smile to soften her rudeness. “We can use the valet service. I’d like for you to accompany me to my condo. Considering the texts …”

Mason nodded, a deep crease forming in the center of his fleshy forehead. “Of course.” He cocked his head looking thoughtful. “Miss Mitchell, if it makes you feel any better, it’s highly unlikely that your ex could get past the front desk security in your building and then up to the tenth floor. You should be perfectly safe.”

She suppressed a shudder. “Thanks,” she mumbled, “but if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer if you go with me and do a check of my condo before I go in.” While she appreciated Mason trying to ease her fears, he didn’t know how ruthless Tuck was. It was better to be safe rather than sorry.

“Sure thing.” Mason pulled up to the valet desk. As they got out, Delaney looked over her shoulder, her skin crawling. Was Tuck out there right now, watching her? She brushed aside the fear, straightening her shoulders. Something had shifted inside her today as she sat huddled on the bathroom floor, scared out of her mind. She felt small and pathetic … at Tuck’s complete mercy. Which is precisely how Tuck wanted her to feel. But enough was enough! Tuck Allen had caused her enough pain for ten lifetimes. If he came looking for her, he’d get the fight of his life.

* * *

The flowing hot water helped soothe some of the tension from Delaney’s aching shoulders. Her mind ran through possibilities for song lyrics, but it was hard to come up with anything since she was so tired. She dried off with a towel, then slipped on her robe. She was headed to her bedroom to put on underwear and pajamas when she heard a noise. She froze in her tracks, her heart picking up its beat. She cocked her ears.

Nothing.

She relaxed, laughing softly. This paranoia would be the death of her. Mason had done a thorough check of the condo, proclaiming it safe. And he was right outside the door where he’d be all night until his shift change when another bodyguard would take his place.

Delaney went to the dresser. She flinched when she heard a thump that sounded like someone was in the kitchen. Her throat constricted as she clutched her neck. For a second, she was unsure what to do. It seemed like overkill to call 911 because she heard a noise. She reached for her phone on the nightstand and stole into the hall. Her heart pounded out a ragged beat as she made her way to the kitchen. Had Mason come into the condo for some reason? She made a mental note to call the agency the following day and stipulate that under no circumstances were the bodyguards to enter her condo without her permission. If Mason needed something, he should’ve called.

“Hello? Mason? Is that you?” She stepped into the kitchen at the same instant she heard the grating laugh.

“Who the devil is Mason? That blockhead you had planted outside your front door?” A cruel grin twisted Tuck’s handsome features, revealing the monster within. “Sugar, the next time you hire a bodyguard, make sure he doesn’t have a weakness for a beautiful woman holding a box of doughnuts.” He grunted. “The fool digested enough sleeping pills to keep him dozing for a good long time. Who knows? Maybe even enough to kill him.”

The words flowed so casually out of Tuck’s mouth, he might’ve been talking about the weather rather than the life of a human being. With his blonde hair, even features, and bright-blue eyes, Tuck was the quintessential golden boy—his outward appearance belying the psychopath within. He’d grown a mustache since she’d last seen him, and his hair was shorter.

She let out a cry, tremors shooting through her body. A wave of dizziness assaulted her as she staggered, trying to get her balance. Her mind tried to come to grips with the fact that her worst nightmare was sitting on a barstool, his feet propped on the kitchen island. An incredulous laugh rose in her throat. Tuck was munching on an apple, of all things. Her breath froze when she saw the pistol in his other hand. Run! her mind screamed. But to where? Tuck would shoot her before she made it two steps away.

She straightened her shoulders, trying to mask her fear with an expression of outrage. Tuck fed on weakness. “You have no right to be here.”

“Oh, I have every right, darling.” He looked her up and down, a brazen glint in his eyes.

Revulsion welled in her as she tightened the tie on her robe. “What do you want, Tuck?” She tried to think … She was holding her phone. Was it possible to call 911?

“Did you really think you could get rid of me?” He laughed, but the coldness in his eyes sent shivers down her spine. “As if changing your stupid phone number or hiring a few bodyguards would keep me away.” She felt like she was staring into the face of the devil as he locked eyes with her. Then his expression grew plaintive, like the child in him was taking centerstage. “I miss you.” His voice grew pleading, confused. “H-how could you desert me? Your own husband?”

In the early days, she’d been taken in by Tuck’s manipulation, believed there was good in him. It was a vicious cycle. He’d beat her senseless, then beg for her forgiveness, romancing her enough so that she’d actually believe things could be different. Then, when she let her guard down, the demon in him would rear its ugly head. Her voice sounded as brittle and hollow as she felt. “We’re divorced, Tuck. You no longer have any claim on me.”

He grunted. “Barbie Face, in the eyes of the Lord we’re married ‘til death do we part.” His eyes narrowed. “The two of us will be together, until one of us is put in a box.” His voice rose. “You got that?”

She jerked, hugging her arms. Wishing she could make herself small enough to disappear. Tuck had always called her Barbie Face. There was a time when she thought the nickname was cute. When she was young and stupid … flattered that he noticed her.

Tuck tossed the half-eaten apple on the floor and sat up.

Delaney sensed a shift in his demeanor, knew everything was coming to a head. Tuck was tired of talking. Blood pounded against Delaney’s temples. She tried to swallow down her alarm, keep her wits about her. “What do you want? Money? I’ll give you as much as you want. Just leave me alone.” She hated the desperate edge in her voice. Hated how small and miserable this man made her feel. Life with him had been a horrible series of memories that she wanted to erase from her mind.

His voice took on the silky tone of a snake, slithering around its prey. “Look at you … all high and mighty. Country music star Delaney Mitchell. Has a much better ring than Delores Millstead. But no matter how much lipstick you slather on a pig, it’s still a pig, after all.” He grunted. “To answer your question. I’ll take the money and anything else I want.” His eyes raked over her.

Revulsion welled in her stomach. She’d seen that look before, knew what it meant.

Tuck’s voice took on a disinterested tone as he motioned. “Now take off that robe. It’s time you performed your wifely duty.”

Terror—swift and paralyzing—raced over her. And with that terror came a smoldering anger. It wouldn’t be enough for Tuck to rape her, he wanted to humiliate her first. They’d been through this routine more times than she could count—her standing before Tuck while he pointed out all the flaws in her body like she was nothing more than a branded piece of livestock. It made her disgusted with herself that she’d allowed him to wield so much control over her.

“No!” Even if she died here tonight she wouldn’t be subjected to his cruelty any longer.

His jaw went slack as he rocked back. Then he barked out an uncertain laugh before his eyes went hard. He swiped the glass fruit bowl with his arm, sending it flying to the floor where it splintered into pieces.

Delaney flinched, but held her ground. “Get out! Before I call the police.”

Rage twisted Tuck’s face as he sprang to his feet and rushed at her, knocking the phone out of her hand. He grabbed her throat and pushed her against the wall. She gurgled, trying to get her breath, her fingers clawing against his hand. Stars exploded before her eyes. In a matter of seconds, she’d pass out. A futile terror iced over her, her eyes bulging, her lungs craving air.

“You listen to me,” he seethed, his face purple. “You belong to me! And you’ll do what I say!” He released his hold on her throat. She coughed, drawing in a haggard breath. He pressed against her with his body weight, trailing the barrel of the pistol along her jaw. “Now whaddaya say we start this conversation over? The robe comes off!”

As he pulled at the tie, something inside her snapped. She let out a visceral scream and went on the attack, digging her fingernails into his eyes. Then she went for the pistol, trying to pry it out of his hands. No doubt, Tuck was stronger. Had she not taken him by surprise or been so enraged, she might not have stood a chance. But he stumbled back and tried to regain his balance. They wrestled, Delaney keeping a firm grip on the gun with both hands against his one hand. That was her only chance … to get the gun away from him. Delaney heard a loud bang, felt the brunt kick of the gun being fired. For a split second, she thought she’d been shot.

No, not her.

Disbelief widened Tuck’s eyes. “You shot me.” He backed away, holding a hand over the wound in his torso as he slumped to his knees, then fell to the floor.

Delaney gasped, the hard reality of what had just happened overtaking her. Her body shook, her mind whirling. Somehow, she managed to get to her phone. She pressed 911.

“My ex-husband broke into my condo.” Her voice broke. “I shot him.” She looked at the blood pooling like an ink stain over his clothes. “I—I think I killed him.” She dropped the phone and fell to her knees, sobbing.