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My newfound strength seems to startle Thomas, and he blinks at me, his eyes glancing down at the doll I hold.
“How’s your daughter?” he asks smoothly, and I hear the Southern charm in his voice, the polite veneer that he hides behind.
“You sent a social worker my way,” I say in a low voice, proud when my voice remains steady. “Unstable? Really? You’re losing your touch, Thomas.”
His nostrils flare, and I see the familiar anger rise in his eyes. However, he doesn’t move from where he stands, his words a sneer. “After all the lies you spun about me to your parents, it was obvious even to them that you were delusional.”
My chest aches at the mention of my parents, whom this man manipulated seven ways from Sunday into believing him over me.
“They were horrified when they realized that you took advantage of me when drunk and then tried to push another man’s child on me.” Thomas gives me a sly look, running his finger over the edge of the desk. “Especially when I tried to talk some sense into you and you sent one of your numerous boyfriends to beat me up.”
I am not new to Thomas’s mind games.
He has been playing them since my father brought him home after the death of his parents. He slowly wormed his way into my parents’ hearts, and every time he would blame me for something that he did, I looked the other way, not wanting to be unkind to him because his parents were dead, willing to share mine with him. And sometimes he would be nice to me, play with me, enough to offset the way he filled my parents’ ears with lies about me.
A part of me chose to ignore that; it had decided to trust him.
That’s why it was so easy for me to accept his help when my parents kicked me out.
And that’s why it was so easy for him to control every aspect of my life in the few months I lived with him, the way he forced a sexual relationship with me, making me think that’s what I wanted.
The abuse came after.
“Well, I still have her, you dick. Guess you’re not as smart as you thought you were.” I grit my teeth and force my lips into sharp smile.
He doesn’t like that.
“I would watch my mouth if I were you, Evie.” Thomas takes a threatening step in my direction, and I falter.
That satisfied look in his eyes enrages me. “I’m not scared of you, Tom.” My tone nasty, I add, “I heard you pissed yourself when my friend came at you.”
I heard no such thing.
In fact, Elijah very politely refused to discuss anything of what occurred in that house after he sent me out.
However, by the paling of Thomas’s face, I feel a hint of shocked glee creeping into me.
He pissed himself.
The dark look that takes over his face is all too familiar and my satisfaction chips away to reveal fear that has still been hovering underneath.
I swallow. “Get out of my office, Thomas. And stay the fuck away from me.”
He covers the distance between us in four large steps, and suddenly he is looming in front of me, his face twisted into something ugly. I am shoved against the wall and my mind blanks.
For the life of me, despite all the self-defense lessons I took, I can’t remember a single one of them.
He takes another step forward until he is pressed up against me and I feel like I can’t breathe anymore, terror keeping me held hostage in its clutches.
“Your parents got concerned after seeing you on the news. All these attacks on you, on your apartment, on that little gay boyfriend of yours: they wanted me to reach out and tell you to come home. Of course, the little messages you keep sending them every week haven’t been helping. I deleted most of them, but your father heard one or two.” Thomas breathes against my mouth and I quiver, wanting to get out from under him. “I reminded them of what you did to me—a little guilt trip down memory lane. I reminded them that you were nothing more than a liar and a whore.”
I push at him, hating the tears that fill my eyes on hearing that, despite whatever Thomas convinced them of, they still loved me.
“Get off me,” I choke.
He presses me harder against the wall. “Of course, then you had to tell people that I tried to kill that bastard child of yours.” His expression became furious. “Someone approached my bosses with that information. I was fired, you little bitch, for offering to do you a favor!”
I try to kick out at him, my voice shaking and yet hints of anger creeping in. “I didn’t send anyone your way, you fucking shithole! Threatening to murder my unborn child isn’t a favor! And if you got fired, it’s probably because your bosses realized you’re a fucking psychopath!”
