Makeup freshly applied, I lay in bed reading. Or rather, rereading. The FMC had indeed been running when she heardthe person come in through the front door. Not hiding. I was invested in the story.
When headlights flashed through the window, I sat up and closed the book. This time, I marked the spot. I was ready to tell my husband an abridged account of this morning’s proceedings. I figured he should know that my father was interested in his whereabouts.
And it wasn’t because I was developing feelings for my husband.
I rubbed the flutter in my chest, willing it to subside. This was mutual protection. We should look out for one another. I tried to grapple the surge of emotions that seemed to make the ball of thoughts and feelings strong before facing him.
It didn’t work.
Dammit. Maybe I shouldn’t face him tonight. I was too wound up. Frozen in debate, I sat there.
That was until he pushed through the bedroom door with a canister of gasoline in one hand and a fire extinguisher in the other.
“Get up,” Liam barked.
“Liam, what the hell!” I screeched, scrambling off the mattress.
My heart jumped to my throat. Was this how I died? He lulled my suspicions with coffee and then torched me? Breathing hard, I looked around for a weapon.
There weren’t any.
Liam uncapped the fuel canister and sloshed the end of the bed with the gasoline. The fumes reeked. He pulled his arm back and dumped more, saturating the blankets.
Run!
But an object on the middle of the bed caught my eye. My book. I bit my lip. He was clearly insane, but that small object was a treat I’d worked for and bought myself.
Screw him and this madness!
I scrambled forward.
“Gabriella!” he shouted, mid-throw.
The toxic liquid nearly hit my arm. I swerved. Missed it. Breathing hard, I snatched the book, holding it protectively against my chest.
The masked devil didn’t throw any more until I took a step backward.
I glared at him, inching away. “What. The. Fuck?”
The blue of his eyes turned to slate. “Stay put.”
“Answer me!” My back hit the wall.
Liam ground his molars, tossing another healthy dose of gasoline on the mattress. He moved to the middle and poured the remainder there. A puddle of fuel spread over the sage green comforter until the fibers eagerly drank in their destruction. Dropping the empty canister, Liam reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. With a flick of a lighter, he pulled the noxious, tar-laced smoke into his lungs. As the exhale plumed around him, he flicked the burning stick on the bed.
Flames sprang up in a wicked dance.
I covered my mouth. Partially to battle the toxic scents but also to keep from screaming. White-hot fear rushed through my body.
This was insanity! My husband was a fucking psychopath.
Liam watched the flames, hard gaze staring into them as if he saw something in the feathery, iridescent oranges and yellows. They reflected their garish motions on the plastic of his mask.
It was a wonder he was so comfortable with fire after his incident.
I took another step, ready to bolt.
Liam roused himself and shot me a warning look. “Stay put.”
