"So, this is what it's come to," he said, his voice deceptively calm. "My wife threatening to call the cops on me while she's out f*****g strangers."
Honey rubbed her wrist where his fingers had dug in. A bruise would form there by morning, she was certain. "I'm going to bed, Riley. We can talk tomorrow when you're sober."
"Sober?" He laughed bitterly. "I'm perfectly clear-headed. Clear enough to see what's happening here."
He stalked toward the chair he’d been sitting in, retrieving his glass and pouring another generous measure of whiskey. The bottle was already half empty.
"You've been different lately," he continued, swirling the amber liquid. "Now I understand why."
Honey stood her ground, though every instinct screamed at her to retreat to the guest room. "And why is that?"
"Yo
