A Secret Vow: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance (18 page)

Grady. That fucking scum.

The car pulls away. I wait breathlessly until it disappears around a corner before I clamber on my bike and roar the last mile home.

The house is silent when I pull up. I don’t see a police car anywhere. Is he still here?

My heart is pounding.
Don’t let him touch her
, I’m praying over and over again in my head. I don’t think I’d be able to handle seeing her dead.

I have a gun in my hand as I cautiously ease open the front door. I’m ready for anything. “Kendra?” I call out. No answer. “Kendra!”

I still don’t hear any noise as I pad down the hallway on light feet. Pausing at the doorway into the living room, I check the clip on the gun. It’s full, locked and loaded. Safety’s off. If I see the fucker, I’m firing.

I spring around the corner, weapon at the ready.

Chapter 11

Kendra

I shoot out of bed, bleary and confused. The house is dead quiet. I look at the clock to see that it’s already four o’clock. How the hell did I sleep the entire day away? I grumble as I rub the crust from my eyes and head to the shower. The light coming in through the gap in the curtains is nice. Maybe I’ll go downstairs and paint after I get dressed.

The water from the shower head is hot, steamy, and rejuvenating. I take my time basking under the flow and scrubbing my skin down to the pore. Ever since I was a kid, I always took long showers. There’s something about standing under the faucet and letting it take my thoughts spinning down the drain that relaxes me like nothing else does.

By the time I cut the water off and step out, the whole room is filled with steam. I can’t see a thing in the mirrors. I wrap a towel around my body as I step over to the sink. Grabbing a rag, I wipe away a section of the mist and I scream.

I practically jump out of my skin before I realize that the shape on the back of the bathroom door—the one I thought was the silhouette of a man—is just a towel hanging on its hook. I lean over to rest my hands on the marble counter top, laughing at my own silliness. I can feel my pulse coming down from the fright.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I tell myself out loud. I guess I’m still nervous about Grady. When we saw him at the courthouse, there was something…
inhuman
about him, like a crucial circuit in his brain had blown out. The image of his twisted face is seared onto my retinas.

I dry off and get dressed, pulling on torn jeans and a white t-shirt that I don’t mind getting messy with paint. It’s close to five already. Where has this day gone?

I hum to myself as I walk down the hallway while brushing my fingertips along the wall. Just before I reach the living room, I stop by the hall closet to grab the few cans of paint and other supplies that I keep stashed at the house so I can work whenever I’m not at the studio. I load up an armful and sashay towards the living room, singing under my breath.

When I see him sitting at the kitchen table, I drop everything.

Paint goes flying. Brushes roll across the tile floor. Shards of glass erupt in a sprinkling shower into distant corners of the room.

“About time you made it down here, you fucking cunt,” Grady snarls. “How long did you think I was going to wait for you to show up?”

I’m speechless. My whole body is coursing with fear. Sweat is beading on my brow, hair is standing up on the back of my neck, and every muscle feels shaky and weak. What is he doing here?

He looks clean, I note, a world apart from the vile wretch who confronted Mortar and me on the courthouse steps just a day ago. There’s a vibrant look to him. Actually, he’s almost
too
clean, as if he spent hours slaving over every inch of his appearance, grooming himself to perfection. It’s a frightening contrast. To be honest, I preferred him dirty. I liked that the outer shell matched the man I knew him to be on the inside.

“What do you want, Grady?” I say cautiously. I’m backing up into the wall behind me. I wish I had a gun, a knife, anything, although I probably wouldn’t know what to do with it even if I did have some kind of a weapon. But at least I would feel safer. Down here, with nothing to hold, I’m just exposed and helpless.

He brushes away my question. I can still hear the soft scrape of a brush rolling to a halt on the edge of the tiling. “You left me,” he begins. He’s got his arms folded on the table in front of him. I can’t see if he’s holding anything. Maybe he’s the one with a weapon. “On our wedding day, no less.”

“You weren’t good to me,” I say.

“Shut your fucking mouth, traitor whore,” he barks out. I recoil in fear. He smooths his hair back. I see that his hands are empty and breathe a sigh of relief. But I’m not safe yet. Grady doesn’t need more than his bare hands to hurt me. I would know; he’s done it before. “How could you do that? I gave you everything you needed. Everything!” His fist pounds the table forcefully. The whole thing shakes on its rickety legs. I can see the bone-white of his knuckles shining through the pale, flabby skin.

“You used me,” I said. I’m keeping my voice low and cool, but I can’t avoid saying the truth. It spills out of me at the slightest prompting. And the truth is I was a toy for him, just another stepping stone in the path towards whatever it is he was after—sex, promotion, money, power, admiration. Five years together and I still never figured him out. I spent too much time hiding from his fists.

“I didn’t come here to yell at you, although you are a dirty slut and you deserve much worse than just yelling.”

I’m frozen still, a deer in headlights. I couldn’t scream if I tried.

“I came to give you a way out.”

A way out? What the hell is he talking about?

He can see the surprise and confusion on my face. “You don’t deserve it, but I’m offering it to you anyway.”

“Get the fuck out, Grady,” I tell him. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. I don’t want to hear anything he says. I don’t want to see him, smell him, or even know that he’s alive. All I want is for him to leave my life forever, never to come back in it, never to hit me or hurt me or abuse me ever again.
Get the fuck out, Grady.

He shrugs. “If you want, I’ll leave. Just say the word.”

“I’m saying it.”

“But I think you might want to hear what I have to offer,” he finishes.

I frown. He’s got a note of self-satisfied glee in his voice. He’s got something on me, doesn’t he? Some kind of leverage. A trick.

Is it Mortar?
My heart leaps in my throat, but I try not to let my face betray what I’m thinking. God forbid he has Mortar, or that he’s hurt him. I don’t know what I’d do with myself.

“What is your offer?” I grit out. I’m trying to keep him talking about something objective. Whatever it takes to stop his fuse from burning too short. If he explodes, I don’t think I’ll survive. This is not how I want to die—backed into a corner, pleading for mercy from a man incapable of giving it.

“If you come back to me, you can keep it.”

“Keep what?”

“Your studio.”

It’s like the sound got cut out from the world. A wave of dizziness crashes into me. I have to hold tight onto the corner of the wall in order to keep from collapsing to the ground.
The studio.
Of course. The one thing Mortar can’t protect. The one thing Grady still has control over. The one thing that so much of who I am is tied up in.
The studio.

After the fire, I thought Grady had given up on attacking me through that particular point of weakness. I figured he wasn’t satisfied with indirect warfare, that he wanted blood for himself. But he’s craftier than that. I’ve been so stupid.

“What did you do with it?”

“It’s gone. Sold. Everything in it is about to be taken away and destroyed.”

I think about what that would mean. Years of work, gone in an instant. All my paintings, drawings, and sketchpads I’d doodled in since high school would simply vanish at the flick of this man’s fingers. How silly of me to care so much about lines on paper. But there is no helping it. It is an integral part of me.

He cocks his head to the side. “Come back to me, and it’s yours. I’ll reverse the sale. You keep everything you care so much about. All you have to do is leave him behind.” He gestures at the house around us to indicate that he’s talking about Mortar.

I don’t know what to say. I can’t just say no. If I refuse his offer outright, he’ll kill me on the spot and walk out. He’s a cop; he knows how to hide the evidence. He’d never get caught.

I can’t say yes, though, obviously. I won’t subject myself to the nightmare of living under his roof ever again. I won’t leave Mortar. I won’t abandon my child.

Where are you, Mortar?
I beg in my head.
Please come home.
A clock on the microwave in the kitchen reads 5:15. He should be back by now. Any minute.

I hope.

“I won’t wait for your answer forever, Kendra,” he grinds. “Tell me yes or no.”

Unconsciously, my hand reaches for my pregnant stomach. Grady sees me move and he knows exactly what it means. His eyes bug out.

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” he asks in astonishment. “You’re even more of a whore than I thought you were! He’s breeding you like a fucking animal, that bastard!” He chuckles to himself as he shakes his head side to side. “Honestly, I’m impressed. You gave everything to him so quickly: your body, your dignity. You are nothing but a farm animal. Livestock. A common breeding pig. Christ, you’re fucking disgusting.” His words are like arrows. I flinch at every syllable. I’ve never heard someone speak with such venom before. Not even him.

I try to deny what he’s saying, to protest, but he knows I’m lying and dismisses it with a wave. “Don’t even bother, you bitch. I know what you are.” He stands suddenly, scraping his chair back across the kitchen floor. Two big steps and he’s on me, pinning me to the wall with one meaty hand on my throat.

I’m gasping for air and scraping at his wrists, but it does no good. He’s too strong. This must be how I die—choked to death by a sadistic cop.

He drops me to the ground and starts dragging me down the hall, towards the bedroom. I’m screaming, or trying to at least. Isn’t anyone around to hear me?

Mortar, where are you?

He scrapes me around the corner, muttering angrily to himself as we go. “Fucking whore, should never have had anything to do with her…”

I’m seeing stars exploding before my eyes. My head is banging against the ground with every step. I can’t breathe.

Not the bedroom. What is he planning? What does he want from me?

“Time to teach this slut a lesson…” I hear.

Grady drags me around in front of him and forces my head up. I’m staring dazed into his eyes. “Don’t,” I beg. “Not here.” His hand is tight on my throat.

The last vestiges of color are fading. I can’t see much of anything anymore. Right before I cross the brink into unconsciousness, he lets me go. I collapse at the foot of the bed, wheezing, desperate for air. Grady shoots his cuffs and straightens the tie around his neck.

“You’re right. Not here. So be it,” he says. His shoes fill my vision. They’re polished so brightly I can see myself in them. My eyes are wide open and terrified. My mouth is a ragged O as I claw for breath. “In the right time and place, you and your husband
will both die. Not yet though.” He prods my stomach with the tip of one shoe. “Pity about the brat.”

I hear him walk away. The distant click of the front door shutting lets me know he’s gone. I feel like his fingers are still wrapped around my neck. The skin there is bruised and painful to the touch. It takes a long time before I’m able to draw in a deep breath. Thank God he’s gone.

Suddenly there is motion downstairs. I hear the door swing open. My heartbeat starts to pound again. He’s coming back for more. He changed his mind. While I’m here, while I’m alone, while I’m vulnerable, he’s going to rape me and then he’s going to kill me.

I feel my stomach. I can’t let him hurt my baby.

I’m still dizzy, but I try to search around for something to use to defend myself. A knife, a bat, just something to swing and make him stay back. Even if it’s just staving off the inevitable, I want to be able to say I put up a fight.

There’s nothing around me though. I leap up and run to the desk. I’m scrabbling for anything at all as I hear the thudding footsteps going closer. He’s running now. He must be hungry. Angry. Ready. He’s down the hall. I pick up a handheld mirror and hold it in front of me like a sword. It won’t do much, but it’s all I have. Five steps, four steps, three…