Page 432 of Rage

Letting go of my hair, he grabs my arms and makes me stand, gently pushing me away. It all happens in a blur. Ian takes a canister from his left, pours its contents on Larry—or what Larry used to be—lights a match, and throws it on the ground. He turns around, the flames behind him making him look even more menacing than he usually does. Ian Beckett is the brightest angel that Hell could have ever housed, and now he looks the part.

My body is screaming to go to him and kiss him. To forgive and forget, and to focus on everything he’s done for me throughout the years. But I refuse. Besides the fact that I’m not letting him win this easily, I have to admit that this is the most fun we’ve had in months.

I straighten my back and arch an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. My heart is beating so fast I can hear it drumming. Because anticipation means excitement, and my husband means redemption. And I’ll have all of that on a silver platter simply because I worked hard to get them.

“Now that Larry’s been taken care of maybe we can talk?” The right corner of his mouth lifts slightly when he asks the question.

Frowning, I spit, “No. You’ve done enough talking for tonight.”

“This is not who you are, Echo.” Ian shakes his head in disappointment. “This is not whoweare.”

“You don’t get to tell me who I am and who we are,” I say in a deadly voice. “Not after mocking me and joking on my account.”

“I was actually goading you. Making you realizeexactlywho you are and what you stand for. Because there are too many questions, too many thoughts running rampant in your head and I’m not the one to answer them.Youare.”

“You could help!” I raise my voice, walking towards him, anticipation and excitement completely replaced by pure rage. “Because it’s not the first time when I’ve felt lost and incapable of finding my way back to who I know I am. The only thing that’s different is that this time a murder or two or ten won’t fix it. So now the great Ian Beckett doesn’t know how to handle this so he chooses the path he knows too well. Belittling. Manipulation. The only problem with that,husband, is that you chose the wrong person to inflict it upon.”

His gasp is audible and the way his eyes grow bigger with every word I say makes me think he’s surprised by what he just heard. But he shouldn’t be. Not in my opinion, at least.

“I think you’re overreacting, Echo.”

“Wrong fucking answer, Ian.”

Chapter Two

Ian

From the united front that we were, I now feel like there are miles between us. And it’s tearing me apart. My heart is in shambles and, for the first time in my life, I have this daunting feeling that I can’t reach my wife.

That she decided to shut me out for months or maybe years, and that now is the time when she’ll completely shut that door and let me be alone in this cold, dark room that life without her is.

I thought she’s enjoying our endeavours. I thought she’s as keen on punishing the abusers in this world as I am. Until I realized she isn’t. Or not in the same way or for the same reasons as she did. There’s a fear that guides her mixed with the determination I saw in her eyes all those years ago when she killed her ex husband. And that fear makes her reckless and makes both of us vulnerable.

And maybe I was wrong to goad her. Maybe I should’ve tried talking to her and put her demons at rest. Maybe I should stop playing games just to get the result I want, especially when it comes to my wife. But for that I need to know what scares her to this extent. Is it the fear of losing me? Losing our children? Howcould that be possible since she knows I would never allow that to happen, and I proved that to her time and time again.

“Talk to me,” I say, pulling my seatbelt and ignoring the way my wife reves the engine.

I’m met with silence.

“Baby—”

“Donotbaby me, Ian.” Her voice is laced with venom, and I feel the poison dripping on my heart. “I’m not in the mood to argue.”

“We’ve never argued.” I scoff, waving my hand dismissively. “Ten years. Not a single argument.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

“Do I?” My head turns abruptly looking at my wife. “Because I’m not sure what I know or what I don’t anymore.”

“We argued, Ian.” She sounds exasperated. With me. And it’s killing me. “We argued when you found out I killed Gabriel. And we argued even worse after that. We argued when I was pregnant with the twins. We argued when we were in Romania trying to keep our ghosts from haunting us only to create new ones to add to the collection. We argued for a lot of times.”

“Not like this,” I sound just as exasperated as she does. “Never like this.”

The silence in the car is deafening, the tension so thick not even the sharpest knife could cut it. I feel it and I know she feels it too. I see it in the way her jaw ticks and in her bottom lip that’s already bleeding from how much she bit it.

It’s a battle of egos and of wills, but I’m not one to keep fighting these types of wars. Not with my wife. So I clear my throat before saying,

“I want to know what is it that torments you, pretty girl. And please don’t say it’s me. I might have contributed to it, but you and I both know that’s not the case. So tell me.” I lower my voice.“What is it that makes your heart bleed, and what can I do to make that wound form a scar?”

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