Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
He looked very briefly confused before his eyes flared with anger again. You used to remember my birthday, Roger. You used to buy me presents. She was wearing one now—the silver bracelet with violet amethysts he’d said had reminded him of her, his violet girl.
But apparently telling him that another man had remembered her birthday when Roger had not was a bad move. His fist tightened on her shirt, and he let out a low growl, raising his other hand and slapping her. She cried out, her head whipping to the side, hot tears coursing down her cheeks. In the background she heard Gavin crying, and when she opened her eyes, she saw Danny standing still as a statue behind his father, eyes wide, skin as pale as milk.
She couldn’t let them see this. Not again. Roger’s eyes were practically glowing with hate. He’d always despised her boss from the casino where she’d worked when they’d met, even though it was Roger’s family who owned the place. When Roger had swooped in and “saved” her from her life of menial labor and hardship. Of course, he’d been different then. His eyes had looked at her hungrily in her tight red vest and short, short skirt, and it’d made her feel sexy and beautiful. Special. He’d wooed her, charmed her. Because she’d been nothing more than a wide-eyed girl who saw only what he’d wanted her to see. And for whatever reason, Roger was still jealous of the men she’d known in that life, creating some relationship between her and Harry that didn’t exist and never had.
His hand moved to her neck, and he grabbed hold, squeezing. She gripped the counter behind her, seeking leverage, but he was too strong.
“What about those whores you used to call friends, Violet? You think I don’t know that you meet up with them? I followed you, Violet. Nothing but loser whores, and you’re just like them, aren’t you? You’d give up your children for them, is that it?”
Oh God, oh no. She’d taken such a risk. Why had she done it? Because seeing other people who used to know the old you has kept you sane. Given you hope that maybe you can be that girl again. Yes, yes, she knew why, but oh, it’d been foolish to get together with Lil and Bee.
He’d thrown a decanter at her head the night before when she’d misheard something he’d said. He was going to kill her over the fact that he knew she’d been meeting up with the girlfriends she’d had at the casino and the birthday phone call. Maybe it’d be an accident, maybe not. But surety filled her—this was the night she was going to die.
No, no, I can’t leave my boys alone. Not with him.
Her head tilted to the side, white dots clouding her vision as he squeezed harder and she fought for breath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the red pasta sauce, no longer bubbling but surely hot. Scalding. She turned her face back to his, allowed him to watch her struggle to breathe, saw the enjoyment in his eyes at viewing her suffering up close. Slowly, blindly, she reached for the pot, grasped its handle, and lifted it. With the last of her waning strength, she swung it around Roger’s back and tipped it, the contents spilling out as she simultaneously whacked it into the back of his head. He let out a piercing yelp, letting go of her neck and jumping backward—away—as he shook off the burning sauce in an absurd type of dance that might have been funny if she had had the ability to laugh. Red sauce flew out around him as he shuddered, finally ripping his shirt over his head and flinging it away, his skin red and already blistering beneath.
In the time it’d taken Roger to shake off the sauce and remove his shirt, Violet had sucked in enough air that she was no longer seeing spots and grabbed the largest cleaver out of the butcher block on the counter. She held it out in front of her now, shaking with fear.
If he hadn’t looked completely murderous before, he did now. Rage rolled off him like toxic fumes.
“You want to play, bitch? Is that it?”
Gavin was wailing now, sitting on the floor near the door to the living room, and Danny had walked backward until he stood near the refrigerator, stealthily trying to slink as far from his father as possible. Next to the refrigerator, another doorway led to the back of the massive house. “G-get out, Roger,” Violet said. “Leave.”
He eyed her, his gaze moving to the knife and then back to her face. Something sinister was in his expression. Dark and malevolent, and she swallowed down her terror. Someone, help me. But there was no one to help her. In fact, there were two innocent little boys who needed her to help them. Gavin’s wail rose, calling her name—“Mama!”—and she brought her shoulders back, slicing at the air with her knife, her arm shaking so badly she almost dropped it. Roger’s mouth tipped as he silently laughed at her.