Ryker's frustration only seemed to grow with every hour that passed in silence, with me handing him tools and only asking the bare minimum of questions to fill the void. I didn't know how to close the gap between us, and I wasn't sure I wanted to.
As much as I hated it, that Ryker, who was as pushy as could be, didn't bother to fix the relationship said volumes about what he thought of the conflict. He blamed me entirely, as if our argument hadn't involved both of us. As if he hadn't crossed a line in making demands of me where my children were involved. I'd tried explaining it nicely, despite how much he aggravated me.
It hadn't mattered.
Ryker slid out from under the car, vaulting to his feet dramatically and tossing his tool onto the tool chest. Closing the distance between us, he took my hand in his and led me out of the garage. His hand was oil stained, slick as he threaded his fingers through mine and gave me no chance to protest. Keeping his steps quiet for the sleeping kids did nothing to quell the dread rising in me.
Fury rolled off of him. He was so angry with me, and I didn't want to know what was coming or how we would survive it. All I knew was I couldn't live in this uncertainty a moment longer.
Whatever came of it, we had to have the conversation we tried to avoid. He went straight for the bathroom, stripping off his clothes and getting into the shower as I washed my hands.
When he came out of the shower a few minutes later, he took my arm in his hands and studied the new tattoo he’d forced on me. He grunted, satisfied with the healing, and applied more ointment.
When he finished, I left the bathroom and went back to the bedroom to change for bed. I eyed my options in the closet, wishing I had more covering sleep options, but sleeping with Ryker in bed with me made things like sweatpants impossible. He was far too warm, like a furnace as he slept next to me.
When he came up behind me and wrapped his damp arms around my waist, I jolted in place and shrugged off his touch. The bathroom had been relatively safe, but the bedroom was the place I associated with sex. Every part of me felt too on edge to be touched, like electricity coated my skin and I'd explode at the first sign of physical pressure. We both knew that he often used sex to manipulate me. I wanted to avoid that, because I knew it accomplished nothing.
"I'm no longer allowed to touch my wife. Is that it?" he asked, and his hands gripped my arms as he spun me around to face him.
"You just startled me," I told him, giving a slight smile. It was bitter, we both knew it.
He reached out a hand, touching the corner of my mouth where I knew my smile went crooked. With a moment of silence between us, I glanced down at the fresh ink on his chest where he’d put our wedding date inside a sun. Part of me swooned over having such a physical claim over him, but the other half couldn’t stop feeling anxious. The date was so recent, and it seemed like our marriage was crumbling around us. "So it has nothing to do with your visit from Jason?" he asked, and my chest heaved as my breath left me in a solid push.
"How long have you known?" I asked, staring up at him in horror. That thumb slid down over my chin, and his hand wrapped around the front of my throat as he walked me backwards.
My spine hit the wall, and I stared up at him in horror. While his hand didn't press enough to hurt, the threat felt obvious, and it made it so I couldn't turn away from the fury blazing in his bright eyes. "You thought I would put cameras in your home but not the studio? I've known since the moment he approached you."
I opened my mouth, my lip trembling as I stared up at him. "You didn't say anything," I whispered.
"Neither did you, my Sunshine. You hid it from me. He tried to take you away from me, and yet you said nothing. Why is that?" he asked, his voice quiet. There was no mistaking the menace there, no disguising the fury that riddled his body until it was so tense he vibrated with it.
"I didn't tell him anything, and I told him I didn't want his help," I justified. I'd known that keeping the information from Ryker was a lie in its own way, but his hand on my throat while he interrogated me in anger told me I'd been right to worry what his reaction might have been.
"That's it? You told him nothing of value?" he asked, and his eyes dug into mine as if he could compel me to reconsider my words.
"Nothing that could get you in trouble," I gasped, shifting my head to ease some pressure on my throat when his hand tightened ever so slightly.
"That's not what I asked, Tesoro," he murmured, leaning down to touch his lips to my temple. He dragged them over my cheek as tears welled in my eyes. I'd felt fear before, thought I'd known what it meant to be afraid when I went to bed alone at night and worried that Chad's killer would want to finish off his family.
But it was nothing compared to the fear Ryker commanded when he turned into the man I knew he must have been underneath the facade he put on for the kids and I.
"Do you think it pleases me, knowing you told him you love me, but have never given me those words yourself?" he whispered, and my body froze.
"I didn't—" I broke off, horrified with myself when I realized that I had. I hadn't thought to ever voice those words, because to speak them gave them a new life. I didn't want to admit that I'd fallen so far that I could be in love with a man who took away my choice. At the core of our relationship, that was who Ryker was.
Nothing he did would ever change that, no matter how I grew to love him. So, the fact that I'd spoken the words as justification to not testify against Ryker stunned me. I'd confessed my feelings to protect him.
"You did, Sunshine. You told that stronzo you loved me." I swallowed, fighting back the tears that fell. The horror that Ryker knew the truth of my feelings, because I knew he wouldn't hesitate to use them against me. "If he comes near you again, I'll fucking tear him apart piece by piece," Ryker growled.
"Ryker!" I gasped, protesting when he gripped my shirt at the neck and tore it down the center.
"You are my wife. I'll not have the friend of your ex-husband interfering in our marriage and trying to take you from me. Tell me you understand me, Calla. On this, I will not budge. Not even for you," he ordered, and I nodded my head furiously.
"I understand," I whispered, and it seemed to calm him for a marginal second. Then he tugged me from the wall, tossing me back onto the bed as he tore the remains of my shirt from my torso and slipped off my bra with frenzied movements. "Ryker," I pleaded.
He ignored me and turned me to my stomach, grabbing my leggings and underwear at the waist and ripping them down my thighs. There was some awkwardness as he tried to pry them off my feet at that angle. His growl of frustration sounded through the room as he finally tossed the fabric to the side. There was a flash of blinding pain as his hand came down on my ass, and I shrieked, throwing an arm back to cover myself as I scrambled up to sit in the center of the bed.
"You asshole!" I screamed, kicking at the hands that reached for my ankles. He grunted, grasping one in each hand and yanking me down the bed until I laid splayed out before him. As I scrambled to sit up, his hand went back to my throat. Circling it with his palm, he used it to pin me to the mattress as I snarled up at him in fury. "You fucking hit me."