Page 7 of Ice King

The boat swayed hard, a splash of water coming over the bow. I was tossed against the side, slipping and fighting to keep standing. By the time I made it to the galley, I was panting because of the trickling of fear.

Once inside, I gripped the edges of the counter on either side, rocking with the boat as I’d learned to do until the heavy waves seemed to pass. His damn beer. I cursed mentally since Hoffman didn’t like me doing it in front of his colleagues. Or anyoneelse. Now, I was wondering whether saltwater fish would mind hearing me swearing like a sailor.

Shit. Fuck. Son of a bitch. Asshole. Motherfucker.

Just thinking the words isn’t going to help.

My inner voice was correct.

After taking a few deep breaths, I pulled a beer from the fridge, a surge hitting the boat at the exact time I twisted the top. The bottle slipped from my hand, crashing onto the floor.

My yelp was from surprise even as laughter bubbled to the surface while watching the golden brew sloshing everywhere. I grabbed a towel, ready to clean it up when I felt a presence standing only a few feet away.

He never asked any questions and he certainly never laughed with me when an accident like this happened. His chest heaved, his eyes darkening and I had no time to brace for his usual reaction.

The backhand was quick, enough force used I was tossed against the wall like a ragdoll. Agony burst into my head, my entire face on fire as I slid down the wall and into the cold beer. I cupped my face, tears springing to my eyes, but goddamn the man. I wasn’t going to cry because of him any longer.

He could threaten me all he wanted. He could tell me over and over again what he would do if I didn’t obey him. He could tell everyone in the world a lie about why I could never practice medicine. Fuck him.

The bastard could spew every detail of how he’d hurt my father if I ever dared try to leave him.

Fuck. Him.

His massive hand grabbed the bottle, holding it into the light while he snarled and glared at me. “You stupid cunt. Why can’t you learn to be careful? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

As he pitched the heavy bottle against the wall, I cringed, but I was finished with cowering. I would have left him months ago if it weren’t for my family. His threats had been detailed, explaining in vivid, gory detail what he’d do to them, my friends as well.

He had the power to make every threat turn into a promise.

As the bottle shattered, I remained where I was, pulling my hand away so he could see the mark he’d left. The blood on my lip. I’d wear the bruise like a badge of honor.

“Clean up this fucking mess.” He didn’t stick around to ensure I obeyed him, grabbing another beer and stomping from the room.

My breaths were long and deep once again, controlling the level of emotions that would feed on my despair. I’d allow myself a good cry later.

But not now.

Now I needed to play my cards right, buy time and try to avoid his wrath. Maybe the storm had been a godsend.

The thought fueled me as I struggled not to cut myself while cleaning up the glass. I’d go through the motions, finding the right moment.

* * *

That came only a couple of hours later after a quiet peace had settled over me. The storm had mostly passed, although the water was still turbulent. I’d paid attention to how far out we were, trying to relax and enjoy the moment. The skies were darkening, adding another layer of gloominess to the horizon.

As I stared at the waves across the turquoise water, I could feel him behind me once again. I fought to keep from bristling, even controlling my breathing while he eased my hair from my shoulder, wrapping his fingers around my long strands. The feel of his hot, wet lips on my neck normally caused a shiver.

Not this time.

I felt nothing.

But anger.

And hatred.

And a self-loathing that would stop tonight.

“You are so beautiful, Gigi. I don’t tell you that enough.” His voice was soft, as alluring as the night I’d met him and the weeks afterwards.