Page 96 of Spock’s Snare

“I brought you dinner,” he calls. “I know you must be hungry after your little tantrum.”

A refrigerator door opens, and then slams shut.

“If you’re a good girl and eat everything, I might even let you have dessert.”

Rage boils through me, hot and vicious.

Good girl.

Like Chloe is a child who needs discipline. Like tying her down and beating her when she’s unable to fight back are acts of affection?

The bedroom doorknob turns.

I stand.

The door swings inward, and Blackwood backs into the room carrying a tray. There’s a sandwich on a plate, a bag of chips, and a bottle of soda with a straw sticking from the top.

“I got your favorite—” he says as he turns.

The tray slips from his hands when his eyes lock with mine.

I cross the space before it hits the floor. My fist closes around the front of his shirt, and I drive him backward into the wall hard enough to rattle the picture frames in the hallway.

Blackwood’s breath explodes from his lungs.

“What the fuck—”

I slam him into the wall again.

His head snaps back as fear floods his eyes when he sees the rage burning in mine.

“This isn’t what it looks like.”

I drive my fist into his kidney.

Blackwood screams and folds sideways, but I keep him pinned against the wall by his shirt.

“Did Chloe scream like that when you hit her?”

“I didn’t—”

I hit the same spot again.

His knees buckle.

The bedroom door flies open.

I twist, ready to draw my gun, but stop when I see Chloe standing in the doorway.

The five women crowd the hall behind her. Hawk appears farther back, his weapon lowered but ready.

Chloe’s gaze locks on Blackwood.

He goes still.

Chloe steps into the room. Her face is pale, and her hands shake, but she doesn’t look away. She studies him as he sags against the wall, held upright only by my grip.

Blackwood tries to straighten.