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“I-I—” My words are stolen by the thick knot of terror lodged in my windpipe.
He edges closer, his expression growing more crazed as he nears me. His face is unshaven, his appearance unkempt. A sour stench fills the space between us, making me gag. My chest aches from the pressure of my racing heart.
I’m going to die right here in this spot before he even puts a hand on me.
“Faking a panic attack again, are we?” he says with a cruel laugh, mocking me.
“P-please,” I beg, despite knowing the futility of it. He never showed me any mercy before, and now…
His face contorts with hatred. “Please?” He snarls. “You think I give a single fuck about you anymore, Mia?” He spits out my name like a curse. “Eight months I’ve been looking for you. Waiting for you to see sense and come back to me. You had your chance to beg me for forgiveness, but it’s long gone, honey.”
He takes another step closer, and my hands and legs tremble violently. Watching me, he gives a vicious laugh.
Fucking asshole.
I suck in air and lean against the counter for support, trying to regulate my breathing and calm my stampeding heart. Nothing I say will have any effect on him. Brad Mulcahy doesn’t have one decent bone in his entire body. Why the hell would I give this sack of elephant dung the satisfaction of seeing me cower in fear? Never again. This might be the end for me, but I won’t make it easy for him.
“Beg your forgiveness?” I find my voice, and while it’s little more than a croak, he falters. His nostrils flare as he glowers at me. “I should have left you the first time you hit me.” My voice grows stronger. “The first time you raped me. The first time you made me question my own sanity.”
“Ungrateful bitch,” he spits, cracking the back of his hand across my face. His signature move. My head snaps back and pain blooms on my cheekbone, but I stand tall and glare at him.
“You are a coward and a bully, Brad Mulcahy.”
He bares his teeth, like a rabid animal. “Did he tell you that?” His face contorts with disgust. “The guy you were fucking in Chicago?”
The reminder of him gives me a fresh shot of adrenaline. Even in the face of certain death, Lorenzo Moretti would stay strong until his last breath. “Lorenzo is a far better man than you will ever be, Brad.”
His body vibrates with rage. “Fucking whore.” He makes a grab for me, and I’m not fast enough to dodge him. Vicious hands tear at my clothes. I struggle against him. My shirt rips down the middle, exposing my breasts. That only seems to drive him into a deeper frenzy.
He rages at me. Calls me a slut and a whore while he tries to tear off the rest of my clothes. I scratch and claw at him, but he’s bigger and stronger and his determination to take what he wants rivals my resolve not to let him. Survival instinct kicks in, and I lash out, kicking him in his knee. He howls but remains undeterred. Slamming me back against the counter, he tugs at my pajama shorts, almost making me topple over as he wrenches them off my legs.
“I don’t want you, you fucking animal!” I screech, but he only laughs.
“Tough shit, honey. I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget about ever having another man between your legs.” He wraps a hand around my throat, his grip brutal. Thick, ugly fingers probe the tops of my thighs, leaving bruises everywhere he touches. I need a weapon. Something. Anything. He brushes the edge of my panties and bile surges from my stomach, burning my esophagus as I’m forced to swallow it down.
Strawberries!
I reach behind me, scrabbling for the knife in the sink. My hand curls around the smooth handle, and I’m filled with a rush of adrenaline. Brad’s disgusting fingers slip into my panties, and I swing my left arm, plunging the blade into the column of his throat. His gray eyes widen; his grip loosens. Blood bubbles from his lips and he staggers back, reaching for the knife embedded in his neck. He pulls it free and blood gushes from his wound, spurting all over me as he lurches forward, grasping at my clothes.
This time he’s the one begging. His eyes plead for mercy, full of terror and the knowledge that he’s about to die. I wrench from his grip, and he stumbles back and crumples to the floor, choking on his own blood.
I gulp for air.What the hell have I done?
I killed a cop. Holy fuck! My cell phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out. The red indicator flashes, reminding me that the battery is low. A hysterical laugh bubbles out, and it tumbles from my hands as I lift them to my lips. The battery symbol continues to blink at me from the floor, almost like it’s trying to tell me something…
Ten digits pop into my head. A phone number I memorized from the wrinkled piece of paper that I read more times than I could count. Sinking to the floor, I send up a prayer that he picks up, and I use my trembling, blood-soaked fingers to call Lorenzo.
ChapterThirty-Six
LORENZO
Throwing the driver’s side door open without bothering to turn off the engine, I bolt from the car and race up the small path that leads to Mia’s little house in this idyllic neighborhood that I chose especially for her. I called her back after I finished speaking with Max, but it went straight to voicemail. I’ve spent the past four hours thinking of every possible worst-case scenario while praying that her phone just died.
The front door is locked, but that’s not about to stop me. Using my shoulder as a battering ram, I splinter the wood around the frame and stumble into the entryway. The scent of jasmine and lemon fills the air.
“Mia?” My heart pounds so hard in my chest I’m certain it will explode if I don’t know that she’s okay in the next ten seconds. I head for the kitchen, crossing the small hallway in two strides, and I see her piece-of-shit husband first. Lying face up, his body sprawled at an unnatural angle in a pool of congealed blood.
My eyes dart around the kitchen, heart hammering and blood thundering in my ears until I see her, curled up in a ball a few feet away from him, her attention fixed on his dead body.
