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But her problems were bigger than just getting away. As long as Charles Devereaux breathed, she would never be safe. She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled long and deep. If she really wanted to be free, she would have to kill him.
Turning back toward the table, she took her seat at his right hand, the only place he ever allowed her to sit. He shook out his napkin with a snap and laid it across his lap, staring at her until she did the same. He leaned forward and removed the cloche over her plate to reveal a salad.
“Your figure was different when I changed you out of those God-awful clothes,” he explained. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can help you get it back. You liked working with that personal trainer, right?”
“Which one? The woman? Or the gay man you accused me of giving blow jobs to?”
He threw the cloche across the room, and she jerked when it clanged against the wall. “It’s hardly my fault you’re such a slut. You were when I met you, and that obviously rings true today. Whoring yourself out to Christ knows how many people to survive as long as you have.”
“Is that the only way you think I’ve been able to hide from you for so long? Sleeping with someone else in exchange for protection?”
“Well, I don’t remember you being good for much else, Alice.”
She gritted her teeth at the insult, eyeing the steak knife next to his plate. “If I was such a whore, why did you marry me?”
“Every bad girl needs taming. You were a fun project for me. Taking you out of your sad life, dressing you up, turning you into something resembling a lady.” He gestured down the length of her body. “I did a fine job until you ruined it.”
“My life wasn’t sad when I met you. You took everything from me.”
“I didn’t take anything you weren’t willing to give me, Alice. Don’t forget that. I didn’t force you to marry me. I didn’t force you to drop out of law school. You chose to do those things. You wanted it.”
“I wanted it?!” She shoved back from the table. “I wanted you to beat me bloody for spilling red wine on the carpet? I wanted you to choke me until I passed out because I forgot your mother’s birthday? I wanted you to try and kill me because I laughed at your boss’s joke?”
“That’s enough!” He pushed to his feet, towering over her until he backed her against the wall. “You wanted the money and the status I provided, and if you had learned your place, I wouldn’t have needed to lay a finger on you. If you were treated in a way you didn’t like, then it was no one’s fault but your own.”
“You’d like to believe that, wouldn’t you? Does it help you sleep at night? Pretending to be the victim when really you’re the monster?”
He slapped her so hard her head snapped back and hit the wall. “It seems even after all the lessons I’ve taught you, you’ve still learned nothing,” he said through gritted teeth. “Maybe it’s time for another one.”
Sliding his fingers into her hair, he tightened his grip and yanked so hard she sucked in a breath through her teeth, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. He shoved her forward, and she fell to her hands and knees next to the table. She heard the all too familiar sound of his belt buckle and shuddered. His favorite when he didn’t want to leave bruises on his knuckles.
She pushed up onto her knees and faced him, watching him tug the leather from the last of the belt loops on his suit pants. He held the buckle in his palm and wrapped the belt twice around it as he stalked forward. She took a deep breath in and slowly released it, her heart pounding frantically in her chest. Either he was dead at the end of this or she was.
He lashed out with the belt, and she jerked to the left, avoiding the blow. Rage lit his bright green eyes. It always made him angrier when she tried not to get hit. But that’s what she wanted. The angrier he was, the less calculating, like something snapped inside him, and he could only give in to his most basic violent urges.
Usually when he got to that point, she was too scared and too bloody to fight back. She’d never intentionally goaded him into a rage before. Keeping her head about her as he lost his might be her only chance.
He struck out again, and this time the belt landed across her forearm, pain radiating up to her elbow. She pushed to her feet and dodged the next blow.
“You’ve forgotten I own you, Alice.” He stalked closer. “That I can do whatever I want to you because you’re my wife.”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “Your wife is dead.”
This time when he whipped the belt at her, she grabbed for it, yanking him forward at the same time she picked the knife up from the table. He lurched forward onto the blade, and it sank into his chest. On instinct, she pushed it in to the hilt and yanked it back out again.
They both looked down at the blood blooming over his white shirt, and his green eyes were filled with pain when he met her gaze. She wrenched the belt from his grasp and darted away from him when he staggered toward her.
He fell to his knees, his hands reaching up to clutch his chest. When he tried to speak, only a gargled jumble came out of his mouth. She must have punctured a lung. That should make her feel something, but it didn’t. Her whole body was numb.
Delaney stood there in shock, looking down at the bloody knife in her hand. Oh God. How was she supposed to explain this? What if no one believed she killed him in self-defense? Someone pounded on the door, and she barely managed to stifle a scream. Unable to hold himself up anymore, Charles fell to the floor and rolled onto his back.
“Room service!” a voice called from the other side of the door, but it sounded familiar.
Backing away from where Charles lay unmoving on the floor, she crossed to the door, turning briefly to peer through the peephole. James. He was here. Sobbing with relief, she threw the door open and launched herself into his arms.
“James. Oh my God.” Her breath hitched as she tried to find the words. “I think he’s dead. I think I killed him.”
Instantly a tall, broad man covered in tattoos was behind them, and Delaney jolted, her arms tightening around James’s neck.
