Chapter Nine
Ginny held her breath as she opened the back door to her house. The lights were off and it was eerily silent.
That was odd.
Though she’d never been late getting home, she’d fully expected John to be waiting for her at the door, eager to dole out his punishment.
She hated John with a vengeance. The only thing that kept her tied to this place was that promise she’d made so long ago.
She glanced down at her clothes and cringed. Appearing in front of John dressed in jeans and biker boots would flame the fire of his rage.
She headed into the half bath off the kitchen and quietly shut the door. She cringed when the hinge creaked.
When she didn’t hear any footsteps on the hardwood floor, she turned on the light and hurried to change her clothes.
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and froze. Her eyes sparkled instead of looking dead. Her normally pale face was flushed from the exhilarating ride on the back of the Harley, and her lips were pink from thinking about Jaxon.
She’d never thought in a million years she’d ever see Jaxon again.
She’d never planned what to say to him if she ever did.
Today had been a big shock to her system. Like her grandmother’s home in Arkansas, her relationship with Jaxon had died long ago.
She’d seen to that.
“Ginny!” John yelled.
Her heart jumped in her throat at the sound of his voice.
She stuffed the clothes in the cabinet underneath the sink behind a stack of toilet paper and monogramed hand towels. She finger-brushed her hair and looked at her reflection. There was no time to even think about a lie John would believe.
The door swung open. John stood there, his large frame filling in the doorway and sucking the oxygen out of the room.
Her heart pounded in her chest and her eyes widened.
“Where the fuck have you been?” He narrowed his blue eyes and curled his perfectly manicured fingers into fists. He was still wearing a button-up shirt and tan slacks, both devoid of wrinkles. John always demanded perfection, from how he looked right down to his wife. Appearances were important to him.
His angry gaze raked over her disheveled appearance.
“My car was stolen.” She lifted her chin. At least that part wasn’t a lie.
“I had to find a way home. I tried to get here as fast as I could.” She swallowed. “I knew you would be worried.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because my phone died. My charger was in the car and I had no way to charge it.” The lie rolled out easy enough.
He cocked his head and studied her. Testing to see whether she was lying or not. She’d learned that she could tell a lot about how hard he was going to hit her by looking in his eyes.
She braced for his next question.
“So how did you get home?” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
To the casual observer, John was handsome—more than handsome. With his dark hair, blue eyes, and body made of muscle, he looked like the perfect male specimen. He could have gone into modeling and done quite well. But if they could see inside John’s body and stare into his mind muddled with evil and a heart coated in sin, they would see something else.
He was not just a werewolf. John was a monster, a bloodthirsty monster with no conscience.
“I caught a ride with a biker.” She took a deep breath. “It was the only option I had. There was no one else on the country road.”
She swallowed. “I had no choice.”
“Who was this biker?”
Ginny shrugged. He didn’t act like he knew Jaxon had brought her into Louisiana. But he was also one to guard his expressions like a snake. He would strike when she least expected it.
“Just some stranger.”
“Did he touch you? In any way?” He narrowed his gaze.
“No. He was very polite. He didn’t make a move to do anything.”
“What about the envelope?” His eyes widened slightly. “Did you deliver it to the bartender?”
“Yes, I gave it to the bartender as you instructed. It was at the bar that my car was stolen.” She looked away. Fuck. She’d totally forgotten about the envelope after the bartender had been killed.
“Stolen by who?” He stepped out of the way so she could walk out of the bathroom.
She released the tension in her shoulders. If he was focused on the envelope, then maybe he really didn’t know about Jaxon.
She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a glass out of the cabinet. She held it in the door of the refrigerator and filled it with ice-cold water and then took a drink before turning back to him.
“I don’t know. Someone said it was some witch.”
His hand slammed down across her face. She dropped the glass and it shattered on the floor. Pain exploded behind her eyes and she literally saw stars. She cradled her face in her hands and dropped to her knees, cradling her stomach to protect the baby.
He loved hitting her in the stomach. The bruises there weren’t visible to the public.
He rarely hit her in the face. He didn’t want to leave bruises on her face.
If he found out she was pregnant, he’d kill the baby. He’d make sure he didn’t have an heir that might take away his future as Pack Master.
“You lying bitch.” He grabbed her by the hair and lifted her head. He slammed his fist into her stomach. The breath whooshed out of her lungs and she crumbled to the floor. Her arms went around her stomach as she struggled to breathe.
“John, please.” She wheezed out. What had she said? What had she done wrong?
“That’s not some witch. It’s the Witch of Yazoo City. That same bitch that Barrett Middleton has been trying to capture since his Guardian let her get loose out of that cemetery.”
“I didn’t know that.” She cried out. The pain in her stomach spread like white-hot fire.
“And according to my sources, not only did she steal your car. She killed the bartender. And took my envelope.” He gritted his teeth and curled his fingers to fists.
She curled herself into a fetal position and braced for the next blow. With him, she never could tell how hard it would be.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she whispered, unsure if he even heard her. Images of Jaxon flashed through her head. “I did everything like you asked me to. It’s not my fault she stole it.”
“It is your fault, Ginny. You should have called me after you knew the car was gone.” He kicked her again in the stomach. She screamed.
“You should have told me it was the witch that had stolen it.” He walked around her body and kicked her in the lower back near her kidney. She cried out again in pain.
“Most important of all, you stupid cunt, you should have told me it was Jaxon Taylor who gave you a ride home.”
She almost forgot the tremendous amount of pain racking her body.
He knows. He knows. He knows.
Those words danced around in her head like flames of a fire, unable to be contained, unable to be controlled.
She slammed her eyes shut.
She’d known fear since becoming John’s wife. She’d known terror since living in his home. But now, right now in this moment, all she could see was death.
Hers and Jaxon’s.