Page 1 of Clara's Secure Hideaway

1

Six Months Earlier

The sound of the slamming front door tensed every muscle in Clara Parson’s body. As she peeled potatoes, she checked the clock on the stove. Mitch wasn’t supposed to be home for another hour. She’d hoped to clean the living room before he returned from work. Now there’d be one more thing to upset him.

“Clara! What the hell have you been doing all day?” Heavy footsteps rattled the floorboards of the small house seconds before her husband’s large form dominated the doorframe.

The year before, she’d finally worked up the courage to leave Mitch and take her two small children somewhere safe. But he’d swept back into her life months ago, filled with promises of being a changed man and a future filled with love.

She’d been naïve—and desperate—enough to believe him.

“Well?” he bellowed, his rough voice wrapping around her neck like a noose. Black oil stained his shirt and smudges of dirt streaked across his cheek. His dark hair was cut short, but the wayward strands stuck out as though he’d been running his hands through them.

She sent a quick prayer that the kids would stay in their room before swallowing a sigh and facing him with a tight smile. “The kids and I went to the park earlier. When we got home, I started dinner right away. I knew you’d be hungry.”

He snorted and stomped across the kitchen to yank open the refrigerator. Pulling out a beer, he popped the top of the can and fell into his usual chair at the head of the table. “Those brats are too damn spoiled. You should be home, not traipsing all over town.”

Tension smothered the small space, the quick whisking of the peeler over the brown potato skin the only sound. Clara’s heart raced and it took more effort than she thought possible to keep her hand from trembling.

If she showed fear, he’d pounce. Just like he had last night.

The tender spot around her eye ached. Shame twisted her gut. She’d fought so hard for her freedom. Had utilized the services of the women’s shelter to help with a place to stay and childcare. Then filled her home in Water’s Edge, Tennessee, with more love and security than they’d ever known. Replacing bad memories with good.

Then Mitch showed up and her resolve had crumbled along with her dignity.

Unshed tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away. If Mitch pounced over the scent of her fear, her tears worked like some kind of accelerator for his anger. Best to show zero emotion.

“Those kids better not sit around doing nothing all day while I’m working my ass off. We’ve all got to pick up the slack around here.” He pressed the can to his lips and his throat bobbed on a long swallow before he slammed the empty can on the table. “Damn kids need to learn responsibility.”

At four and two, responsibility wasn’t even a word they could repeat, but she kept that comment to herself.

He rose and retraced his steps back to the fridge. He opened the door before quickly slamming it shut again. “Seriously? You were out earlier and couldn’t pick me up more beer? I swear, you’re useless.”

The trembling in her hands increased, causing her to slice the peeler over her finger. She hissed out her pain, turning on the water to wash away the blood beading over her skin.

In a spilt second, Mitch was behind her. His hard chest molded against her back and he braced his hands on the edge of the sink, trapping her in place. He chuckled and his warm breath coated her cheek. He shut off the water then slid his hand to capture her wrist. “You can’t even peel potatoes right. Always making a mess out of things, aren’t you?”

She held her breath and waited for him to tire of whatever game he played. If she kept quiet, maybe he’d leave her alone.

He tightened his grip and pain radiated up her arm. The blood from her cut coated her injured finger. Pressing his body harder against her back, he used his other hand to grab the peeler from the sink. “You and all your accidents. Maybe we should teach you a lesson. Then you’ll be a little more careful.”

Her stomach churned, and she swallowed the bile raising to her throat.

The cool metal grazed against her index finger as though Mitch planned to peel back more skin.

She closed her eyes, unable to watch whatever fresh hell he’d unleashed in his mind, preparing to inflict a new kind of pain.

The sharp tip of the tool moved up her finger to rest at the inside of her wrist. Her body tensed. Panic charged through her brain like a live wire.

He nuzzled his mouth against her ear. “If a little prick can cause so much blood on the tip of your stupid finger, just think of what it could do here. Can you picture it? I can.”

Disgust and hatred and terror clamored together like a dust storm of emotions, pushing down on her slender shoulders. She couldn’t live like this anymore. Hell, if she stayed, she might not live much longer at all.

Her mind worked in overdrive. What was the right thing to say to diffuse this man? How could she finesse her way out of this without another fist to the face or alerting the children to the war erupting in their own home?

A small slice cut through her thin skin, and she yelped. She yanked back her hand. “Stop it.” She spit out the quiet words like venom.

“Or what?” He spun her around and pressed his face close to hers. Excitement lit his blue eyes, but the redness of his face and the vein ticking at his temple told her she’d made the wrong move. “You think you can tell me what to do? That I’d ever listen to you? I’ll show you who’s the boss around here.”

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