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Rick exhaled in relief. This was the break he was waiting for.
Crying was a big mistake, Quinn thought as she stared into the blackness that surrounded her. Now, she wasn’t just sore all over, but her one good eye was swollen as well and her possibly broken nose was leaking copious amounts of mucus and blood. She used the washcloth to wipe it and gasped. Quinn literally saw stars when she lightly touched the end of her nose.
Yep, probably broken.
It wouldn’t be the first time Travis broke her nose. That wasn’t what hurt so badly. It was the mental anguish that pained her. Quinn had truly believed she would never have to go through this again. That she was so wrong, about everything, was devastating. Her lip started to quiver at the thought of Travis, about how she was never going to be rid of him. Not until one of them was dead. Unfortunately, it was looking more and more as if she would be the one to go first.
Rick had to have noticed she was missing by now. Even if no one knew where her lawyer’s office was, today was Monday, so the employees who parked in the garage were bound to find Mack’s abandoned truck and know something had happened to her, maybe called the police.
It had seemed right at the time, but in hindsight Quinn was really regretting not having told Rick about Travis. If she had, he would know who attacked her. Mara Paxton knew about Travis, but by the time everyone put all the pieces together, Quinn would be dead and gone.
She had come to terms with the fact that no one was coming for her. In between restless fits of sleep and her sore body being chained to the bed, Quinn tortured herself with that thought all night. Rehashing it wouldn’t make it any less real. She was alone and she was going to die.
Maybe if she had killed Travis the night she left this wouldn’t be happening. She could have done it. She should have done it. But in the end, as much as she hated him, Quinn wasn’t a killer. She didn’t want to be like Travis. Again, she thought about that night, wondering if she could have prevented this nightmare.
One and a half years ago
It had been two weeks since the last time Travis attacked Quinn, busting her father’s flag case and raping her on top of the symbol of his service to his country.
Every waking moment was spent plotting her getaway. Quinn waited until her body was healed, needing all of her strength to pull this off. It didn’t stop her from thinking about it though. At least once a day, she dug through the bathroom cabinet, pulling out the long shard of glass to stare at it longingly, working up the courage to use it against her husband. Once or twice she considered taking her own life, but in the end, what spurred her on was her desire to get the best of Travis. For him to realize he failed, that she got away.
Her wait was over. Today was the day. She was going to get out of this hell on earth. Quinn had managed to save over seven hundred dollars over the last two years. Not a lot, but sufficient to get far enough away that Travis wouldn’t be able to find her. She glanced at the clock on the stove—four p.m. He would be home from work soon.
As quick as possible, Quinn finished getting dinner ready and stuck it in the oven to bake. She didn’t want Travis to think anything was out of the ordinary. She needed to lull him into a false sense of security— and more importantly, she needed to be healthy and uninjured to make her escape. If that meant placating him and catering to his every need, she would.
Twenty minutes later, Quinn was in the family room when she heard the back door open. She listened as Travis did his usual after-work routine. The rattle of keys let her know he had locked his gun and car keys in a box on top of the refrigerator. The fridge opened and she heard the pop and hiss of a can of beer being opened. He yelled for her as those damn cowboy boots clunked across the kitchen floor.
“Annie! Get your ass in here!”
Taking a deep breath, Quinn steeled herself and went to the kitchen.
“Hi honey. Did you have a good day at work?” She put on a smile and began to set the table even though being nice to Travis was about to make her puke.
Travis leaned against the refrigerator, drinking his beer and eyeing Quinn warily.
“Yep. What did you make for dinner?”
Quinn faced Travis as she spoke, keeping her face calm and pleasant. He got angry if her back was to him while she spoke. “Chicken casserole, cornbread, and green beans.”
He grunted in approval. It was his favorite meal and she knew it. The happier he was, the easier today would be, even if it made bile creep up her throat by pretending everything was just hunky-dory when nothing could be further from the truth.
&nbs
p; Dinner came and went without a single negative comment or angry glare from her husband. She brought him a beer as he settled into his recliner and flipped on the television. Quinn finished washing the dishes, joining Travis in the family room for a few hours. He flicked through the channels mindlessly, never bothering to look her way. It was as if she were invisible.
Perfect.
At nine, Quinn readied herself for bed, pretending to be asleep when Travis joined her an hour later, stinking like beer. She waited, clutching the sheets in her sweaty hands, until his breathing changed to a slow, even rhythm.
It’s time.
Silently, Quinn slid out of bed and crept down the hall, into the bathroom. She dug out the box of tampons from the back of the cabinet, pocketing the sizeable roll of cash she had stashed there. Next she removed a pair of Travis’ protective leather gloves that she had swiped from the carport. Gently, she ran a finger down the scar on her palm, still angry and red from the cut she suffered two weeks ago. It probably could have used a few stitches, but Travis certainly wasn’t going to allow that. Shaking, she pulled one of the thick, too-big gloves onto her right hand. Quinn took the glass shard from the bottom of the box and clutched it tight in her gloved fist.
She crept towards the bedroom, pausing in the doorway. Carefully, Quinn peeked around the corner. Travis was still asleep. Quinn closed her eyes for a moment, saying a quick prayer that she would get out of the house in one piece.
Her heart racing in her chest, she gripped her weapon as she tiptoed to her husband’s side of the bed, holding it up high, ready to use if he woke up. With a gloved finger, Quinn gently tugged on the top drawer of his nightstand. It opened without a sound, making her thankful for having the foresight to give the metal slides a good spray down with WD40 last week.
Quinn easily spotted the small key to the safe in the front of the drawer. He didn’t bother to hide it, assuming she would never have the guts to try and swipe it while he was in the house.
