Page 3 of His Wild Storm
Ryan’s booted foot connects to my side, and I feel the crack more than I hear it. It knocks the wind out of me and when I try to suck in a breath, it sounds more like a broken wheeze. When I look up, Ryan is standing above me with his hands on his hips and air sawing in and out of him like he’s just finished a marathon. Well, he certainly did exert himself.
I can feel every hit he landed; it’s agony wrapped in fire. The smile on his face is filled with darkness and the promise of more. As my blinks become longer, I try to hold on and not pass out from the pain. Just a moment more. Then another.
“You’re no fun,” Ryan chides me like I’m not the mother of his child and the woman he’s trapped in a cage of violence and retribution. “You used to scream, cry, and beg me.” He tilts his head to the side like he’s pondering life’s mysteries and not mypain tolerance. “I’m going out to get something to eat since you can’t even manage to make a decent dinner.”
It’s too early to breathe a sigh of relief. Soon. Maybe. Hopefully.
The only saving grace here is that we never got married. If we had, I would be tied to him in a way that would be much harder to untangle when I escape. As the sound of his boots stomping toward the door hits my ears, I blink and force my eyes open wider. I don’t want to give into the darkness; I can’t.
When the door clicks shut behind Ryan as he leaves, I let out a deep breath. It does nothing to alleviate the pain I’m in, but some of the tension drops away. Being around Ryan has my anxiety shooting through the roof. I allow myself a moment, but only one, to wallow and then I work at moving and pushing my body up until I can lean against the kitchen cabinets.
Little footsteps have my head snapping up and I have to swallow down the scream wanting to burst out of my chest at the movement. Wilde’s eyes are wide and filled with tears when he looks at me. I can see the way his body is straining like he wants to launch himself at me but is holding back.
I’m both saddened by the fact that he knows I can’t handle his three-year-old body slamming into me and glad he does. He’s been traumatized enough; if he were to add even a little bit of pain to what I’m already experiencing it would only make matters worse. His steps are small and silent as he approaches until he collapses onto his knees next to me.
“Are you okay, Mommy?”
“I’m going to be,” I promise.
And it’s true. Because we’re getting out of here.
I’ve been saving money and putting it into an account Ryan doesn’t know about. My boss at the diner, Ed, has a car for me. It’s a job I had for years while working my way through school. I stayed on after graduation while building my client list as a freelance accountant. After meeting Ryan, I worked for Ed right up until I gave birth and then stayed on part time whenever our neighbor could watch Wilde and Ryan was at work.
I tried to pay Ed for the car, but he just shook his head and told me he was helping me because he couldn’t save his own daughter from her husband. The man is in his seventies and rules his kitchen with a scowl and a soft heart.
I’ll never be able to tell him how grateful I am to him for his help.
When I reach out toward Wilde, to push his hair back from his forehead, I can’t stop myself from wincing. A few tears escape his eyes, and something breaks inside of me.
My greatest fear is Ryan directing his anger toward Wilde. It feels like it’s only a matter of time. I can’t allow it to happen. I won’t.
“You’re hurt,” Wilde whines softly.
I nod slowly, unwilling and unable to lie to him. “I am,” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly even though it only makes my ribs ache more, “but it’s the last time.”
“Dad is going to stop?” Wilde looks incredulous, and it’s not unwarranted.
He never calls Ryan ‘Daddy’. It’s always Dad. It breaks my heart, but Ryan has never given our son a reason to feel safe or see him as anything other than the man who hurts me.
“No,” my voice breaks, “he’s not going to stop.”
“Then how is this the last time?” Wilde looks at me with trust in his eyes, but a wariness a three-year-old shouldn’t have. It’s not something he should even feel.
“We’re leaving.”
The smile that spreads across my son’s face is pure sunshine. Even though the road ahead of us isn’t going to be easy, it’ll be worth it. I’m sure Ryan will try to find us. I can only hope I cover my tracks well and that the help I’ve been pointed towards will keep us safe.
As much as the fear tries to keep me in place, I have to push through it and try. Not for me. For Wilde.
CHAPTER 2
SIX MONTHS AGO
HAVEN
As I sit on the back porch of the shelter, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. After running six months ago, I have long since healed from the last beating Ryan gave me. Still, I keep looking over my shoulder fully expecting to see him behind me with a sinister grin on his face and the promise of violence in his eyes.
I knew the scars left behind from Ryan, the ones on my heart and soul, would take longer to heal. I’m getting there. Slowly.
