Page 1 of Fractured Fear

PROLOGUE

SPENCER

Idon’t know when he’ll be back, and I don’t have the luxury of guessing. Guesses don’t keep me safe. Guessing didn’t save me last night.

I stumble naked through the home where I have become a prisoner. I may have food in the fridge and clothes in the closet, but I’ve never felt so empty. So broken.

My head pounds and blood mattes my hair, but I can’t worry about that now. I’ll take care of it when I’m gone. When I’m safe.

Darting into our closet, I throw on jeans and a T-shirt from my alma mater, University of Houston. Bruises cover my skin and my body aches, but that’s another problem for later. I cover my bloody hair by throwing it up in a ponytail and adding a baseball hat.

As I pack a bag, my mind floats over my choices. Choices that brought mehere. I don’t know why being alone used to be my worst fear. Now that I know, I’d rather be alone than feel like this. Terrified and damaged.

Then there was last night…I should have stayed in my studio above the garage. I never should have left that space to make dinner. He hates it up there. He doesn’t like getting the clay dust on his shoes. My studio is safe.

Was safe. Not anymore.

I never should have gone into his office. I rarely go in there. The little voice at the back of my mind always told me not to. Now I know why. Nothing good ever happens in that room.

I dig through our bedroom to find my essentials.

Dresses? Leave them. I can buy new ones when I get where I’m going.

My favorite set of graphite pencils? No brainer.

The shoebox of photos of Abuela and I? Definitely take. I hid them on the top shelf behind some T-shirts and never knew why I did. But now I understand. This box contains important memories and the key to my new life.

My heart pounds with the unknown. I don’t know how much time I have. I don’t know how I’ll get out of town without him or one of his men, like Pierce, spotting me.

I’m surprised when I find the front door unlocked, but don’t take the blessing for granted. I was prepared to throw a chair through the window; an unlocked door is pure luck. I guess he thought I wouldn’t dare leave.

As I walk out on trembling legs, I don’t look back. I don’t have the time, and I don’t need another glance at the house that will haunt me for years to come. The upscale home whose halls will forever plague me. Where my screams echoed off the walls and no one came to my aid. Instead, the only other person present stood by and watched. Now I’m left with aches and pains I’ve never endured before.

After throwing my bag in the back of my Jeep, my hands shake as I shift my car into reverse and peer over my shoulder. I glimpse the bag, shoebox, and urn of Abuela’s ashes. I couldn’t just leave her there. Never there.

I back down the driveway, past the perfectly manicured lawn, and I force myself to go the speed limit. I don’t want to get pulledover in town and risk him seeing me or someone telling him they saw me.

As I merge with the steady flow of traffic down main street, my focus darts around looking for his car. When I don’t see him right away, I allow myself to relax a fraction.

I’m okay. I will be okay.

I pass a police car sitting in a fast-food parking lot and hold my breath, tugging my hat down to cover my face. I don’t know who it is, but I can’t risk it if the cop is one of his friends.

The journey to the freeway is long and my stomach is in knots the entire time. But when I make it to the 10 and head east, I finally let out a breath.

I did it. I actually left, and I’m not going back.

But before I reach New York, I need to stop at a pharmacy for a morning after pill.

CHAPTER 1

SPENCER - THREE YEARS LATER

Footsteps echo down the hall and I force myself to think fast. I open the closet, the bathroom door, and curtains. Hopefully it’ll make them think I searched the room and moved on.

Praying I fit, I lay flat on my stomach and squeeze under the wood bed frame. My ass barely makes the cut, but now I’m tucked away with my head at the foot of the bed. Laying my cheek to the carpet so I can see in the two inches of space between the bed skirt and the floor, I cover my mouth with my hand and attempt to slow my rapid breathing. It seems impossible, but I have to try or they’ll hear me. If they find me, who knows what will happen next.

I don’t want to find out.

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