Page 369 of Rage

“Get the fuck out of the car, with your hands where I can see them!” His voice blasts into my ear like I’m in the front row of a concert.

I flinch away from him, shocked and freaking out by what is happening. The cop’s gun is pointing straight at me. My hands come up automatically to protect my face, as if my fingers could stop a bullet.

“Get out!” he orders again, less patience in his tone.

“Okay!” I yell back, making sure he can hear me over the loud, erratic beating of my own heart.

My whole body is shaking, and it has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the man holding a gun against my head while screaming at me. “Turn around!”

I spin around so quickly I slide out of one of my flip-flops and almost fall to the ground.

“Hands behind your back,” he orders, and again, I do what he says without thought. A moment later, he grabs my wrists roughly, pulling my arms back uncomfortably while he secures handcuffs on me.

Tears well in my eyes as the cool metal presses against my skin. The cop twists me around towards his cruiser, never even letting me put my other flip-flop back on. He sets me in the back seat of his cruiser, letting my legs dangle out the side.

“Do you have any idea what kind of shit you’re in? Stealing a car?” He shakes his head. “You look like such a nice girl. Why do stuff like this? Do you even know who you stole from?”

“I didn’t steal this car. It’s mine.”

“So, it’s your car, but it’s registered to someone else?”

“I told you, it might be in my husband’s name.”

“You can cut the shit, okay. Husband my ass. You are not even wearing a wedding band.” He shakes his head. “There is no way out of this. Just sit tight until backup gets here. I’ll have a female officer come and take you in.” He gives me one last disapproving look before walking to the back of the car to lean against the corner.

I guess all I can do now is wait.

Chapter Two

Gwen

Ispend the next ten minutes trying not to cry. I don’t even know why the tears keep rolling down my cheeks. I’m not scared anymore. I’m more angry than anything. Angry with Gia for making me pick her up in the middle of the night. Angry with Emmett for giving me this car and definitely angry with myself for being so naïve and stupid.

The headlights of an approaching vehicle have me looking up into the road. This must be the female police officer. The vehicle slows down and pulls up behind us. I watch as the door opens and a large figure heads toward us.

It doesn’t take me but a moment to realize that this person is not another cop. It’s the one individual I wouldn’t have expected to see tonight… or ever again, for that matter.

Emmett Carter. My husband.

He walks past the cop without glancing at him, his eyes trained on me the entire time until the moment he stops in front of my feet. His gaze moves up and down my body as if to scan every inch of me. I don’t want to imagine what he sees right now; how pitiful I must look to him.

“Mr. Carter.” The officer clears his throat and stands a little straighter beside us. “I called—” That’s all he gets out beforeEmmett twist his body and slams his fist against the cop’s jaw, making his head snap to the side. His eyes roll back, and his body goes down.

My gasp is masked by the thump of him hitting the ground at full force. His head bounces off the pavement like a basketball, making me cringe and yelp out in pain for him.

“Why did you tell him your name was Baker?” That’s the first thing out of the mouth of the man who married me two years ago, just to dump me the same day.

“What else was I supposed to tell him?” I’m surprised by how even my voice is at this point.

“Your real last name.”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted anyone to know. I figured you might be ashamed.” I actually have no idea if he would be. I have no idea what he wants since he’s never shared a fucking thing with me. Even on our wedding day we barley exchanged any words.

He ignores my comment completely and counters with another question instead. “What the fuck are you wearing? Your top is basically see-through. I can see your tits, and looking at the length of your shorts, I bet I can see your ass if you stand up.”

My mouth pops open, and I suck in a sharp breath, feeling like I just got slapped. How dare he criticize my outfit. As if he has any right?

“What do you care?” He’s never cared about me before. “You don’t get to tell me what to do! If I want to walk around naked, I fucking will!” Two years ago, I would have never spoken to him like this. My parents taught me better. From a young age, they trained me to be a perfect wife to a man like Emmett. Taught me everything there was to know about pleasing and obeying a powerful man. Talking back was definitely not on that list.

---