Present day

Ugly. Scarred. Abused.

Tameka Dorsey dragged her palms down her faded jeans to dry them, hoping the doctor couldn’t smell her sweat as he unwrapped her facial bandages.

He’d promised she’d look normal again. Now, after three weeks of waiting, she’d finally see her new face. No man would hit her again just because she was what her first husband called butt ugly. Too bad she didn’t have the courage to face the man who only married her to be his punching bag. She’d wanted to stand up to him. Wanted to show him she was a survivor and that he hadn’t ruined her as he’d hoped.

“All finished.” The doctor from the free clinic smiled down at her.

She shook her shoulders. “Can I see?”

“In a moment. I want to take a look first.” He lifted the lid to the red biohazard pail and tossed the slightly stained gauze inside. He returned and touched her cheek. His jaw muscle twitched. “What’s this?”

Oh, shit. His voice had dipped a few notches, just like her fiancé Jamal’s had when he became angry.

“What’s what?”

“You have a contusion, a bruise, the size of a quarter on your cheek.”

“I, ah, fell.”

“Jamal hit you again, didn’t he?” A vein pulsed in his forehead.

She flinched. Tameka cast her eyes downward for a moment. “I’m fine. Really.” She glanced up at him, hoping to see the tight lines around his mouth soften.

Wrong.

His eyes narrowed even more. “Didn’t I tell you to leave that bastard?”

He leaned closer. So close in fact, his stale breath raked down her cheek and forced her to shrink back in the reclining chair.

Why was he yelling at her? Doctors weren’t supposed to yell. “Yes, you did, but—”

“How many times have I told you men who abuse others are worthless pieces of shit?”

Spit flew into her face, but she didn’t dare wipe it away without permission. Her first husband had taught her that lesson. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough.”

“Wh-why do you care?”

“Because I can’t stand to see a woman hurt.” His clenched fists made it seem like he was trying not to hurt her.

Mama always encouraged her to tell the truth. “It was my fault.” Fear sharpened every nerve. “Jamal didn’t mean to hit me. He was real sorry when he learned he was going to be a daddy.”

“You’re pregnant?” His jaw tightened. “Are you sure? The blood tests didn’t show anything. I wouldn’t have operated if I’d known.”

“I just found out.”

The doctor stepped back. “Ta-me-ka.”

What was his problem? “Jamal promised he wouldn’t hit me again now that I’m carrying his baby.”

“Men make a lot of promises they won’t keep. Jamal will never stop abusing you.”

She’d heard all this before from her well-meaning friends, but they didn’t understand how much she loved him and how sorry he was he’d hurt her.

The doctor strode over to a wall cabinet and unlocked the door. His back was toward her and his shoulders were bunched.

Where the hell was the nurse who’d shown her into the room? And why had she left right as the doctor began to remove the bandages? Wasn’t she supposed to stay?

The doctor spun back to her, took three steps, and stabbed her upper arm with a needle. The liquid burned as it raced through her veins. Then a numbing sensation slid down her spine, stealing her breath. “What was that?”

“It’s a paralytic. Don’t worry, it’ll wear off in twenty minutes or so.”

“Para-what-ic?”

“It means you won’t be able to move for a while.”

She choked. “Why?”

“I won’t give Jamal another chance to ruin my masterpiece. And I won’t let you bring a baby into this world just to have Jamal abuse the child too. You should have left that animal when I told you.”

Without warning, her head lolled to the side. She tried to yell an obscenity, tried to tell him he wouldn’t get away with this, but nothing moved—not her lips, not her tongue, not her vocal chords. She struggled to stand, but her legs had turned useless and her hands were like blocks of cement. Her heart beat so fast she feared it would explode.

“No one’s going to hurt you ever again. Or your baby. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry? Was he fucking kidding?

Her brain fogged. Move something. Anything—a finger, her tongue, a toe. Nothing even twitched. Focus. Her throat turned dry.

He slid his hands under her legs and picked her up. The doctor then staggered toward the back door. What was he doing? She needed to stop him. Her eyes darted right, then left, hoping someone would see them as he slipped into the alley. Hadn’t one of the nurses heard him yelling? Or was she too busy with other needy people from the clinic to bother checking in on them?

Cars filled half the lot. Surely, a patient would come out and see her. The clinic didn’t close for another hour.

Tameka strained to hear voices coming her way—any voice—but silence surrounded her. Someone save me!

The doctor’s knees buckled. She slipped out of his arms and crashed to the ground, landing on her back. Her head tipped to the left, and her cheek rested on the pebbled pavement. Tameka sensed nothing other than sheer panic splintering her mind into a million pieces.

A key clicked and the trunk creaked open. Her breathing took more effort. Air—she needed air. The liquid pooling in the back of her throat nearly drowned her. She couldn’t swallow. Oh, God.

The soft tones of him punching numbers on a cell phone reverberated in her head, her ability to hear fading with each breath.

“I have another one.”

She tried to concentrate on his words.

“Yes, same place,” he said.

Feet first, the doctor dragged her to the back of a car, grunting like a boar in heat. After several attempts, he managed to lift her into the trunk. He slammed the lid and darkness enveloped her. Please, please, don’t let him do this.

Tears leaked from her eyes as she tried to focus on her mom’s smiling face—anything to keep her mind off the dank blackness of the dusty trunk and whatever horror awaited her. She wanted to blink away the tears, but her lids wouldn’t move. Her chest felt as though she was pinned under a two-ton weight. She gasped.

Tameka needed to live. For her baby. For Mama, for Jamal.

Poor Mama. She’d have a heart attack when she learned her only child would never come home. And Jamal would go ballistic.

She concentrated on taking slow, even breaths, but all she could manage were small puffs. She choked on the gas fumes filling the trunk’s sour air as she went in and out of consciousness.

Some time later, the car halted and the lid popped opened. A pink dusk had settled outside. How long had they been driving? The doctor ripped her from the trunk and half carried, half pulled her to an...ambulance? What was he doing? Taking her to a hospital? Was he trying to protect her from Jamal, after all? She thought he wanted to kill her. Her mind refused to work right.

Once the doctor placed her on the gurney, he shoved a horrible tube down her throat. She gagged. Couldn’t breathe. Oh, God. She fought to move her arms to stop him, but nothing budged. The ambulance door closed, enclosing her in a cold cocoon. The engine started. Mercifully, air came down the tube and invaded her lungs.

Tameka lost track of time as she stared at the vehicle’s ceiling, her thoughts racing to understand why she was here.

Then the ambulance jerked to a stop.

Now what? Was he really taking her to the emergency room, or had he kept her alive to abuse her? Would he beat her? Rape her? Would she feel anything before he killed her? Nothing made any sense.

Voices filtered in from outside before drifting away. When no one came to rescue her, an overwhelming depression crushed her.

A slow tingle pricked her hand, causing hope to surge. Concentrating, she moved her fingers. At least she thought something moved. Before she had enough time to test the rest of her body for movement, the back door whipped opened and a flashlight shone in her eyes, and blinded her.

“You want me to git her?” a stranger asked.

“Yes.”

Thrill shimmered in the doctor’s voice. Bastard.

“The paralytic should have worn off by now. You can breathe on your own.”

The doctor ripped out the tube, and Tameka sucked in a rasping breath. Her raw throat screamed as pulses of blood snaked up her body. She wanted to feel, wanted to move, wanted to escape.

“Here, let me help you out of those clothes. We don’t need any evidence left behind,” the stranger said.

He ripped out her earrings, tugged off her shoes, and stripped her bare. Tamika was helpless to stop him. He tossed the clothes into the back of the ambulance, and when he stepped back, the cool air rippled over her skin.

“Carry her up to the site.” The doctor’s voice dripped with anger.

Oh, please don’t rape me.

She couldn’t make out the face of the man who dragged her off the gurney, but he reeked of body odor and alcohol. He slung her over his shoulder and carried her up a long, dark path.

She couldn’t lift her head to see where he was taking her, but the pounding of another set of footsteps told her the doctor was right behind.

When the man flung her off his shoulder, she waited for the pain to rip up her spine when she landed, but instead, soft wet dirt slapped her back and head. Air whooshed out of her lungs. Dirt walls rimmed her body.

A grave? Noooo. Please, no.

She sucked in wisps of air. Her heart pounded full blast.

Tameka squeezed her eyes shut a split second before a shovel of dirt landed on her face. A scream of terror bubbled in her throat as another heap of earth landed on her chest. Her right arm twitched, but not enough to stop the soil from raining down on her.

Bless me Father, for I have sinned. Oh, how I have sinned.

Tameka tried to curl into a fetal position, to hide, but her muscles wouldn’t obey. Dirt splattered across her chest, but her numb mouth wouldn’t move to tell him to stop. Dear God, have mercy on me.

A shadow blocked the last rays of dusk.

“At least your child will never feel the back of a hand or the sting of a whip. Look how pathetic you are. Bruises. After all my work, you made yourself ugly again.”

He was wrong. She wasn’t ugly anymore. He’d made her beautiful. Her unborn child was beautiful.

He tossed another heap of dirt over her body, over her face, and over her legs. “You should thank me for putting you out of your misery.”

She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Needed air. More air.

Oh, God, forgive me. I don’t want to die.