good money to have doctors tell them what they are feeling, but she figured they could save themselves some money if they’d just remember that the answers to all life’s troubles begins and ends with love. Love of family, love for a good man or woman, that’s all anyone really needs. With love, anything is possible.
“What did I tell you about keeping your mouth shut?”
“I can’t just sit here while—”
“You will do as you’re told,” John bellowed.
“You’re filth and I won’t let either of you get away—”
“You will keep your mouth shut, or you’re dead do you understand?” John yanked Hope’s head back by her hair and then backhanded her across the face. The force of the blow sent her flying to the floor like a ragdoll forgotten by a child. As she lay stunned on the ground a foot connected with her ribs, and she felt the snap echo throughout her body. Hope gasped, trying to catch a breath through the fire that burned in her chest, as she stared at her husband and his brother. The pain was minor, compared to the pain in her heart, just knowing this was her family. Not done with her, John grabbed her by the back of the head, fisting her hair taut as pain shot through her scalp, then pulling his fist back he mumbled, “You brought this on yourself.”
Gasping for air, Hope sat up and looked around her sorry excuse for an apartment. She tried to clear her head from the reoccurring dream. The view didn’t help much; it was one-room with a small grimy kitchenette. The bed was old, the mattress older. She’d bought a plastic mattress cover to seal in whatever lived on the surface, and a used pair of sheets at the local Goodwill. No TV, one lamp, dirty cream-colored walls and a single dresser for her clothes. The bathroom had disgusted her and she’d scrubbed it for two days to get it clean enough to use but this dump of an apartment was all she had in the world and her new form of hell.
John invaded her dreams each night and he invaded her headspace when she was awake. She couldn’t escape him mentally even if she’d escaped him physically, and it was exhausting her. Something had to give.
Rising from the bed, Hope walked to the bathroom and began her daily routine. In her former life, she’d had to be up at the crack of dawn to cook breakfast for her husband. Now, out of spite for all the years she’d been a prisoner in her own home, she slept in. It was pushing nine o’clock and she didn’t have to be anywhere for hours, so she decided to get dressed and walk down to the bakery on the corner and enjoy a cup of bold French coffee and a pastry.
She tugged on a pair of her favorite jeans, a low cut V-neck t-shirt in soft lavender that reminded her of an Easter egg and her Nike Free Runs. Then she left her apartment and descended the stairs two-at-a-time thinking about the coffee that awaited her and the powdered sugar goodness of a beignet. When she opened the door to the apartment building and stepped outside, she came face to chest with Nic Beuve. He was leaning on the wall outside, as if he’d been waiting for her to come down. Dressed in dark jeans that hugged his thighs and a black T-shirt that announced he was “Cajun born and bred,” Hope sucked in a breath at the sight of him and tried to control her breathing. Nic Beuve, plain and simple, is the sexiest man she’d ever encountered, and she needed to be in his presence like she needed a hole in her head.
“Get packed, sugar,” Nic said by way of greeting.
“What?”
“Pack your things. You’re movin’ in with me.”
“Sorry?” Nic moved from the wall, grabbed her hand and pulled her back through the door of her apartment building, dragging her up the stairs.
“I got a place a few blocks from here. It’s eighty percent done, so no one is livin’ in it. You need a safer place to live and now you got it, so get packed.”
“I can’t move—”
“You can and you will, no arguments,” Nic ordered and kept
“What did I tell you about keeping your mouth shut?”
“I can’t just sit here while—”
“You will do as you’re told,” John bellowed.
“You’re filth and I won’t let either of you get away—”
“You will keep your mouth shut, or you’re dead do you understand?” John yanked Hope’s head back by her hair and then backhanded her across the face. The force of the blow sent her flying to the floor like a ragdoll forgotten by a child. As she lay stunned on the ground a foot connected with her ribs, and she felt the snap echo throughout her body. Hope gasped, trying to catch a breath through the fire that burned in her chest, as she stared at her husband and his brother. The pain was minor, compared to the pain in her heart, just knowing this was her family. Not done with her, John grabbed her by the back of the head, fisting her hair taut as pain shot through her scalp, then pulling his fist back he mumbled, “You brought this on yourself.”
Gasping for air, Hope sat up and looked around her sorry excuse for an apartment. She tried to clear her head from the reoccurring dream. The view didn’t help much; it was one-room with a small grimy kitchenette. The bed was old, the mattress older. She’d bought a plastic mattress cover to seal in whatever lived on the surface, and a used pair of sheets at the local Goodwill. No TV, one lamp, dirty cream-colored walls and a single dresser for her clothes. The bathroom had disgusted her and she’d scrubbed it for two days to get it clean enough to use but this dump of an apartment was all she had in the world and her new form of hell.
John invaded her dreams each night and he invaded her headspace when she was awake. She couldn’t escape him mentally even if she’d escaped him physically, and it was exhausting her. Something had to give.
Rising from the bed, Hope walked to the bathroom and began her daily routine. In her former life, she’d had to be up at the crack of dawn to cook breakfast for her husband. Now, out of spite for all the years she’d been a prisoner in her own home, she slept in. It was pushing nine o’clock and she didn’t have to be anywhere for hours, so she decided to get dressed and walk down to the bakery on the corner and enjoy a cup of bold French coffee and a pastry.
She tugged on a pair of her favorite jeans, a low cut V-neck t-shirt in soft lavender that reminded her of an Easter egg and her Nike Free Runs. Then she left her apartment and descended the stairs two-at-a-time thinking about the coffee that awaited her and the powdered sugar goodness of a beignet. When she opened the door to the apartment building and stepped outside, she came face to chest with Nic Beuve. He was leaning on the wall outside, as if he’d been waiting for her to come down. Dressed in dark jeans that hugged his thighs and a black T-shirt that announced he was “Cajun born and bred,” Hope sucked in a breath at the sight of him and tried to control her breathing. Nic Beuve, plain and simple, is the sexiest man she’d ever encountered, and she needed to be in his presence like she needed a hole in her head.
“Get packed, sugar,” Nic said by way of greeting.
“What?”
“Pack your things. You’re movin’ in with me.”
“Sorry?” Nic moved from the wall, grabbed her hand and pulled her back through the door of her apartment building, dragging her up the stairs.
“I got a place a few blocks from here. It’s eighty percent done, so no one is livin’ in it. You need a safer place to live and now you got it, so get packed.”
“I can’t move—”
“You can and you will, no arguments,” Nic ordered and kept
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