Page 87 of Inconvenient Marriage
My stomach had already plummeted the second I realized the door was open. Now? I nearly hurl, and it has nothing to do with the blood splashes everywhere or the state of the dead body on the carpet.
For a quick second, I recognize the tortured death mask that once was Eric Ward. He’s on his back, so many holes in him, he’s like fucking Swiss cheese. His eyes are open, blood spattered everywhere. My blood-coated pocket knife is next to his ear, the weapon of his destruction.
No. I’m wrong. The weapon of his destruction is the bloody brunette beauty curled up on her side, two feet from the dead man.
My heart lodges in my throat. In a rough voice, I call my wife’s name. “Annaliese.”
She doesn’t turn.
I shake.Tremble. The idea that he might’ve hurt her so badly that she didn’t survive him after she killed him… bile seeps past the lump in my throat. I swallow it back, then bolt over to her side.
“Annaliese!” I drop down, gathering her up in my arms when I see that her eyes are open. Wide. Staring… but she’s not dead. She’s breathing roughly, moaning under her breath, body shaking as bad as mine… but she’snot dead. “Oh, love… what did he do to you?”
Later, I’ll tell myself it was the soft way I uttered her nickname that brought her back to me. She blinks, once, twice, then jolts. Next thing I know, she’s clutching me, pulling me to her, climbing into my lap, her hands on my face.
Tears streak hers. Her neck…fuck. Her neck is ringed with red, purple bruises already blooming.
What this did this fucker do? Strangle her?
As she gazes up at me in obvious panic, my wife tries to speak, words tumbling out in broken pieces as she says, “Eric… he broke in… he grabbed me… he tried to, said he would… he would?—”
I hold her close. “It’s okay.” She’s digging her fingers into my jaw, but I refuse to look away from her pleading brown eyes. She’s scared, but she’s always worried about how I’ll react.
She doesn’t have to be.
Lifting her up in my arms, I push myself to my feet, then set her on the edge of our bed. I don’t look at Eric again. I’ve seen all I need to, and if I focus on that prick instead of my wife, I’ll probably freak her out with the things I’ll do to desecrate that monster.
Fuck Eric Ward. Annaliese needs me. She needs her husband.
“You’re safe,” I tell her, voice low, trying to ground her, ripping her out of her panic. “You’re safe now, love. I’m here.”
Her breath hitches. “I didn’t know what else to do. He was going to open the window… I didn’t?—”
“I know,” I say. “I know exactly what happened. And you didn’t do a fucking thing wrong.”
It’s all in the bruises around her neck. In how Eric Ward drove to my house—ourhouse—and let himself in; I one hundred percent believe that Annaliese wouldn’t have. In how he’s in our bedroom, my wife half-dressed, her fear so thick, it nearly covers up the coppery stink of blood.
She protected herself. It doesn’t matter what from. She doesn’t need to tell me, doesn’t need to explain herself. Hearing her say ‘window’ like that… I know exactly what Eric’s plan was.
And my amazing fucking wife stopped him.
Crouching down in front of her, I brush my thumb over her cheek, wiping away some of the blood that I really hope isn’t hers. It’s on her face, my old t-shirt, her injured neck, her hands…
I take one, pressing a kiss to the top of it. “Listen to me. Why don’t you go and wash your hands off, love. Then, when I get back, we’ll sleep in one of the guest rooms. Or, fuck it, a hotel. Wherever you want to go… we’ll go.”
She blinks up at me, still frightened. “When you get back… where are you going, Sebastien?”
I stand up, giving her one of my charming smiles. “To get a shovel.”
Her lips parts, but no sound comes out. She just folds in on herself, then nods. “Okay. I… I need a shower. I want to wash him off of me.”
“Don’t come out until I’m back. Yeah?”
She nods again, and because I can tell that Annaliese needs it, I kiss her, blood and all.
Then I jog downstairs, nearly kicking myself to see that my dumb ass left the front door wide open. I shove it closed, making a mental note to search Ward for is keys so that I can get rid of his car, then head to the attached garage. I grab a shovel, snorting to see that it isn’t even dusty. I’ve helped Dallas bury worse things than this when he’s called me up and asked.
When I come back upstairs, Annaliese is still sitting on the bed, staring at her hands like they belong to someone else.
