Page 1 of Renegade Rift

CHAPTER ONE

JULIET

“You don't have to do this.”

I scan the refrigerator shelf in front of me: a bottle of rosé, three cans of fizzy water, chicken and rice leftovers from last night, and a half a tin of cat food.

Yes. I really do.

“Just ask Franny for a different job.”

I wince. The very thought of asking our boss for another job makes my skin crawl. Not because she wouldn’t give it to me. She would. Franchesca Fratone, or Franny as we lovingly call her, is everyone’s overprotective grandma. Mix that with a side of absolute badass, and we all wish we could be her when we grow up. She views all the girls at Bare Necessities Topless Maid Services as her own and would absolutely want me to put my safety and mental health first, but turning down this job feels like giving in. It feels like lettinghimwin.

There’s also the fact that at twenty-seven, my fridge looks like it belongs to a freshman college student.

I grab the bottle of wine for Paige, a fizzy water for myself, and two glasses from the open shelving beside the fridge and let out a weighted sigh. It doesn’t take me more than a moment to cross the short distance to where my best friend lounges on my bed. At four hundred square feet, it’s less studio apartment and more glorified closet. A far cry from the penthouse I lived in just over a year ago.

Not that I want to go back there. I might have traded one hell hole for another, but this one’s all mine, and I won’t pretend like that doesn’t make all the difference.

The moment I plop down, Lodhi, my mischievous orange tabby cat, sprawls out in my lap, demanding scratches. He’s lucky he’s cute or I might be annoyed he’s also clawing up my comforter. I hand Paige the drinks and rub his belly, earning me a sweet rumble. “I’m not asking for a different job.”

“You’re more stubborn than a mule. You know that?” Her nose wrinkles as she pours our drinks and offers my cup to me.

I shrug and take a long sip, letting the lemon-lime flavored bubbles burst on my tongue. “Maybe, but we both know I need the money.”

It’s the understatement of the year. College students need money. Struggling artists need money. The homeless need money. Me? I need to win the lottery to pay off the debts my husband left me.

Ex-husband?

No, that’s not right either.

Dead husband.

I flinch, thinking of the zeros that make up the astronomical number Tyler racked up gambling. As a professional baseball player, you would think he had someone to keep his finances in order. He didn’t. And Lord knows he kept me in the dark on half the things he did on a daily basis. Then he died in a tragic plane crash and left me to sort it all out.

But that’s how he liked it. Me waiting for him with a smile on my face. Me barefoot in the kitchen, making him gourmet food that he wouldn’t touch because it didn’t meet his dietary needs. Never mind that I couldn’t eat it either because of my own. But still, I made the dishes. I cleaned the house. I was the perfect little wife.

Until I wasn’t.

And then I paid the price.

Don’t get me wrong. He never seriously injured me. That would lead to questions, and he couldn’t have that. Not when he had a reputation to uphold. But a bruise here, or cut there, would go unnoticed. And that’s assuming he let me into the public eye.

Let me.

My pulse pounds in my throat as I remember the years spent trying to make him love me the way I loved him. I still can’t believe the woman I became. The woman I fear I still am at my very core.

That’s because he was right. You are nothing more than an ungrateful bitch.

The echoes of Tyler’s voice haunt me.

I know it’s not real.

I know he’s not right.

I know.

Still, that doesn’t erase the fear that on some level he was.

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