Queen of Lies (Empire of Lies 2)

“I don’t browse your room without permission.” He steps closer, his eyes on mine. “I could’ve sworn that we agreed that you would never go into mine.”

“I never agreed to this.” I glare right back at him. “And I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’re not exactly on the best of terms.”

“We could start to be on better ones, if you finally give me a thank you.”

“Thank you for kidnapping me,” I say. “I’m not sure where in the world I would be, or the type of amazing life I could possibly be living, if you hadn’t done that. Thank you so much.”

He ignores my sarcasm and hands me a small black shopping bag. “You’re fucking welcome.”

I peer inside and notice that there’s a new journal and a new John Grisham novel. I don’t say, ‘Thank you.’

“You can get the hell out of my room now,” he says, in a tone that’s far harsher than anything he’s ever said to me.

I nod and move past him, heading down the hallway to my room.

“Oh, and Meredith?” His voice makes me look over my shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Stay the fuck out of my closet.”

Meredith

Now

Later that night

The last thing I want to do is lay in bed, thinking about everything I found in his closet today. I need time to process it all, time to calmly go over the facts and see if there’s anything I’m missing.

Digging through the luggage from our honeymoon, I pull out my vibrator, even though it’s on its last leg. I’m not sure why I even brought it along on our honeymoon, but given the turn of events, I’m grateful that I tucked it into my luggage.

It’s been my go-to whenever my own hands won’t get the job done, whenever old memories of Michael fucking me invade my brain, and I need to feel something more intense.

Crawling into bed with it, I pick up my phone and open the kindle app. I open an erotic romance and swipe straight to the sex scenes. As I’m approaching the best part—the moment when the hero pounds into the heroine’s pussy relentlessly, a loud and tortured cry breaks out from right outside my window.

Concerned, I set down the kindle and walk over to my bay window. I expect to see a deer caught in a trap below, but there’s nothing. The grass is as still as the trees, the estate’s lake waters are calm and motionless in the moonlight.

I start to return to bed, but the tortured sound cuts through the air once more. It’s far more pained this time, so much so, that I can feel the hurt in my chest. It sounds like it’s coming from the left side of the house, where the only other bay windows are. Michael’s room.

I know that I should ignore the sound, let him suffer from whatever is happening, but I can’t. The broken pieces of my heart still beat for him, and they’re still longing for him to stitch them back together with a thread that will sew everything into perfect sense.

I leave my bedroom and walk down to his door, easily entering the new code on his keypad. The moment I step inside, I freeze at the sight of him writhing violently on the bed.

Wearing only his briefs and a gold necklace that bears his initials, he’s sweating under the cold air and all the spinning ceiling fans. He’s struggling to breathe properly, twisting and turning like he’s having a grand mal seizure.

Finally forcing my feet to move toward him, I move on top of him and shake his shoulders.

“Michael, wake up.” I shake him a bit harder. “Michael, stop. Wake up.”

It’s no use. He’s writhing even harder now, damn near bucking me off him.

“Help me …” he whispers. “Help me move him…. Help me get them all back…”

“Michael, wake up.” I slap his cheek as hard as I can. “Michael, you’re fucking scaring me… Wake up.”

“You’re going to burn.” He seethes. “Forever…”

“Michael.” I grab his head and shake it as hard as I can—keeping my fingers in his hair.

He finally stops.

I let out a sigh of relief and start to move off him, but his hands suddenly grip my neck.

Still in a trance, he grips my neck like a boa constrictor—slowly tightening the pressure and stealing every chance I have to breathe.

I claw at his hands and try to dig my nails deep into his knuckles to get him to let go, but I’m no match for his strength. His hold on my neck tightens even more, and I feel my eyes bulging from the pressure.

Oh my god, please. Please don’t kill me.

Hot tears fall down my face, splashing onto his inked knuckles.

I try to fight for my life as hard as I can, but it’s no use. He’s choking the hell out of me.