Zach’s bitch. That’s all I was.
“You can’t be here,” I said feebly, wondering how just seeing him could make me feel so weak. “The restraining order says you can’t be here. You’re supposed to be hundreds of miles away. How did you get in?”
“I picked the lock, you stupid cunt,” he replied. “Ruger taught me when we were kids. That and how to hotwire a car. Only fuckin’ thing he ever did for me …”
He stood and walked over to me, a nasty gleam in his eye. He’d gotten bigger, I realized. Not taller, of course, and not fat, either. Zach must’ve started lifting weights, because those were some serious muscles. Steroid-sized muscles. He flexed them as he walked toward me, grinning as he read the fear in my face. He’d always had little-man syndrome.
My brain screamed at me to run, but my body wouldn’t obey. I was strong during the kidnapping. I’d run from Skid, but then I turned around and fought him.
Why didn’t I do that now?
I couldn’t. My body wouldn’t move.
Instead I just watched Zach, terrified, as he came up and cupped my face in his hands, fingers holding me just a little too tight.
“You’re looking good,” he said, licking his lips. He leaned forward and kissed me. Not a nice kiss—no, this one was meant to punish. I locked my jaw and kept my lips closed until he reached up and grabbed my hair, pulling it back sharply. “Open your fucking mouth, bitch.”
I obeyed, because I knew pulling hair was the least of what he could do. He kissed me for an eternity, tongue stabbing into mine painfully. His mouth tasted stale and nasty, like he hadn’t brushed his teeth in a year. I couldn’t get any air and tears built up in my eyes.
Finally, he pulled away.
“Cunt still sweet as that mouth?” he asked. I didn’t respond and he yanked my hair again. “Answer me, bitch!”
“I don’t know,” I whimpered. I should try to knee him. I should fight or kick or bite or something, but seeing Zach made me feel like a helpless little girl. He knew it, too. I could tell by the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. Zach was a bully. How I hadn’t recognized it from the start I’ll never know, but I could sure as shit see it now.
“I hear you’re fucking Ruger again,” Zach whispered, face turning ugly. “I hear you’re sucking his cock all over town, and that you’re fucking his whole club, too. Is that true, slut?”
“No,” I whimpered. “No, it’s not true.”
“What’s not true?” he asked, mouth twisting into a smile. “Not true you’re fucking Ruger, or not true that you’re fucking his club? Because they don’t just steal a man’s inheritance for shits and giggles, babe. They don’t do anything for free. You gotta tell me just how big a whore you are. Otherwise I won’t know how much punishment you need.”
“I’m not fucking anyone,” I said. Zach burst out laughing. Seriously laughing, so hard he actually let me go and used the heel of one hand to press against his eyes, wiping away the tears.
“Let’s try this again,” he said when he finally stopped. “Who are you fucking? You belong to me, bitch. If you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll start breaking fingers.”
He reached down and caught my hand between his, gripping my right index finger, bending it sharply backward.
I panicked, wishing I could get myself to think. My mind was numb, old survival instincts taking over.
Get it over with.
Do what he says.
Maybe he’ll show mercy if you’re a good girl …
“I had sex with Ruger,” I said quickly. Then I closed my eyes, bracing for whatever might happen next. There’s no preparing for something like that, though. Not really. I waited for my bone to snap, so it came as a complete surprise when he punched me in the stomach instead. I doubled over, gasping for breath. Holy shit that hurt.
Zach burst out laughing.
“You’re too fuckin’ easy.”
Silly of me, I realized, clutching my stomach and praying he’d stop at just one hit. Zach never did what I expected him to do. You couldn’t plan, couldn’t get ready, nothing like that. He was like a tornado—suddenly there, spewing evil without warning.
Zach’s laughter died.
“Hell of long drive to get here. I’m tired and hungry,” he said. “So you’re gonna make me something to eat. Then we’ll talk some more about who you’re sleeping with. Don’t want to leave out any juicy details, do we?”
I dug through the fridge, trying to figure out what to cook him. My stomach ached, although I didn’t feel like he’d broken any ribs. Yet. We didn’t have a lot of food, but I could fix some eggs and toast. Zach had always loved breakfast for dinner.
“It was fucking stupid of you to come back to Coeur d’Alene,” Zach said conversationally. He sat at the small table between the living room and kitchen, watching me and picking at his fingernails. “You couldn’t just keep your legs shut, could you? I’ll never let him have you. Never. Thought I’d made that clear?”
I didn’t answer. No matter what I said, it would set him off. I remembered that much from before. Zach had always liked lecturing me during punishments, and if I didn’t listen, the punishment got much, much worse. I just had to hunker down and push through. Sooner or later he’d get tired or bored and then it would stop.
At least for a while.
I’d never be truly free from him, though. I’d thought I could change my life.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“I’ve told you a thousand times about Ruger, but you still don’t listen,” he continued. “You never get it through your head, do you? I guess sluts like you can’t control themselves … You need to be trained, like dogs. Bitches. Do you want me to train you?”
I took a deep breath, then let it out, closing my eyes tight. I knew what the next step was. Our little dance was well-choreographed.
“Yes, Zach,” I whispered, feeling my soul tuck down deep inside, hiding from what was coming. If I drew far enough away from reality, it wouldn’t hurt as bad when he started really hitting me. “I want you to train me.”
“Good girl,” he murmured, sounding almost human.
I knelt down and opened the drawer under the oven, looking for something to cook the eggs in. I had a small, non-stick frying pan I usually used. There was also a large, cast-iron skillet that I’d found when I moved into the apartment.
I’d never cooked with it—cast iron always seemed sort of strange and scary to me.
Huh.
Why should I be afraid of using a fucking pan? Because it was different than what I was used to? But changing how you do anything is difficult.
I could do it, though.
I could use that pan.
Almost in a dream, I reached down and picked up the skillet. How hard would it be …? Harder than a man’s fists against your flesh? Harder than cracked ribs, blackened eyes—your baby screaming for an hour because Mommy can’t get off the floor to pick him up?
Changing how you react to a man hurting you is hard.
But it can be done.
The pan was heavy. Really heavy. My arms were strong, though. I’d been carrying Noah for years—this was nothing in comparison. I stood up and set the skillet on the stove, reaching over and turning on the burner.
“I think we need to get something clear,” Zach said. He leaned back in his chair, grinning at me, all pleased with himself. Only seconds had passed as I found the skillet, but everything had changed. I felt my soul uncurling from its hiding place.