My stomach twists anxiously. “It was just a quick call,” I repeat.
“A quick call,” he echoes, eyes searching my face.
I nod slowly, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. “Yeah.”
Before I can process what’s happening, Damien’s plate is sliding across the table, slamming into mine so hard that it shatters, causing ceramic and food to fly across the kitchen.
“Clean this up, then meet me in our room.” He stands, stepping close to me, forcing my face up with a harsh grip on my chin. “I keep telling you, love.” He brushes his thumb along my jaw. “You need to let go of that life. It’s not good for you at all.Austinis not good for you. That boy’s always filled your pretty little head with lies.”
He releases me, pulling his hand away like I’m something disgusting. “And now, I have to remind you who you belong to.” He tuts, a mocking smile on his face. “Clean up now, love. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Then he turns and walks out of the room. I’m on my feet before I even decide to do it, my heart beating hard against my ribs and my hands shaking.
It’s fine. It could have been worse.
It’s not a big deal.
I’ll just clean up the mess, then let him fuck me.
Remind him I’m his and that I don’t want Austin.
It’s going to be okay.
Chapter 2
Luca
Me
Do you think there’s a market for romance books with domestic abuse?
I hit send against my better judgement. Is it giving too much away? And should I even be taking the risk of texting Austin to begin with?
His message comes through a few seconds later.
Austin
I’m not sure there’s anything romantic about domestic abuse.
I blink at the phone, then take a deep breath. It twinges my sore ribs.
Me
Of course not. But like… what if it’s about someone escaping domestic abuse and riding off into the sunset with Mr. Right? Do you think there’s a market for that?
My phone rings in my hand—Austin’s name flashing across the screen. I accept the call, even though I shouldn’t. “Hello?”
“Why are you asking me that? Is something going on?”
I fight back a choked sob, trying to infuse some cheer into my voice. “Of course not. It’s just an idea. You wanted me to write again.”
Austin’s quiet. “Maybe not about that.” Of course not about that. Why would anyone want to ride off into the sunset with someone like me? “Are you okay?”
I smile at his concern, then wince. God, my fucking lip hurts. “Totally fine. So you really don’t think it would make a good story?”
“I don’t know, Luc.” Austin sighs. “You could always try to write it out and see how it feels?”
The only problem with that is I’m pretty sure anything I write will hit far too close to home. It’ll hurt. That’s how it’ll feel. “Yeah,” I croak. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll write something entirely different.” Or maybe I won’t write anything at all.
