Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I looked at Bolton.
His eyes were wide and maniacal, like a jester in a house of mirrors. “Because I don’t believe in second chances.”
I continued my stare.
“Come near my wife again, and your guardian angel won’t save you a second time.”
7
ASTRID
It was a quiet ride home.
An insufferable one.
When we stepped into the house, I felt Bolton’s anger rekindle like a candle flame that blazed back to life. He hung up his coat on the rack then walked to the bar, making himself a stiff drink, as if all the wine at dinner hadn’t been enough.
I felt his rage like the heat from a burning fireplace.
I turned to the stairs, ready to go to our bedroom to slip off these painful heels and drop this skintight dress.
“You lied to me.”
I stilled, my heart turning into a stone that fell off the edge of a cliff. My breaths grew shaky and showed my terror.
He still had his back to me, standing in front of the bar. “I fucked up, but I never lied.”
My heart was about to explode from the terror.
He finally turned around, drink in hand, a flush to his face from the anger or the booze. Maybe both. “Are you in this marriage or not?”
“Yes—”
“I can’t hear you!” He threw his glass at the wall, and it shattered.
I yelped as I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Deranged, he stared me down and stepped forward, his boots crunching over the broken glass. “I said I can’t hear you.”
“Yes…” I felt my body tremble because I’d never seen him act like this. Not during our worst times.
“Then why did you lie?” He came closer, purposely grinding the shards into finer pieces as he moved. “Why did you look me in the goddamn face and lie?” He stopped when he was inches away, his breaths shaky with rage.
“I—I didn’t want you to kill him.” He somehow knew about the conversation, so I caved. If I kept up the lie, it would just make it worse. Make him throw more glasses and bottles against the wall until the house came down. “Nothing happened.”
“And why should I believe you?”
“Because I would never—”
“You lied to me before. How do I know you aren’t lying now?” he snapped. “I know I fucked up big-time when I asked to open our marriage, but I’ve never lied to you or deceived you. You’ve crucified me for what I did, but your transgression is far worse than mine.”
“I just didn’t want you to hurt him. That’s all.”
“You protect him?” he asked incredulously. “I’m your husband.”
“I’ve protected you too.”
His eyes shifted back and forth between mine. “I want to know what happened. Lie to me again, and see what fucking happens.”
I took a step back when his spit struck my cheek.
He moved in again, not letting me get away. “Answer the question.”
I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to get out of this. “He wanted to make sure I was happy. Make sure I was okay. Said he wished he could take back the final words he said to me, because he didn’t mean them. That’s it.” I felt my body shake because I was scared, scared of my husband for the first time, saw the vicious side of him that his victims must see before they died. “He didn’t touch me. Nothing happened.” I lied a bit, lied enough to soften the blow, because I was truly afraid of what Bolton would do if he knew Theo had begged me to take him back. That he’d left the door open for us if I ever wanted to come back. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
His eyes continued to pierce my face like daggers. He was still angry, still breathing differently.
I held my ground like my life depended on it, because Theo’s did.
He finally stepped away.
I released a sigh of relief that the interrogation was finally over.
He returned to the bar and poured another glass.
“Theo said he upheld his end of the deal. What does that mean?” It was a stupid time to ask the question, but since Bolton was drunk and unhinged, it might make him reckless with his information.
He turned back around and looked at me.
“What deal?”
He brought it to his lips and took a drink, a long one that lasted seconds, finishing off the entire glass in one go. Then he flipped it in the air and caught it again, drops of liquor hitting the walls and the floor. Like a pitcher on the mound, he threw the glass against the wall, shattering it where he’d thrown the first one. “I’m done talking about that asshole.”
I was awake most of the night.
My heart still raced like I was on a treadmill rather than tucked into bed. The downstairs was a mess, the glass left to be cleaned tomorrow. I stared at the ceiling or the light peeking through the curtains over the window.