Ruthless Salvation

38

“Your heart. It is racing.” He tugged me closer, tracing his fingers over the pulse point at the base of my neck.

If it wasn’t before, it certainly was now.

“You startled me before. I thought you were upset that I was going to class.” True enough, and all too reasonable considering his hair-trigger temper. Wouldn’t it be expected for a woman to get nervous around a man who beats her?

Unfortunately, logic wasn’t part of the equation where Damyon and I were concerned.

He took the bag from me and began to extract its contents. A small towel for sweat. A water bottle. My wallet. A plastic bag of granola. A small bag of toiletries, including a travel-sized brush, a toothbrush, an emergency tampon, lip gloss, and a small bottle of painkillers. Damyon took the toothbrush from the zippered pouch and stared at it.

“Why would you possibly need a toothbrush at your yoga class?” The suspicion in his stare stripped me bare until I felt like a helpless child.

“It’s just an emergency bag—like if I realized my breath was bad or something,” I stammered, desperation taking over.

“Who do you think will be smelling your breath? Huh?”

The acrid taste of panic coated my tongue. “I don’t know. I’ve always taken those things with me to the gym. Why are you questioning me about this?”

His glare turned cunning. “Do not try to make this about me. If I could trust you, I would not have to question such things.”

“You can trust me.”

“Then why the f**k are you taking a toothbrush to yoga?” he roared. “Is this some fancy new tongue yoga where you suck your instructor’s d**k? You think you can make a fool of me in front of the world?”

The trigger on his temper snapped, and once he’d crossed that line, there would be no going back. Not until the storm had run its course.

He grabbed my arm and shoved me toward the kitchen.

“Please, Damyon, don’t do this. Please, no.” I could try to tell him he was wrong or attempt to explain, but it would only make things worse. The one thing I knew to do was beg. For my life. For his forgiveness. For the end to be quick. Without the option of reason, the only other thing to do would be … to fight back.

I hadn’t considered it an option because my chances seemed so minuscule. He was so much stronger than me. But what if I didn’t survive this fight to try another escape?

Instinct took over when I realized this might be my final moments. I didn’t have to decide whether to fight; my body demanded it.

I stumbled around to the other side of the island so he couldn’t reach me. “Please, Damyon. I love you. I promised myself to you. I would never cheat.”

“You cannot lie to me. I saw the way your heart raced on your way to the door. You could not wait to get your lips around another man’s cock.” He sneered as he prowled closer.

A toothbrush and a racing pulse. Two things that could have meant nothing or anything, yet he’d convinced himself it was evidence of cheating. I’d tried so hard to keep him from suspecting I was going to run, and I’d been successful. He didn’t think I was trying to escape. But his paranoia had driven him to an equally problematic conclusion that might mean my death.

I wanted to rage against the unfairness.

Damyon lunged for one side of the island. I ran in the opposite direction, but his hand clamped down on my ponytail in a quick end to his sadistic chase. He wrapped my hair in his fist and yanked my back against him, bringing his snarling lips to my ear.

“No other man will touch what is mine.”

Tears of agony and frustration and hatred streamed down my face. “You’re hurting me, Damyon,” I cried helplessly through the pain.

He released me with a shove only to slap me so hard that all I could hear was a deafening tone and silence. I caught myself against the far kitchen counter, my thoughts suddenly disoriented and my vision blurred. I pressed my hand to my left ear, and when I let go, there was blood on my fingers. My ear was bleeding from the inside.

I peered over my shoulder in horror, only to realize he was speaking. As though time had stood still, then slingshot into motion, my brain seemed to register sound from my right ear all at once, helping me regain my bearings. Damyon was on a rampage. I had to stop him before he killed me.

I spun around and grabbed the only thing within reach—a handheld can opener that happened to be on the counter. As he charged toward me, I whipped back around and used my momentum to slam the can opener across his face. Judging by the gaping s***h that opened across his cheek, the sharp circular cutting pieces had made direct contact. His cheek was flayed open from his temple to the corner of his mouth.

Damyon bellowed in anger, stepping backward and slapping his hand over his cheek. Blood poured from beneath his fingers. He took a momentary peek at his hand to assess the extent of the injury.

My hand shook with a vicious tremble.

If I’d thought Damyon’s stare was soulless before, that was nothing compared to the look of malignant hatred he now wore.

“I will make you suffer until the end of your days.”

“I’m only trying to protect myself,” I yelled back at him. “Can’t you see you’re hurting me!”

“As if a w***e like you has feelings.” He lunged, grabbing my wrist in one hand and prying the can opener free with the other. He cut himself with his effort, but it never even registered. He was too fixated on retribution.

Again, he struck me, this time with his fist. I crumpled to the ground, and the real beating began. He kicked me … over, and over, and over … until my body felt numb and my mind shattered.

He spoke to me, but his words didn’t penetrate the fog.

I’d taken myself somewhere else.

A tire swing on a balmy Savannah night, swaying beneath a mossy oak tree. The thick shelf of greenery only allowed a glimpse here and there of the golden-hewn sky. It was sunset, and Mama would be calling me home soon…

Cold water splashed my face, making me cough and sputter as I regained consciousness.

My body was one solid ball of pain. I was on the floor in Damyon’s office. When I looked over, he had a swath of gauze wrapped around half of his head, coaxing back my memories.

My eyes clenched shut in a refusal to deal with the horror.

“You know how my men show their loyalty to me?” he asked in a low, menacing tone. “They carry my mark. That way, everyone knows who they belong to.”

Terror wrenched open my lids, demanding I do something. Anything. That was when I realized I was lying by the fireplace, and a roaring fire blazed next to me.