Page 101 of Release Me
My stomach plummets. Bile rises in my chest like a riptide.
I stumble back, hand diving into my coat pocket for my phone. If I can just—his fist closes around my wrist, iron tight, twisting until I gasp. The phone slips from my grip. He plucks it from the air like it was never mine to begin with.
‘Looking for this?’ His smirk is cruel.
‘Give it back,’ I whisper, already knowing he won’t.
He drops it onto the polished marble floor in a slow, deliberate movement. The screen shatters, then his shoe comes down. Once. Twice. Three times. He’s not taking any chances. Glass crunches, metal snaps. He grinds the heel of his Italian leather until there’s nothing left but twisted fragments.
‘No one’s coming to save you now,’ he murmurs.
The venom in his tone steals the air from my lungs.
He drags me over to the cold leather couch and throws me onto it, roughly, like I’m nothing more than a rag doll.
‘Ouch.’ I glare at him as I land awkwardly on my shoulder, trying to straighten myself as quickly as possible.
‘Don’t bother sitting up,’ he sneers. ‘You’ll be on yourback again in a minute anyway.’ He reaches for the buckle of his belt.
Cold grey eyes gleam through the dimness, roaming over the dress I put on this morning. It stops just above the knee, and in this position, sitting down, it’s riding right up to my thigh. I pull the material down, trying to stretch it over my knees. Like that’s going to stop him.
I barely recognise the wild-eyed man in front of me as the man I married.
He was always cruel and cold, but never physically violent. Then again, I never gave him a reason to be—until now.
Fuck.
‘No point pulling that dress down, darling.’ He prowls closer, and I get the stench of bourbon from his breath. ‘We both know what a whore you are, and whores are made to be fucked.’ He pulls his own phone from his suit pocket. ‘And I’m going to film it for lover boy.’
He lifts the phone higher, smirking, thumb hovering over the camera icon.
‘Anthony, don’t,’ my voice is low, shaking but steady. Inside, my heart is battering my ribs like it’s trying to escape. I glance sideways at the shattered remains of my own phone glittering on the marble. Fuck. I can’t believe I fell into his trap.
‘I thought you were in London.’ I’m just trying to buy myself time until I find something I can hurt him with. I catch sight of a vase in my periphery. If I could get to the other end of the couch, I could grab it and smash it over his head.
‘Funny you should mention that. I was. Then my pilot mentioned in passing that he’d seen you with the Beckett brothers ten days ago—at the Luxor Lounge of all places.’ He drags a hand over the stubble dotting his chin. ‘And I had to ask myself, why would mywifebe with the Beckett boys?’
I say nothing, eyes darting wildly trying to find my escape route.
Anthony is so much heavier than me. I need something to knock him down with if I’ve got any chance of escaping.
If I can just buy enough time for Carter to come looking for me…
Anthony’s only getting warmed up with his story. Stupid prick always did like the sound of his own voice. ‘It took me a while to piece it together. James is stupidly in love with Scarlett. He’d never cheat on her. Caelon’s happily married too. Sean’s shacked up with the Princess, and Killian’s banging the model with the big tits. Which only left my dear friend Rian.’
Chills scatter all over my skin, shooting in every direction. Adrenaline pumps furiously through my blood as he backs away from me just enough to place his phone on the marble mantlepiece, adjusting it so the camera is pointing directly at the couch.
Anthony shoots me a chilling smile as he prowls closer again. ‘His attitude changed towards me when I married you,’ Anthony muses, pacing like he’s piecing together a puzzle only he can see. ‘First, I thought he didn’t like you. That he couldn’t stand you.’ He chuckles darkly. ‘But then I realised—he did. He always did. The looks, the little silences. They weren’t disgust, they were hunger.’
He creeps closer, eyes gleaming. ‘He used to sneer at me if I availed of a dance in his club. Like he was above it all. But if he doesn’t like married men looking at lap dancers, then he shouldn’t have bought the Luxor Lounge, should he?’
My heart pounds so hard it hurts. Every word confirms what I already know—he’s unravelled, dangerous, drunk on his own fury. His phone sits on the mantel, recording every second. His hand flexes at his side, twitching like it wants to batter me.
I shift imperceptibly, edging closer to the vase. If I time it right, I can smash it over his head before he touches me.
‘Tell me, wife,’ he sneers, pulling his buckle out from his belt and tossing it on the floor behind him. If I can reach it, get behind him somehow, maybe I could choke him with it? My palms are slick with sweat, but there’s no way I’m going down without a fight. There’s no way I’ll let him touch me. ‘Did he make you come? Or are you as frigid with him as you were with me?’
Something inside me snaps. Fury takes over from the fear. I bolt up from the couch and lunge for him, scratching his face with my nails, piercing his skin as hard as I can.
