Page 2 of His Wild Storm
“I saw the laughter on your face,” he accuses.
I don’t move as my mind trips over moments in the past, in our past. In the beginning, he wanted my laugh and went out of his way to get it. He’d get this look in his eye whenever it happened.
At the time I thought it was awe or pride or maybe even admiration.
Now I know it was thinly veiled hate. It was a mental tally mark being made. I was living while he was stacking the deck against me until the moment everything would change, and he could take a piece of flesh from me or a sliver of my soul in payment.
By then I’d be a captive in the life I thought I was building. I’d be wrapped up in pretty lies and lost in a mirage.
Freedom is close. I can almost feel the sun on my face without fear. But I’m not there yet; I still need to survive tonight.
“I wasn’t laughing, Ryan. I promise,” I try to keep the desperation out of my voice.
I know I fail when his eyes glint with a reckoning.
My head jerks to the side a moment before the sound of him backhanding me fills the kitchen. It’s like that moment between seeing the lightning and hearing the thunder. And it feels just as ominous. I don’t cry out because I refuse to give him the satisfaction; I know he craves it.
“Oh,” he taunts me, “you think you’re so strong, but you’ll break.”
The sick delight in his voice has worry filling my gut as I drop my gaze to the ground.
“Is there something else you’d rather have for dinner? I’d be happy to make it for you.” How I keep the wobble out of my voice, I’ll never know, but I sound steady. Like I’m not at the end of my rope.
Ryan’s eyes narrow and his face turns red in a way that tells me he’s about to explode. My only hope is that Wilde sleeps through it. Again.
“I don’t want any of the slop you cook,” he spits out the words, and I try not to wince when some of his spittle hits my face. I clearly fail, again, because his grin turns sinister.
Pain blooms along my jaw and I stumble back with the force of the punch he’s landed. I blink a few times and try not to let the tears welling up in my eyes fall. I work my jaw from side to side, the pain flaring with the movement and reminding me just how important it is for me to leave.
I’m not paying attention and when Ryan punches me again, I can’t prevent my fall. While sprawled out on the floor, my tailbone aches and tells me how hard I hit the floor. Ryan won’t care about my pain, not when he’s looking at me like he’s deciding where to inflict more.
He kicks out and there’s no stopping my wail as his booted foot connects with my torso. When I try and cover the area, he’s already rearing back and aiming another kick at the same spot. I swear I feel something snap in my wrist, but I can’t focus on it. Not when Ryan reaches for my hair and uses it to yank me up.
The way he forces me onto my knees reverberates through my body and I let out a yelp of surprise. He’s smiling at me in a way I dread. It’s full of promise. I can’t help but look between him and his belt right in front of my face, hoping he’s not going to take this farther than my soul can handle.
This is far from the first time I’m taking a beating. I’ll heal and am more than willing to stand between Ryan and Wilde. I’d rather have his anger and his wrath.
But if he were to take this in another direction? I can already feel my heart weeping at the idea. I don’t think I’m strong enough to endure that.
It’s been a long time since Ryan has touched me. While it’s been years since I’ve wholeheartedly given myself to this man, he’s never forced himself on me with anger and violence fueling him. Yes, I know how ridiculous it is to make such a distinction. But here I am just trying to survive as close to whole as possible.
Bruised I can handle. Shattered? I’m not sure I’d be able to piece myself back together again.
“I know what you’re thinking, Haven,” he mocks me, his voice low and ominous, “but you’re not worth giving me pleasure. Even if you beg me, I wouldn’t lower myself to stick my dick anywhere in your body.”
He thinks he’s taunting me. In a way, I guess he is. But his words don’t land the way he wants them to. I’m relieved.
For about twenty seconds, as that feeling washes over me, I forget where I am. But then the hits start raining down on me. The pain tries to slice through me, and I want to close my eyes. Instead, I keep my gaze focused on the doorway of the kitchen while hoping Wilde won’t hear this and investigate.
He’s only three and he’s already seen far too much. That’s not even the part I find concerning, it’s how protective he is of me. There’s no way he could stand in front of me and do any good. It would only piss Ryan off, and I’ve done too much to shield my son while planning on getting us out to allow him to be hurt now.
Even as I keep my eyes on the doorway, my mind drifts. To the one place where the pain can’t touch me. Maybe some people’s happy place is somewhere they’ve been, but mine is someplace I can only dream about. A field of wildflowers where the wind brushes against the flowers like sundrenched kisses, and the sunlight can warm you from the inside out. The pops of color feel like a balm after only knowing darkness and shadows.
There’s no way I can keep doing this. It’s just not possible. One day he’ll kill me and then where will Wilde be.
It’s my biggest fear. Not the blood, my blood, he’s spilled. Not the clench of his jaw that feels like thunder. Not the words he tries to wield like blades to cut me down even though I stopped listening to them a long time ago.
I fear what would happen to Wilde if I weren’t here to stand in front of him and ensure he remains the sweet little soul he is, instead of being tainted by his father.
