Prologue

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The coffee mug sailed through the air and smashed into the wall behind Ingrid. Prepared for being hit in the head and the sound of shattering glass, she refused to blink. Any weakness would only complicate an already difficult situation and make her boyfriend more upset with her.

"What did you say to my dad?" Evan Kingsley reached over and picked up a plate from the dishwasher that she'd been loading moments ago.

"I only took a message." The paper with the information was on the counter beside her cell phone, but she dared not point out the obvious. "He gave me the time and place you're supposed to—"

Evan curled his arm, gripping the plate like a frisbee, and flung his arm, aiming right at her. She blinked, timing the attack. The worst thing about an object making contact with her body was the wait and having to watch. From experience, if she could brace herself for the pain, the moment of contact wouldn't hurt as much.

The plate skimmed her shoulder. Her eyes came open, and she maintained her balance. The pain only shocked her. It wasn't permanent.

She refused to beg Evan to listen. He'd only punish her parents to make her pay for talking back to him, and she'd do anything to protect her mom and dad. She'd put her parents through enough stress when she fell in love with Evan and moved in with him against their wishes.

If Evan could hurt her, the woman he professed to love, he'd hurt those she loved without any regret. He'd sworn to do exactly that too many times to count, and she believed him.

He was manipulative, spoiled, smart, and a son of a cop.

A good cop that had no idea his son was a monster.

Evan lived two different lives. One public life that brought pride to his father and a private life that brought fear to Ingrid. A lifestyle Evan introduced her to when she moved in with him and one she couldn't escape for fear of what he'd do to her, his dad, and especially her parents if she left.

Evan picked up the piece of paper, read the message, and crumbled the note in his hand. Ingrid inhaled in relief. Paper couldn't hurt her.

He stepped toward her, picked up a chair from the table, and hurled it at her. She blinked, and the impact of the chair slamming against her chest knocked her backward on her ass. The momentum jarred her, and the back of her head hit the hutch. Stifling the groan of pain, she lay limp.

Her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth. She stared up at Evan with dry eyes. The reaction opposite of what it should be. Any normal person with common sense would fight back, scream, run, call 911, tell the world what Evan enjoyed doing to her behind four walls. She knew that. She remembered what normal felt like. He was changing her. She wasn't the person she was two years ago.

Evan squatted, hovering above her. He looked at her shirt where the seat of the wooden chair had hit her. "Stand up. Wipe that stupid look off your face. My dad is going to be here any minute. I want everything cleaned up. You'll act happy and help me celebrate my birthday."

She pushed up on her elbows, and her breath left her lungs. The pain in her ribs, stealing all her strength, caused her to rebel.

"Please, don't hurt me anymore," she said.

Evan raised his brows, waiting, hoping, expecting her to lose her temper. It'd be the perfect gift for his special day, unlike the dinner she'd prepared and the briefcase she'd bought him.

Arousal shone in his gaze. He got off on pain and seeing her cower. Loved when she was powerless and weak.

She gritted her teeth and forced herself to her knees, woozy from the rush of blood leaving her head. Please, not now. Don't let him want me.

With every ounce of strength she possessed, she pushed to her feet and stepped away from him, scared to take a breath. The stabbing pain that came with broken ribs a familiar reminder to take shallow breaths to continue walking, sitting, laying.

She grabbed one paper towel, wet the cloth, and moved over to pick up the pieces of broken glass littering the floor. All the while, hoping she'd be able to get back to her feet and away from Evan's sharp watch. He waited for her to screw up.

He could wait until hell freezes over.

"Don't even think of telling anyone." Evan leaned against the table. "I'll kill you if you try to leave. Remember that. Then, I'll kill your parents and put them out of their misery."

She carried the glass to the garbage. Ten minutes later, she had the house back in pristine condition. She washed her face and gathered herself in the privacy of the bathroom. Then she returned to the dining room to find her boyfriend's father standing at the table with Evan.

She panted silently through her nose, having become an expert at covering up her pain. Focused on Stewart Kingsley standing in his blue St. John's Police uniform, she was at his side before she noticed the pistol in Evan's hand. She gasped, unable to mask her shock.

"Hey, sweetheart. It smells great in here." Stewart leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You're just in time to see what I bought Evan for his birthday."

"It's Tuesday. Roast." She held on to the back of the chair Evan had used to hurt her. "For E-Evan's birthday. It'll be ready at six o'clock."

"Boy, that sounds good." Stewart undid the buttons on the sleeves of his uniform and looked at Evan. "We've got time to hit the shooting range before dinner. You can check the pistol out and get comfortable with it."

She dipped her chin, catching Evan pointing the pistol at her. It appeared as if he was checking the gun, but she knew better. He'd never had a pistol before. The one his dad wore for work got locked in a safe when Stewart wasn't on duty.

A heaviness settled on her shoulders. She blinked the stars from her eyes, needing to breathe and scared she'd cry out from the pain if she did.

Evan never used his fists when he hurt her. He always used objects. A dish. A boot. A chair. Even one time bumping her hip hard enough with the car to knock her down. Now that he had a pistol, he could shoot her.

She glanced at Evan. He cocked his brow and mouthed, "Bang."

Stewart stripped down to his white undershirt and clapped his hands together. She jolted at the noise and her sight narrowed until everything in her peripheral vision turned black.

"Let's go, son." Stewart slapped his hand on Evan's shoulder. "Put your new pistol in the case, and let's go shoot some targets. You're going to love it."

Targets.

She was a target.

The door closed, leaving her alone in the house. She remained standing, not trusting her legs to hold her up and fearing a fall would shove a broken rib into her lung. Evan owning a pistol and having easy access to one changed the situation.

She had to leave.

A chill went through her and left her skin clammy. She couldn't run to her parents. They had no way to protect her or themselves. They'd provide shelter for her—she had no doubt. But, Evan would hurt them. He'd promised too many times that he would punish her by harming them. He had no limit to his sick abuse, even threatening to hurt his own father to make her pay for disobeying him.

There was no way to outsmart Evan. He knew everyone in her life. He'd grown up a son of a cop. He'd listened to every police story, every crime, every imaginable way to get away with murder. Evan always had a backup plan, an excuse, a reason.

She wrapped her arm around her middle, holding her ribs in place, and moved away from the table. Taking small steps, she went to the bedroom she shared with Evan. To protect those she loved, she had to go away.

Evan had to know she'd left everyone behind and they knew nothing about her whereabouts. It was the only way to make sure Evan wouldn't harm anyone to get to her.

In her current condition, she wouldn't be able to carry much. A change of clothes, soap, shampoo, toothbrush, and her old sleeping bag.

The last thing she shoved into her backpack was the afghan her grandma had made her before she'd died that her cat had a habit of sleeping on when she still lived with her parents. She'd leave her purse, her driver's license, and everything else that would identify her. If found, she couldn't take the chance of someone contacting Evan.

Until that moment when she walked out the door, she had no idea how prepared she was to leave or how she'd dreamed about slipping away.