Chapter Twenty-Seven
Trenton watched the dark house, unable to get within twenty feet of the sensory lights. It was almost dawn and he still hadn’t been able to verify if this was where they were. All cars were tucked in the garage and there were no markings on the house that told him Hunt still owned the property. He was able to discern the home was rigged with a state of the art security system, one he couldn’t fuck with unless he intended to wake the neighborhood.
No lights were on and he was riding about fifteen cups of coffee on about two hours sleep since Sunday. He prayed this was where they were. The thought that he’d come this far and possibly traveled in the wrong direction was too much for him to bear.
“I’m comin’ for you, doll. I’m comin’.”
Taking his truck out of park, he gave the house one last look before pulling away. He’d get some rest and be back once the sun was up. Then he’d get them home.
****
As the pink fingers of dawn stole the shadows of night, Chloe silently wept. Pain radiated down her back and her muscles screamed. What he’d done… It broke parts of her that couldn’t be fixed.
She heard the lock jimmy and winced, too weak to sit up. Her breath held, as Marcus’s silhouetted filled the door and she cringed. He’d just left. Why was he back so soon? No. She couldn’t do anymore. Her mind couldn’t take it.
He relocked the door, his shadowed shoulders lifting as the sound of his heavy breathing met her ears. Something was wrong.
Pocketing the key, he pivoted and stalked to the mattress. A tear rolled from her eyes as she lay defenseless at his feet. His hand went to his belt and she scrambled backward until her weight pressed into the wall. Her body couldn’t take one more hit.
“Marcus, no. What’s going on?”
“Not a fucking sound. You understand me?”
Sucking in a breath, she nodded, but she didn’t understand. She’d done everything he’d asked. Things she thought she’d never do with him again. Keeping her mouth closed, her teeth chattered as she watched him without blinking.
What happened? The boys should still be asleep. This didn’t make sense. He promised she could see them.
He moved like a shadow of death, his clothing falling away until her eyes could bear no more. Pressing her lids shut, she swallowed a sob. Firm hands curled around her limbs as the mattress dipped. She stiffly let him shift her body, her mind going to another place as she fought the urge to fight, begging her strength not to abandon her at the same time.
“They don’t even know me,” he hissed. “My fucking sons, with my blood running through their veins, are afraid to even look at me.” He jerked her to her stomach. “You disgust me. I don’t want to look at you.”
Tears moistened her lashes. The punishment, beyond his violation, rested in her shame. There was so much shame, so much vileness, and revulsion. Her flesh was so tender the slightest caress burned like a scalding blade, flaying her dignity like flesh from the bone. Her silence shattered as he brutally shoved into her.
“Mark my words…” He grunted and held her down, wrenching a silent cry from her with every punishing thrust. “You will never take from me without my permission again.”
He gripped her wrist, dragging it to the base of her spine, forcing her to bear the brunt of his assault on her shoulders. Blurring the fine line between carnality and violence, he twisted her arm higher, ensuring she couldn’t draw enough breath to scream.
His name, a plea for mercy, rested on her tongue, as pain radiated through her arm, the joint nearly popping out of socket as her face distorted in a mask of agony. He’d warned her not to utter a word and made certain she wouldn’t disobey.
Her mind fragmented and terror quickened, racing through her veins like a speeding bullet spinning wildly toward her soul. His nails dug into her as he shoved forward and groaned, his weight shuddering over her welted back.
Pain shot up her arm as he released her wrist and made a derisive sound. The evidence of what he’d done—what she’d allowed him to do—smeared between her thighs. The fraying thread between her sanity and complete mental collapse seemed to burn faster than a fuse tied to a stick of dynamite.
No more. He said if she proved she was sorry she could see the boys. “Please,” she rasped. “Marcus…”
He towered over her, righting his clothes. “Please what?”
“The boys…”
His lip curled. “You’re going to have to beg better than that. I’m still not convinced you want to stay.”
Tears spilled from her eyes as a cry choked her. Her mind unraveled, the words coming out like meaningless syllables. “I want to stay. Please. I need to see them.”
“Not convincing enough.”
“Please! I want to be here—with you—and the boys. A family. Please let me see them, Marcus.”
“I’m not sure I want a fat wife.”
“I’ll exercise. Whatever you want me to do I’ll do it, just let me see Dayton and Mattie.”
He fastened his pants. “We’ll see how the morning goes.” He unlocked the door and left. The smooth sound of the key turning in the lock triggered a violent sob as she collapsed, broken and humiliated to a point she wasn’t sure any escape could reconcile.
Sometime later, she awoke with the sense of something happening, an impending doom or perhaps a teasing glimpse of freedom approaching. Good or bad, she needed to prepare for anything.
Hobbling to the bathroom she cleaned herself up, but nothing removed the sour taste in her mouth. Her thigh had a dark black bruise and some of her veins looked overly varicose. There was a spattering of welts on her hips, thighs, and buttocks. She weakly reached for the shower and stilled as something rattled in the house.
Brow low, eyes searching, her mind worked to identify the quiet rumble. It was … familiar, niggling at a sense of relief but also inducing a sense of dread.
Her lips parted. “The garage…”
Lurching to the window, she watched as Marcus’s car, no longer red but silver pulled out of the driveway. Standing close to the wall so no one would see her undressed, she stared as the car backed onto the street and her heart clamped tight as she got a glimpse of her sons sitting in the back seat.
“No!” she cried, pressing her hand to the glass. The car disappeared down the road and she staggered back.
Beating at the door, she screamed, “Somebody help me! Please! Help me!”
Falling to her knees, she cried. Where was he taking her babies?
Desperate, jumbled thoughts raced through her mind as she lost touch with reality. Time fell away as the silence stretched. Her mind pranced from one memory to the next, so vivid she could smell her kitchen in Pennsylvania and feel the warmth of her couch. Her fingers traced the carpet as if touching her favorite quilt.
With no concept of time beyond the placement of the sun, she eventually moved to the window. It was still far behind the trees, telling her it couldn’t be later than eight or nine a.m.
Watching the road for Marcus’s car, she stared at the blacktop for an excruciating length of time until something caught her eye.
A woman in a bathrobe sat on a wicker chair across the street. She was young and Chloe didn’t recognize her. She held a cup of coffee and a newspaper. Chloe’s fingers tapped on the window, but the woman made no movement. “Up here… Look up…”
She banged harder, her hand aching within a few minutes. Finally, the woman frowned and lifted her head, looking around curiously. When she glanced in the direction of the house Chloe frantically pounded on the window.
“I’m up here! Help me! Please!”
The woman walked to her mailbox, placed a hand above her brow, and angled her head in Chloe’s direction. Tears of happiness spilled from Chloe’s eyes as she waved at the woman until something caught her eye.
Marcus’s car turned onto the street and the automatic garage door rattled. Chloe panicked, her breath laboring as she backed away from the window. Marcus slowed and the neighbor approached his car, pointing to the house. Chloe gasped as she noted the empty back seat. The neighbor smiled and turned away.
Stumbling back from the window, she trembled uncontrollably. Staring at the door, she staggered her body to the far wall. Time moved too fast and too slow as her panic seeped from her pores.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
It took everything she had to remain standing when the snick of the key finally came. The knob slowly turned and he stepped into the room carrying a brown paper bag by a handle.
“Are you having fun?” He appeared calm, but that meant nothing.
“Where are the boys? Where did you take them?” She couldn’t hide the accusation in her voice.
“The boys are spending the day visiting their new school. I see you’ve found some ways to entertain yourself while I’ve been gone.”
New school? No, they had a school. Her mind scrambled, too focused on her children to follow his words.
She edged toward the bathroom door and he arched a brow, sick amusement playing in his eyes. “Are you planning on running from me, sweet wife? Where will you go? And to think, I was going to let you see the children today. I even brought you some fresh clothes.”
Her palms pressed into the wall, her heart racing. “Promise me I’ll see Dayton and Mattie today. I need your word.”
“Matthew,” he corrected tersely. “And you don’t make the rules. I do. If you behave, I’ll let you see Matthew, but Dayton’s being punished.”
Protective fury swept through her. “Punished? For what?”
He took a sharp step forward and snarled, “You don’t question me!” Drawing in a calming breath, he righted his posture and said, “I took him to get his hair cut and he was disrespectful.”
Only trying to defend her son, she said, “All his friends have long hair.”
“My son doesn’t.” The bag dropped to the floor. “Now, these are your options. You’ll be punished for playing with the neighbor, of course. After that, you can either sit here and sulk until tomorrow when we’ll try again, or you can prove you’re committed to our marriage. The longer you wait, the longer you don’t get to see my sons. Choose.”
It didn’t go unnoticed how he’d started calling them his sons. “I want to see the boys.”
“Go shower.”