The Past
Hunter age twenty
The steam from the shower drifts in a hazy cloud from the open door of the bathroom. My palms are sweaty when I press them together in my lap. Sally’s in the shower. She’s expecting me for dinner. I showed, but not for what she wants.
I came to break the chain of misery she has draped around my throat. I came to officially end things with her. I’ve been afraid for so fucking long now. I’ve been living in constant fear. That’s unacceptable. I don’t need to fear Sally or Grace anymore. Sally has aborted my babies and Grace can’t touch Isabel now, and if she did, I wouldn’t hesitant to slit her throat like I’ve imagined for the past ten years.
Tonight, I will end things.
Tonight, I will be free.
I settle on Sally’s luxurious bed and watch as she strolls out the marble bathroom with a plush yellow towel wrapped around her body. Her dark eyes run down the length of me. She doesn’t conceal the curl of her lip or the harden irritation in her eyes. I know she genuinely doesn’t like me. I’m not Sally’s dream man by any means. She wants me because I don’t want her. She wants what she can’t have.
“You can’t wear a sweatshirt and jeans to dinner, Hunter,” she chides as she lowers herself down to her white stool in front of her vanity table. “You have a tux in my closet. I have to keep several in case an event called for it, which is now. You never dress well. You have a body made for suits. But you stay in your street wear. I’m glad I know you well enough like I do. I have saved us time.”
She twists open a dainty green bottle of lotion and lathers her skin in cream without needing me to voice my opinion or concern because she carries the entire conversation by herself. “We won’t stay long, only long enough to keep up our appearance and then I have a flight to Seattle I have to catch.”
Good.
She’s leaving.
But I have a strong feeling she won’t be in such a hurry when I tell her what I have to say.
Her calculating eyes meet mine in the mirror as she slides a comb through her wet hair. “While I like you brooding and silent, I need you to get dressed. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She gives me a dismissive laugh with a roll of her eyes. “It’s dinner, Hunter. Don’t be childish.”
“We’re done.”
She calmly sets the comb down and turns on her stool to face me, her expression carefully masked. “What does that mean exactly?”
I scrub my stubble with my hand, holding her gaze. “It means we’re done. It means I will never fuck you again. It means you will no longer have any power to keep torturing me.”
Her mask of aloofness cracks in front of me and I witness the initial flicker of panic cross her face. “You can’t be done with me. You can never be done with me, Hunter.”
I don’t say anything.
There is no convincing Sally of anything.
There is no persuading her.
She believes what she wants to believe in that sick and twisted head of hers.
So I save my breath.
I simply get up and leave.
Small fingers curl around my arm. I shake her off, focused on my task of getting the hell out of here.
“If you go, I will do it, Hunter,” Sally threatens as I reach for the golden latch of her front door.
Taking a risk, I glance back. She holds the sharp edge of a butcher knife up against her throat, her hand trembling and her expression is solemn.
“No, you won’t,” I reply almost inaudible, shifting my gaze back to the latch. “You’re too vain.”
“Never underestimate me, Hunter.”
I hear the clink of the knife landing on the marble floor when she throws it, then a loud piercing cry fills the silence like static.
My entire body tenses, the erratic beating of my heart like thunder in my ears.
I’m afraid again.
I’m afraid to turn around.
More of her ear-shattering screams echo throughout her condo, reverberating of my chilled skin.
My jaw clenches, my fists balling at my sides.
Fuck.
She keeps screaming.
She’s hurting herself.
I don’t want to look.
I don’t.
But I do.
And wished I hadn’t.
I watch in stunned horror as she slams her naked body against the brick wall without any caution. Her skin is beginning to bruise. Her wrist bone is protruding from the skin of her wrist. Her face is swollen. Her lip is split open.
None of these things stop her from banging herself up.
I have to physically stop her and contain her in my arms. She isn’t crying. Sally laughs hysterically, nuzzling into me. “You can never leave me, Hunter.” She hooks her unbroken arm around my neck, pulling me into her. “Never, Hunter. You’re going to always be mine. Forever.”
Just like that Sally’s leash around my neck tightens.
***
The wind is bone-chilling cold up here. The brilliancy of the full moon shines high in the sky, gracing me with soft silver light. I’m canceled in a shadowy corner of the hospital rooftop while Sally’s down in the x-ray room, getting her broken wrist scanned. The look on everyone’s faces was fucking priceless when I brought Sally in all beat-up and broken. I could see their accusing expressions from a million miles away.
Hunter Knight.
The wicked man who would dear beat a woman.
Hunter Knight.
The spoiled rich asshole who thinks highly of himself.
Hunter Knight.
The fucking joke of the town.
Shutting my eyes, I lean my head back on a wall of bricks and exhale very slowly through my nose. I can’t be with Sally anymore. I don’t care if she gets hysterical and bangs herself against walls. She’s going to be the death of me like Grace wants if I stay trapped in this toxic web of betrayal, lie, and deceit.
The heartache Sally has caused doesn’t compare to the ever-present pain of giving up Isabel forever. Sally gave me the worst brand of agony. She gave me misery that blindsides me when I’m alone in the darkness yanks me into the deep ocean of torture where my screams and nightmares are played like lullabies.
Sally wanted to cause great devastation in my life.
She won.
I’ve taken all I can take with Sally.
She exhausted me.
She ruined me.
She smashed the last remaining shards of my soul into dust.
I have nothing left inside of me.
Not even rage…
Someone comes through the door on the side, their feet shuffling through the gravel on the rooftop. My eyes open to a shapely silhouette with flowing hair gleaming like dark red wine in the moonlight. She carefully balances herself on the ledge of the building.
I push to my feet, already knowing who she is. “I thought we were past this.”
She jolts forward, startled by me. I’m quick and swift when I grab her arm. “Hunter.”
“In the flesh,” I say, wiping away her glittering tears from her face.
We sit on the ledge, our legs dangling over the building. We hold hands. “Do you ever think that we’re just born to die, Hunter?”
I stare at the pretty woman with the red hair, thinking how people will never know how deep and cheerless Candy really is. “Sometimes. What’s on your mind?”
“Pills and dying,” she answers truthfully. “Mama says everyone has a weakness and a breaking point. It just so happens that the both of mine hit me at once.”
“What’s the matter, Candy?” I ask softly.
She blows out a breath, staring straight ahead at nothing but the sea of glowing stars. “My stupid ex-boyfriend is blackmailing with a video.”
“What kind of video?” I ask, my thumb running down the length of hers.
I know it’s dark but I still witness red color her pale cheeks. “We made a…sex tape. He wanted to try something new and exciting and I fell for it. His agenda was to only get me on camera and I fell for it.” She squeezes my hand, closing her eyes and tossing her head back with pain and anguish washing over her face. “I fell for it, Hunter. I’m so stupid. I want to die.”
Clenching my jaw, I push down the anger. I’m not upset with Candy. She’s too sweet. It’s the fucker using her I want to beat the shit out of. “What does he want?”
“Money. He’s a heroin addict. Always shooting up, always high.”
“How much does he want?”
“Five thousand dollars,” she says quietly. “I don’t have five thousand dollars.”
“Can you show me where he lives?”
She nods.
“Good.”
“Are you gonna pay him off?”
“I’m going to kick his ass before I strangle him for taking advantage of your kindness.”
Her shimmering eyes widen, her pouty lips parting. She looks awestruck.
I look down at her hand in mine.
This could work.
Candy is sweet.
Candy isn’t Isabel.
But Candy isn’t Sally either.