Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
I didn’t answer. No matter what I said, it would set him off. I remembered that much from before. Zach had always liked lecturing me during punishments, and if I didn’t listen, the punishment got much, much worse. I just had to hunker down and push through. Sooner or later he’d get tired or bored and then it would stop.
At least for a while.
I’d never be truly free from him, though. I’d thought I could change my life.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“I’ve told you a thousand times about Ruger, but you still don’t listen,” he continued. “You never get it through your head, do you? I guess sluts like you can’t control themselves … You need to be trained, like dogs. Bitches. Do you want me to train you?”
I took a deep breath, then let it out, closing my eyes tight. I knew what the next step was. Our little dance was well-choreographed.
“Yes, Zach,” I whispered, feeling my soul tuck down deep inside, hiding from what was coming. If I drew far enough away from reality, it wouldn’t hurt as bad when he started really hitting me. “I want you to train me.”
“Good girl,” he murmured, sounding almost human.
I knelt down and opened the drawer under the oven, looking for something to cook the eggs in. I had a small, non-stick frying pan I usually used. There was also a large, cast-iron skillet that I’d found when I moved into the apartment.
I’d never cooked with it—cast iron always seemed sort of strange and scary to me.
Huh.
Why should I be afraid of using a fucking pan? Because it was different than what I was used to? But changing how you do anything is difficult.
I could do it, though.
I could use that pan.
Almost in a dream, I reached down and picked up the skillet. How hard would it be …? Harder than a man’s fists against your flesh? Harder than cracked ribs, blackened eyes—your baby screaming for an hour because Mommy can’t get off the floor to pick him up?
Changing how you react to a man hurting you is hard.
But it can be done.
The pan was heavy. Really heavy. My arms were strong, though. I’d been carrying Noah for years—this was nothing in comparison. I stood up and set the skillet on the stove, reaching over and turning on the burner.
“I think we need to get something clear,” Zach said. He leaned back in his chair, grinning at me, all pleased with himself. Only seconds had passed as I found the skillet, but everything had changed. I felt my soul uncurling from its hiding place.
“You sent me to jail,” Zach continued. “That was a very, very bad thing to do. I’ll admit it threw me for a while. I let you get away with it. Then you stole my money, and that’s more than a man can take. You try to fight me, I’ll kill you. In fact, I won’t just kill you, I’ll kill Noah. Never did like that little shit.”
Another gut punch. He hadn’t used his fists this time. He didn’t need to.
I looked down at the slowly heating skillet.
“Maybe I’ll just make him disappear,” he muttered. “Just take his little ass and dump him somewhere. You’ll never find him again, always wonder if he’s dead or alive. Maybe if you’re really good, I’ll tell you where the body is for his eighteenth birthday …”
I turned to grab eggs out of the fridge, glancing toward Zach. He was looking down at one of his hands, forming a fist over and over, flexing the muscles in his arm. I set the egg carton on the counter. Then I reached for a bowl to mix them in—he liked them scrambled, a mixture of full eggs and egg whites for extra protein. I started cracking them, the hard white shells looking like little skulls.
They broke open so easily.
I flicked another glance at him. He was still gazing down at his fingers, flexing and fisting.
Getting ready to hit me again.
“I’m gonna fuck you in the ass, I think,” he said casually. “Make you beg for it. I’ve missed that about you, the way you beg.”
My chest tightened, but I didn’t let myself react to his words. I just picked up a towel and wrapped it around the hot pan’s metal handle. Then I took a deep breath and thought of Noah, of what his little face would look like after Zach finished with him. Nope. Not gonna happen.
You can do this, I told myself, and I knew I was right. I could.
I lifted the pan, took three steps toward Zach and raised it high, bringing it down on his head with all my strength.
He never saw it coming.
Then I hit him a second time, just to be sure. And a third.
The smell of scorched meat filled the kitchen.