Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 109976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
I wiped her face dry and held it between my hands so that I could see into her eyes. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, your days of worry and fear are over. He’ll never touch you, not as long as there’s breath in my body. Did you eat?”
She looked startled at my abrupt topic change but I’d done it on purpose to show her how much I didn’t care about what I’d read. So she’d know she was my only concern and that nothing else mattered. She rubbed her tummy and shook her head no.
“I can’t…”
“You have to eat. Come.” I took her hand and led her from the room stopping short before entering the kitchen. Nope, too many bodies in there. “I’ll take you up to our room and bring something up for us to eat.”
I left her in the master suite and headed back downstairs and back again with our dinner on a tray. I didn’t question her about the things I’d read, I was still feeling too raw to broach the subject. So instead I focused all my efforts on taking care of her and making sure she ate.
She was worn out by the time we finished and I left her long enough to run her a bath. I even washed her as she sat silently, emotionally drained no doubt. “It’s going to be okay.” I dried her off and found one of the few shirts I kept here to pull over her head before I led her to the bed and tucked her in, laying with her in my arms until she fell asleep.
I stayed awake listening to her breathe, as my mind went over everything I’d learned from her writings. I didn’t even think twice about believing every word. I trust her completely. But that burning question still remained. Should I taint my hands with his blood, or just destroy him for all the world to see?
The truth is he didn’t deserve to live, not for one more day. But I’ve never taken a life off the battlefield. I have a great respect for life because of the things I’ve seen, but I’ve long been aware that there are some beings that don’t deserve the air they breathe.
I know enough though to know that that’s not my call. But even knowing, I was finding it hard not to give in to my baser instincts. To not go find him and choke the life out of his perverted ass. Sick fuck!
They’d tormented her. First the son within the first few months of marriage. From forcing himself on her when she no longer wanted him, to stealing almost all that she’d saved throughout her career along with some minor physical abuse.
Things only got worst as the years went by, his womanizing, lying to her at every turn and worst yet, coming damn close to passing her around to the scum he owed money to, to pay off his debts.
She’d listed every one of his misdeeds and it was an almost everyday occurrence. The journal had been filled with daily shit, some of them just one-liners. ‘Today Vance held a gun to my head,’ or today Vance jokingly told me how much money he could make if he sold my favors.’
He’d called her every name in the book, torn her down mentally and separated her from everyone and everything she loved. Text book insecure asshole behavior, unless the people she knew were no good for her. But as far as I can tell he was the only one who fit that description.
But the most heartbreaking for me was reading her thoughts on the senator. It seems he’d grown some kind of sick fixation on her from the start. It broke my heart to read how she’d expected him to save her from his son, thinking that he was the man he portrayed himself to be in public, only to realize that he was even worst than his son.
He’d tormented her in one way or another with his unwanted advances until the night she’d accidentally overheard him telling his son in great detail what he planned to do to her. At least the bastard she was married to hadn’t agreed, his one redeeming act in life.
But that all changed two years ago when Vance seemed to have a change of heart. He’d started hinting at the possibility and when she refused and asked for a divorce, finally at the end of her rope, he’d threatened her with death if she left him.
She’d had the strength to leave his bed at least, and used the threat of exposing his old man if he ever touched her again. But her fear of being murdered, of having to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life, had kept her in that house.