“Hello?”
“Bitch, be at the spot in fifteen minutes, or you’ll have to wait until I can stomach looking at your ugly ass."
I reigned in my irritation because I know he’s trying to goad me into an argument.
“Okay.”
“Be happy I’m meeting you. I was in some pussy a thousand times better than yours. She’s smarter, prettier—”
I hung up on him. It’s his other tactic to try to make me feel worthless. It didn’t work; I hung up on him to make sure he showed. Now that he’s pissed, he’ll be there for sure. Wes had gotten my hopes up in the past, had me meet him somewhere, and never show. It’s a game he likes to play, and I’m sick of it and him.
On the way to the private pier that overlooks the water, I ignored his calls and sent him to voicemail. My voicemail and text notifications pinged with each rejected call. Now, I was the one goading him. I’d put a song on my voicemail that I know drives him nuts. Plus, he hates being ignored and not in control.
I arrive before him. I grab my personal safety devices and stand with my back resting against my open driver’s side door. I rolled down the back window and kept the keys in the ignition. I watched as he sped to the spot, threw his truck into park, and ran/walked toward me with murder in his blue eyes. I used to think he was attractive with his tall body, blond waves, and clear blue eyes. Weston is a reminder that evil comes in all packages.
I had a taser in one hand and my handgun in the other; I pointed both of them at him. It was necessary to get a license and training for both devices; Weston didn’t like his possessions leaving.
The anger in his eyes simmers into a dare.
“Don’t hang up on me ever again, slut, or you’ll be sorry.”
“Stop right there!” I yelled at him. “Don’t make me use one of these. My aim is damn good with both hands.”
Weston narrowed his eyes at me. “You wouldn’t. You don’t have the guts.”
“I hate you, remember? It would be my pleasure.”
He clenched his jaw and his empty fist. Weston wanted to hit me with every fiber of his being. It was like he got off on hurting me; he was raging because I denied him his fix.
“Drop the paperwork in the backseat and step away from my car.”
With a growl, Weston obeyed my command. I reached behind me and rolled up my back window as I watched him climb back into his vehicle. I jumped into mine and locked the doors. I grabbed the paperwork from the backseat, reviewed it, and took a picture. As expected, Weston was back out of his truck. He yelled at me, beat on my windows with the side of his fists, and kicked my door.
I placed my car into drive—not caring if I’d ran over any part of his body—and sped out of the secluded area. I relaxed a little when I got on the main road. It was dark out, but I know he did this on purpose; he wanted me to be scared. I stop at a red light. The road forked; I had to go left or right because going straight would send me directly into the ocean.
I felt the jolt when Weston rammed my vehicle. The thick grille guards on his truck took most of the impact. I tried to turn left or right, but my car was stuck to his. I floored the gas, but my wheels just spun. His truck is a bully, just like him. I knew that if he would ever attempt to kill me, it would be like this. I couldn’t swim when I was married to him. He wouldn’t teach me or let me learn because it was a fear he’d liked holding over my head. The moment I ran and hid out at a college friend’s house in another state, I signed up for lessons. I took as many as I could. I watched every drown proofing and water survival video I could find. I practiced all the methods I learned in my friend’s pool to prepare for this.
I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and reviewed all the information in my head. Try to conserve energy by floating. Use the HELP position. Try to make floatation devices out of your clothes. Don’t panic.
I grabbed onto a glass breaker my dad got me for Christmas; I’d hoped I would never need it. Weston had other plans, of course. If he knew that I could swim and believed I didn’t drown, he would jump in after me and try to finish the job. The goal is to let him think I went under with the car, then figure it out from there.
Another jolt and the sickening crunch of metal against metal pushed my car until it slid forward. I tightened my seatbelt to lock myself in place. My stomach dropped when my car lurched over the edge. My head jerked some when the car landed in a loud splash. I’d cut my seat belt immediately and clutched the window breaker until I was sure Weston couldn’t see me. One look in the rearview mirror confirmed that I was married to a sick bastard. He stood there smirking as my car sunk into the blackness.
* * *
Ipop up in the darkness, fighting against water that isn’t there. The storm rages outside while I work to regulate my breathing. The rain crashing against the window in sheets of water is not a comforting sight after my dream. Thunder rattles the house, and the wind rages.
I pull at the shirt clinging to my body. I’m hot. I kick off the sheets. I’m in the bedroom, but I remember falling asleep on the couch.
How did I get up here?
“I carried you,” Beau’s sleepy voice responds.
“I said that out loud?”
“Yes,” he answers, rolling on his side to face me. His chest is bare. The covers slip to reveal the band of his boxers in the lowlight.
I fall back on the pillow and exhale. I’m safe, for now. Not for the first time, tears pool in my eyes. I feel stuck in a helpless situation, and I can’t seem to break free. I just want Wes to leave me alone. Now, I’m cold, chilled by the insanity of my legal husband. My divorce drowned with the car. I try to conceal my sniffles, but the room is too quiet, even with the storm outside.
