My only constant is my violin. The songs have been softer, sweeter, more hopeful but melancholy.
They’ve noticed that, too. But I brush off their concerns, their questions. I’m such a coward. And the longer I keep this a secret, the worse I feel about it. The more afraid I get to say anything.
Every time I think about it, I wind myself up into a panic. It only makes them more certain that something’s wrong.
Guilt has me falling into old habits, meek, quiet, passive. I don’t like being this version of myself, but I can’t seem to pull myself out of it.
I jump mid towel fold, turning toward the hall. Was that the door? Most of the club is out back for church, but men areconstantly moving about. It’s so much different from my old, silent life.
You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but small noises like that still put me on edge.
Shaking my head, I go back to my task.
“Miss me?” a familiar voice asks behind me.
I freeze, the towel in my hand tearing. My heart is beating twice as fast as it should be. No. It can’t be.
I’m hallucinating.
But I turn, and there he is. Already inside. Already past every defense that was supposed to keep him out.
Grant. No weapon in hand. No shouting.
Just confidence and a blazing need for revenge in his eyes.
He casually shuts the laundry door and turns the lock. “That’s better.”
He’s doing this to unsettle me because we both know the lock won’t keep my men out. But right now they can’t see him in here with me. Alone. At his mercy.
Just like the morning of what was supposed to be our wedding.
No one can save me from him. Not now. Probably not ever. I’ve just been delaying the inevitable.
Grant steps toward me, spurring me into action. The towel flutters into the basket with the others. It won’t protect me, even though I wish it could.
I back away from him, my shoulder blades finding the flat wall beside the dryer, hands up between us like that’s ever helped me with him. I doubt anything I say will help either. Not this time.
I have no more cards to play.
He studies my face like I’m a thing he once owned. This feelsintimatein the most violating way. “You look tired. They working you too hard?”
Grant’s beauty only makes the cruelty in his eyes more vivid—and harder to look away from. He’s the kind of handsome that covers so many sins. It allows him to get away with too much.
The rest, his money takes care of. His equally cruel father.
What will he do to me when he knows I’m going to have one of their babies?
His head tilts as he looks me over, stalking closer and touching my vest dismissively. “They make you queen here? You give them everything they ask for? Like a greedy bitch.”
I grind my teeth together. If I give him a reaction, I give him what he wants. I’m done doing that.
Straightening my shoulders, I will fight back. With everything I have. Even if it’s not enough, I will fight until I can’t anymore. I swear it.
He clocks the change, glancing down at how my hands curl into fists. Grant’s chuckle sends fire through my veins.
He spreads his arms as if inviting me to try hitting him, flashing the gun at his hip and sending terror into my heart. Panic swirls.
His hand wraps around my throat like he did the last time I saw him, leaning in to press our bodies together, to take away all of my leverage. Granttsksagainst my ear.
