Page 98 of Before Eve
Grayson pushes the button that raises the privacy window between us and the driver. When it’s securely in place, he says, “Don’t even think about running.”
I force myself to look him directly on. Reaching forward, he slowly caresses a finger down my cheek, watching me watch him while I fight the overwhelming urge to tear away from his disturbing touch. He gives my cheek a little slap, and it’s all I can do not to flinch. “We haveso muchto catch up on.”
In that exact second, it hits me. Physically, he may beat me into the fetal position, but mentally, I have control. That control fuels me with something new. Anger. It bubbles up inside of me, and I welcome it. I invite it in. It’s past time I stood up to this man.
In a stream of conscious movements, I unclench every muscle and show him the refusal in my core. It’s the first time I’ve ever presented him anything other than fear.
“What do you want from me?” I demand.
“What do I want from you?” Darkly, he chuckles. “Oh, Laura, just wait.”
“I’m different now,” I begin in a very deliberate tone. “You can’t hurt me anymore. I’m through being intimidated and abused by you. I know who I am, and one day I’ll have a life that won’t include you. I’ll look forward to that day every minute I’m with you until I’m gone.”
He narrows in, but doesn’t say anything in response. The driver comes to a stop in front of the custom-built stone mansion that is my nightmare. I don’t wait for him to open my door; I get out on my own. Grayson waits, though, climbing out and taking a second to shake hands with the driver.
“Thank you. We’re home for the night.”
With a nod, the driver slides back in behind the wheel and pulls around the rear of the house where the multi-car garage is located. He’ll park and drive his own car home, which means within five minutes, Grayson and I will be truly alone. Sure the housekeeper will come and go but she’s never been any help when it comes to Grayson. It’s why he hired her—to look the other way.
Grayson takes one step toward me. “You, dear daughter, will never have freedom again.”
I hike my chin, increasingly fueled by a superiority over him. “Go to hell. You no longer have control over me. You make me sick.”
Fury gathers in him. I recognize the insane, twitchy look a second before he rears back and slaps me. The expected impact sends me stumbling backward.
He snarls. “I determine what happens to you. When are you going to realize that?”
Rage boils through my blood as I step right up and punch him in the cheek. I’ve never punched anybody in my life.
“You little bitch.” He comes right at me, grabbing mearound the neck and choking, just like he did my mother all those years ago. And just like she did, I stare him straight on, daring him to go all the way.
Headlights pierce the night. The sound of an engine sputters. Grayson releases me, turning to wave at the driver as he leaves our property. When his taillights melt into the darkness, Grayson shoves me toward the house. “Inside, now.”
CHAPTER 48
Fear is an interesting thing.It makes weak people strong, strong people weak, frail people into just a shell of themselves, and numerous other scenarios. It’s how you finally emerge from the fear and take action that decides so much about your life.
I stand in my bedroom, staring out the window I escaped through all those many months ago, now with “security” bars welded in. Between those and the lock that’s always been secured to the exterior of my door, I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to.
On my desk sits my allotted food for the day, uneaten: an apple, chopped vegetables, and a piece of bread. I’m surprised he gave me that much.
The lock clicks. I don’t cower. I simply turn toward whatever discipline Grayson has planned today.
But he carries nothing in his hand as he towers in the doorway, taking me in.
“How’s your backside?”
I don’t answer him. He knows very well how my backside is. It’s the reason why I’m standing. It hurts too much to sit.
He studies my hair. “It’s not completely back to its originalcolor, but close enough. Too bad I didn’t think to say you had cancer. It would explain the butch cut you’re currently wearing.”
“Did you need something?” I ask.
“That’s an awful brave tone for someone who can’t even sit. Maybe I should try something other than a belt. A cane perhaps?”
I walk over to my food and pick up my apple. I take a bite, chewing, swallowing, staring at him through go-to-hell eyes.
He clasps his hands behind his back. “Fine, be rebellious. However, you do need to make a public appearance. We’re going to Sunday service.”
