Chapter 39

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

ASHLEY

My heart is slamming against my ribs. My throat is tight. My palms are sweaty.

I can't stop shaking.

I can't breathe .

I can't step foot inside that house.

I can't .

Just the thought of being here brings me out in a cold sweat. He can't be serious. He can't honestly want to go into this house. This has to be some kind of twisted joke.

I search him out. He's leaning against the hood of the car, hands in his pockets, watching me out of those cold, dark eyes.

"I can't." I force the words past the lump in my throat. "Please, don't make me do this."

His expression doesn't change. "You signed the contract. You signed away your right to make your own decisions, in full awareness of what you were doing."

"You … there's something wrong with you." The words come out as a whisper .

"Are you going to walk inside or do I need to carry you? I'm sure it'll give the neighbors something to gossip about."

"The neighbors …"

I glance around. Trees line both sides of the drive. There isn't a house on the opposite side of the road. No one will see anything.

What will he do if I run? If I turn around and just flee?

He'll catch you and drag you inside.

A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat.

You've just married a man who has been incarcerated for fourteen years for murder, and you're surprised by the fact he's brought you here … to the scene of the crime?

"I hate you."

"So you keep telling me." He straightens. "Time to go inside. Make your choice, Ashley. Walk or be carried?"

Force myself to walk into a house I haven't been near since my brother died, or give him the satisfaction of humiliating me further?

I stiffen my spine, throw back my head, and suck in a deep breath.

I can do this.

My feet don't move.

I have to do this.

I take a step forward, then another, then another. Each step brings me closer to the house, and my heart is trying to burst out of my chest by the time I reach the steps leading to the front door.

My vision is swimming in and out. I'm cold, but there's sweat beading on my forehead. My hands are clammy. I scrub them down my thighs .

This house is where all my nightmares play out.

I lick my lips.

I can do this!

Yes you can. Don't give him the satisfaction.

"I'm impressed." That cool voice sounds from behind me. "I was sure you'd run." He leans past me and unlocks the door. "Go on. Go inside."

It swings open on silent hinges, and I eye the dark hallway beyond.

Before I can move, Zain's hand touches my back, and he gives me a less-than-gentle push forward. I stumble over the threshold, and then I'm inside.

I sway.

I was wrong. I can't do this. I can't.

The door closing behind me sounds like a prison cell shutting.

I spin, my intention to leave, and hands close over my shoulders.

"Going somewhere?"

"I can't. Please. I have to leave. I can't be here. I can't ."

I try to wrench free, to push past him, my eyes focused on the door. On the freedom beyond it.

And then the world spins. I'm upended, and thrown over his shoulder. His back fills my vision and I erupt into movement.

My hands slam against his back. I kick my legs. I scream. I shout. I fight to escape.

One arm clamps over my legs, locking them into place. But he can't reach my hands, so I make fists and punch at his back, his spine. I brace one hand against his shoulder and try to lift myself .

He makes an abrupt move that sends me up in the air, and then down, driving my abdomen into his shoulder. Every bit of air escapes my lungs and leaves me gasping and spluttering. Tears fill my eyes, and I claw at his back, his neck, anything I can reach.

In my panic, I don't pay any attention to where he's taking me, and it's only when the world spins again and he sets me on my feet, that I see where we are.

"No!" I whirl, just as the door closes. "No! Zain, no!" My hands hit the wood, as the lock clicks.

"Welcome to your cell for the evening. Sleep well. I'll see you at six a.m. sharp."

I scream his name, my hands pounding against the door.

I don't want to turn around. I don't want to see where I am.

I hit the door until my hands hurt. I scream his name until my throat burns.

And when I can't do it anymore, I drop to my knees, my back to the room.

This is a nightmare.

It's just a nightmare.

I'll wake up.

I always wake up.

Just breathe.

It's not real.

It's a nightmare.

But it's not. I know it's not.

He's really brought me here.

I cover my face with my hands .

He'll come back. He won't really leave me locked in here. He won't. He can't.

But even as I tell myself that, I know he will.

He's a monster. A cold, heartless monster who wants payback for the years he's lost.

He's probably standing outside the door laughing while he listens to me.

I scrub my hands over my cheeks, and lift my head.

I drag myself back to my feet, then slowly turn to face the room.

Memories hit me from all sides, and I sway.

The eerie silence of the house as I ran through it, looking for my brother.

The way my voice echoed as I called his name.

The odd coppery smell in the air when I pushed open his bedroom door.

The blood … oh god … the blood .

On the bed. On the floor.

On the man standing over the bodies.

My vision darkens, and the last thing I see before unconsciousness takes over, is the blood-stained rug.