Stout (Men of Lovibond 2)

“You so easily forget what you did to me.”

His whiskey-infused breath is on my ear. Makes my fucking skin crawl. “I haven’t forgotten, love. But we can start over. It’ll be like that other life never happened.” He seriously thinks we can start fresh?

One word: Delusional.

“I will never forget or forgive what you did to me.”

His woodsy fragrance infused with Jack and Coke, a scent once so familiar, engulfs my nose. Sickening. How did I ever find that sexy?

“Marry me and you’ll have everything your heart desires. I’ll give you all the babies you want. You won’t have to work. You can stay home and be a mother like you always wanted.” No. That’s what Martin wanted. Me tied to him at home with his kids. That was never my plan, but he damn sure tried to convince me it was.

He wants to talk babies? We’ll talk babies. I’m about to drop the bomb I’ve been holding for four years.

“You mean you’ll give me another baby to replace the one you killed when you nearly beat me to death?” I’ve always wanted to tell him he finally got his wish and then destroyed it. “I was pregnant with your child and you beat it out of me.”

“No . . . no . . . fuck, no.” I can’t see the pain on his face, but I hear it in his voice. And I’m glad. Thrilled I’m able to hurt him in some way.

Most men wouldn’t mourn the loss of an unborn child. But Martin’s not every man. He had gone through four wives by the time I came along and none of them had given him what he wanted so badly. A child. Specifically, a son to carry on his name and take over his empire.

I was so certain he was infertile. That’s why I didn’t put up a fuss when he demanded I stop taking my birth control pills. I thought there was no way I’d get pregnant if his four previous wives hadn’t. He was the common denominator in the equation for no baby.

And I was so very wrong.

“God, you had my baby inside you that night. I wouldn’t have laid a finger on you had I known.” There isn’t a place hot enough in hell for this man. I wish he were dead and burning right now.

“He would be three years old, probably running around getting into all kinds of mischief, if you hadn’t beat me until you killed him. Your own flesh and blood? Probably your only chance at a son.” I have no idea if the baby was a boy or girl but I know the thought of losing a son kills him.

“Oh, God. I didn’t know, kitten.”

Kitten. That word from his lips makes my hair stand on end. I hate it.

He releases my hands and turns me so I’m facing him. He cradles his hands on each side of my face. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Those eyes. I never wanted to look into this man’s eyes again. He’s insane. And the dark obsession I see there confirms it.

“I’m not sorry. Not one bit. That baby would have tied me to you the rest of my life. And you would have made me miserable every day I walked this earth.” I’ve thought that in my head on a daily basis for four years, but I’ve never said the words aloud. Because they’re so ugly and horrible.

It was an innocent baby. It didn’t ask to be conceived. And it sure didn’t ask to be killed.

“You’re angry with me about the baby. And you should be; it was all my fault you lost him. But I swear I’ll make it up to you. We’ll try again. I’ll put another baby inside you, and we’ll have our family.” He’s seriously lost his mind.

“No. Way. In. Hell.” I shove at him but he doesn’t budge. “Let go of me, Martin.”

“No. You’re coming home tonight, back into our bed, where you belong. So help me, Adelyn, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you if you fight me. You know I will.” Yes. I know all too well what Martin is capable of doing. If he says he’s taking me, he fucking means it.

And now I’m absolutely terrified.

It’s now or never.

“Oliver!” I’m able to scream his name once before Martin spins me around and pins me in a bear hug with one hand over my mouth.

“Dammit, kitten. Why’d you have to do that?” He lifts me from the ground and walks backward. I know he’s taking me to his car. No. Not again. If he gets me inside, I’m a goner. I will choose death over submitting to him again.

I’m not ready to die so I choose to stop panicking and recall Willie’s teachings. Adelyn, work with your attacker’s movement rather than fight against it. Use the lift to help facilitate an effective defense.

Martin wants a fight? I’ll give him a fucking fight.

I kick out of my heels when he lifts me higher. I put the sole of one foot on his thigh and push away from him so I can kick out my leg and gain the needed momentum to slam it backward in an upward motion into his balls.

“You . . . motherfucking . . . bitch . . . whore.”

Martin immediately bends forward, just as Willie said he would, and my feet are back on the ground.

My chance to run.

Except he doesn’t release me.

Lean forward, Adelyn, and throw a reverse elbow to your attacker’s head. He’s bigger. Stronger. Maybe even faster. But also completely unprepared for what is about to come his way. It’s as though I’m hearing Willie’s voice in my head. And I obey.

I lift my left heel from the ground and turn so my right elbow can catch Martin directly in the nose. And it does. “Stop it, kitten.”

I repeat the jab a second time. And a third. I will not stop until he releases me. Or my arm breaks. And even then I’ll turn and use the other arm.

Martin releases his hold on me and I stumble forward, nearly losing my balance and then falling on all fours on the asphalt.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Russ?”

I look back at Martin. His face is red. He’s struggling to free himself but it’s no use.

Oliver. Thank God.

He’s holding Martin in a chokehold from behind, and he isn’t letting go. If anything, his grip is growing tighter. “What the fuck, man?”

“She’s mine.”

Oliver looks at me, total confusion on his face. “What’s he talking about?”

“Russ Martin.” That one word, his surname, is all it takes for Oliver to understand.

I never called him Russ. He was my boss, Mr. Martin. And then just Martin.

Ferocity. A look I’ve never seen on Oliver’s face. And then Oliver’s bicep bulges as he squeezes tighter. “You like beating up on women who can’t defend themselves?”

I watch Martin’s face go from red to purple to a shade of ash. “Oliver, you’re choking him.”

“Oli . . . ver.” Martin is barely able to speak.

I’m watching the life slowly drain from Martin’s eyes. And it scares me. But not for him. “Stop. Please. You’re going to kill him. And then where would we be?”

No two ways about it. Martin is dying before my eyes––by Oliver’s hand. “Baby, please. Don’t do this to yourself. To us.”

Oliver is like a dog who has a taste of blood, and doesn’t want to relax his clenched jaw, so I move closer. “Look at me.” He ignores me so I pat my chest. “Look at me, Thorn.”

He does but I can tell he doesn’t want to. “You have to stop. Please.”

I see his grip lessening. “That’s it, Thorn.”

“I’m letting go, you son of a bitch. Make one move toward Adelyn and I will end you.” Oliver’s jaw is clenched. His teeth gritted. His voice a deep snarl.

What I see in Oliver’s eyes tells me his words aren’t a threat. He means what he says.

Martin falls to the ground, panting for air, holding the front of his throat. “Fuck, Stout. Feels like you crushed my windpipe.”

“You’re a lucky fuck I didn’t.” He puts both hands in his hair and fists the top. “I can’t believe this. Russ Martin.”

He bends over and puts his hands on his thighs. He looks like he may throw up. “All this time I’ve been imagining this Martin guy was some kind of inhuman monster. Turns out he’s my business client. Someone I considered my fucking friend. How? How could I have not seen that?”

Oliver straightens when I approach him. I wrap my arms around his waist and press my head to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

He strokes his hand from the crown of my head to the end of my hair. “Fuck, Adelyn. This isn’t on you.”

I lift my head from his chest. “Please just get me out of here.”

“We need to call the police. That fucker needs to go to jail.”

I look at Martin stretched out on the pavement, still working to catch his breath while holding his throat. Doesn’t look like he’ll be getting up anytime soon. “No.”

“Come on, Adelyn. You can’t be serious. He assaulted you. Tried to kidnap you. And he would’ve been fucking successful if I hadn’t come back here.”

It’s too late for help from the police. I’m in too deep. “I’ve been blackmailing him for four years. You think he won’t rat me out if I have him arrested? Financial records will prove what I’ve been doing. All the money I’ve taken from him. If he goes to jail, I go too. Except he’ll probably get off while I’ll rot. Everything that happened here tonight is hearsay. No proof other than what we claim. So please tell me you understand. I’m fucked.” Totally backed into corner. But it’s my own fault.

No argument. Because he knows I’m right.

“Looking at him makes me sick. Can we just go now?”

“Yeah, baby.” Oliver takes his phone from his pocket. “This is Oliver Thorn. I need a pickup at Iron City. ASAP.”

No two ways about it. I’m fucked.

And not in the way I want to be.

Oliver Thorn

Leaving Russ safe and sound in that parking lot fucking killed me. Killed. Me. I wanted to do to him what I did to Jimmy. Make him pay for all his wrongs.

Or truth be told, much worse.

I lost it. In that moment when my arm was locked around his airway, I wanted nothing more than him dead. But then Adelyn made me look at her. Made me hear her. And I knew I’d lose her if I didn’t stop. If I didn’t take back control.

Adelyn isn’t saying a word. I hope it’s because she doesn’t want to have a conversation about Russ in front of the driver from the car service. Not because I scared the fuck out of her or because she’s going to shut down on me.

I want her to feel safe so I wrap my arm around her shoulders and hold tightly.