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PROLOGUE
PEYTON
My heart hammered in my chest, the pounding rhythm doing nothing but reminding me that I was alive.
I was still alive.
Outwardly anyway, but inside…inside I felt like I was rotting away, disintegrating into nothing as each day passed me by, hours racing by so fast like a sports car on a racetrack. But there was nothing I could do to slow them down, the brakes weren’t working and I was about to crash and burn. I only had one option left but it was a huge risk.
A risk that was starting to look more and more appealing as I stared at myself in the mirror.
The dark purple bruise under my eye would heal, just like the split lip, thanks to the ring he wore on his pinky finger. Days would pass, weeks even, and then the marks would be gone. But the mental scars…they stayed. They refused to leave, haunting me like a ghost in a mansion, not able to pass to the other side.
I lifted my shaky hand, just now noticing the dried blood caked on my knuckles. It was mine, but not because I’d hit something, not because I’d fought back. In fact, I had no idea where it had come from this time.
This time.
What was I doing? Why was I still here?
Blinking, I turned, trying not to think about the throbbing in my eye as I glanced into the boys’ bedroom. They were sleeping peacefully, one in his small bed and the other in his crib, matching pjs covering their small bodies.
Theywere why I was still here. But deep down, I knew it would only be a matter of time until he turned his rage onto them.
Gagging, I placed my hand on my stomach, trying not to bring up the small amount I’d eaten at dinner…a dinner that had set all of this into motion.
“They’re both asleep,” I said, ambling back into the kitchen where our huge, twelve-seater dining table sat. Travis was at the head of it, leaning back in his chair, watching me like a hunter stared at its prey before it pounced. I smiled, hating that he was catching me off guard as I walked over to him and took his empty plate from in front of him.
I turned, about to clean up the rest of the plates, knowing that he wouldn’t want the mess out for long, when his long fingers wrapped around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. “Did I say I was finished with that?”
Blinking, my pulse thrummed throughout my body, my brain screaming that danger was coming as I looked back at him, a shaky smile pulling at my lips as I placed his plate back down in front of him. “Sorry, Trav,” I murmured.
He laughed, slowly standing, towering over my five-foot height. There was a time I’d liked how much taller he was than me, but as the years passed us by, I realized it was a weapon when it came to me and him. One that he used constantly.
“Are you that stupid? The plate is empty, why would you put it back down in front of me?” He pushed closer, his hand gripping me tighter. “You expect me to clean it up after you’ve been home all day doing fuck all? Is that it?”
I shook my head rapidly. “No, no. I’m sorry. It’s me, I’m…I’m not with it today, Travis.” I reached for the plate again, hyperaware of his hand still attached to my wrist, but he yanked me away, making sure I couldn’t grab it.
“You’re a stupid bitch, you know that?” I didn’t answer him, knowing what was coming next. I’d sensed his mood the moment he’d walked in the house and sat down at the table, but I’d hoped I was wrong. I never was though.
Fuck. I hated hoping things would turn out different, just for them to be the exact same over and over again. Wasn’t that the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
“Answer me!” he roared, backing me up until I hit the kitchen island, the marble countertop biting into the middle of my back.
“I’m sorry, Travis,” I whispered, looking him in the eye. It was a mistake, one that I realized too late as his hand lifted, clenching into a fist. Within a split second, his knuckles slammed against my eye socket, making my head spin and my face turn. I bit down on my tongue, feeling the blood spurting in my mouth, but he wasn’t done. That hit hadn’t satisfied him. One never did anymore.
“You’re a lazy cunt.” Another punch in the exact same spot so he could cause maximum impact. “Good for nothing.” His hand wrapped around my throat as he slapped me at the same time, no doubt wanting me to keep my head still so it hurt all the more. My lip stung followed by a trail of blood.
And all the while I kept my mouth closed. All the while I didn’t beg him to stop, I didn’t scream out for help that never ever came. I just took it, knowing it would be easier.
“I don’t know why I ever fucked you in the first place, you disgusting little whore.” He pushed his face closer to mine, his erection pressing against my leg. It wasn’t the first time him hurting me had turned him on, and I had a feeling that it wouldn’t be the last.
My stomach bottomed out as reality hit me harder than his fist had—this was about to take a darker turn, one that had only happened a handful of times. One that he would never admit he did. The hits? Sure, he would apologize for them and then I would forgive him. But forcing himself on me? He didn’t see a problem with that; after all, I was his wife…
“Mommy?” I froze. Travis froze. My eyes widened as I managed to flick my attention past Travis to the little boy standing in the doorway, his face utterly broken. “What is Daddy doing?”
Travis’s hand was still around my throat, his eyes wild as he looked between me and our oldest son. “We’re just playing a game,” I croaked out, thankful when Travis let go of me and stepped away. I’d noticed he hadn’t said a word as I scrambled over to Kian. “Just a silly game,” I murmured, reaching for his hand. “Let’s get you back to bed, okay?”
“O…okay, Mommy.” Our son turned his head to look at Travis but immediately looked away, holding my hand tighter as he whispered, “I don’t like when Daddy hurts you, Mommy,” low enough so only I could hear.
