Page 135 of Almost Ours
My muscles locked. My breath came in sharp, shallow bursts.
I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Harper flinched–so small, so quick, like she was trying not to. Or maybe it was the way she exhaled, a shaky breath, barely controlled, like she was forcing herself to stay calm.
The world around me blurred, narrowing to the sight of him standing over her.
My hand shot out, gripping the doorknob, pure fury simmering beneath my skin. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out everything but the need to get to her.
I twisted the knob.
And shoved the door open.
I didn’t even knowhow it had gotten to this.
One moment, I was upstairs, half-conscious, listening to Reid stomp around, throwing things into a duffel bag and muttering about taking Connor and me “home where we belonged.”
Connor.
Thank God he wasn’t here. Thank God for that sleepover at Liam’s. The thought of Connor being anywhere near this monster made my stomach churn.
Reid had shown up at three in the morning, the sound of shattering glass jerking me from sleep. For one groggy, disoriented second, I thought it was a dream. But then came the footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. The kind of uneven rhythm I’d memorized long ago, burned into me from nights of waiting, dreading the moment he walked through the door.
Something scraped against the floor below.
Panic seized me.
I stumbled out of bed, my pulse hammering, and rushed toward the stairs. And there he was. Standing in the middle of the living room, hunched like a predator waiting to strike.
Reid.
My blood ran cold. His blonde hair–once kept neat to perfection–hung in greasy, uneven strands that caught the faint glow from the hallway light. His skin was pale, almost sickly, making the raw redness in his cheeks and nose stand out even more. His eyes, wild and bloodshot, darted around the room and when they landed on me, a shiver tore down my spine. His jaw was clenched tight, the muscle ticking with a rage barely contained, and the reek of alcohol hit me even from where I stood. His shoulders hunched forward, his whole frame coiled with an energy I knew all too well–volatile, dangerous, about to snap.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I’d shouted, my voice trembling.
He didn’t answer. Just stared at me with this awful, twisted smile.
“You think you can hide from me?”
Ice shot down my spine.
I turned and bolted up the stairs, my only thought to grab my phone and call for help. I made it halfway up before his hand clamped around my ankle.
I screamed, clawing at the banister, but he yanked me back with brutal force. My head slammed into the edge of the stairs, pain exploding across my skull like a lightning strike.
The world blurred. Distant. Wrong.
When my vision cleared, he was standing over me, breathing heavily.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he spat, his grip was like iron as he crushed my wrist and hauled me to my feet.
Then he shoved me into the living room–and the tirade began.
For hours, he screamed at me, his words slurred yet sharp as glass. How dare I leave him. How dare I keep his son away from him. How dare I think I could live without him.
Every time I tried to get up, he hit me. A slap, a punch, a boot to my ribs that sent fire through my lungs. I curled up on the floor, shielding my face with my arms, but it didn’t matter. He was unrelenting, his rage pouring out in waves, every strike landing with brutal intent.
“You’re mine,” Reid snarled, his fingers clamping around my chin, forcing me to look at him. His grip was bruising, his breath hot and sour against my skin. Trapping me. Drowning me.
“You think you can just run away and play house with someone else? Think again.”
