Page 2 of His Gentle Omega
My face remained impassive against the taunt. I’d learned not to flinch at his hateful words. Learned how to not react. Besides, I knew the truth about Lucas, so Edward’s vicious lies couldn’t wound me. They held no power over me anymore. Not like they had in the past.
“He’s mine, Edward.” My voice was calm, even though it sounded like I’d been chewing on ground glass. My throat was on fire from all the coughing I had done the last few days, but the longer I kept him talking, the better chance he’d forget about Lucas. “I have a birth certificate that says so.”
Edward snorted, his fingers flexing, “That piece of paper won’t stand up against D.N.A.”
Leaning in closer to him, I whispered, “I have another piece of paper proving he’s mine. My flesh and blood. My D.N.A.”
I hadn’t meant to reveal that to him. Had meant to keep it as a safeguard for us getting out. But standing there, staring atEdward’s enraged face, seeing him with his hands on Lucas a few minutes ago–hurting him–I knew it was time.
We needed to run. To get away as fast and far as we could. Now. Tonight.
I’d wanted to have more saved before we left. Wanted to have a better plan. Wanted to at least try to speak to my brother, Asher, before we showed up on his doorstep. The measly hundred dollars I’d managed to squirrel away from the cash left in Edward’s pockets, when he would come home and pass out, wasn’t going to get us far. It might buy us a bus ticket that would put some miles between us. Give me enough time to work up the courage to call my brother.
I didn’t care if Asher hated me, but I had to try for my son. Even if it meant begging for help. For forgiveness. I would do anything to get Lucas safe. And Asher was a pediatrician, at least according to the google search I’d managed to do at the local library. He must like kids, right? Surely, he would at least help Lucas, even if he hated me.
Edward snorted derisively at my bold declaration that I had proof that Lucas was biologically mine. “You think that will matter? What are you going to do, Shay? You have no money. No family. No friends. You have nothing. You don’t even have a job. You need me and my money and you know it.”
“We don’t need you, Edward.”
I wasn’t about to reveal what else I had learned at the library. The one place he allowed me to take Lucas without the watchful eyes of our driver–hired guard–constantly on us. Marcus always stayed in the car during our three times a week trip for the story hour Lucas loved. The place that had free computers that allowed me to find my brother. That allowed me to discover an old law still active on the books across all the United States. Thelaw that would allow me to get Lucas away from the monster Edward had become, at least until I could come up with a better plan.
I should have seen the punch coming. Should have been ready for it. My senses were dulled from my illness, and Edward’s fist connected against my jaw with a loud crack, knocking my head back.
Dizziness swamped me, my ears rang, my vision blurred out, and I lost my hold on his arm. Stumbling, my feet tripped over one of Lucas’s toys. The momentum threw me forward, and then I felt myself falling. Hitting the plush carpet with a soft thud, I gasped, trying to get my bearings.
My lungs burned with the effort to draw air into them. A rough cough barked out of my throat, harsh and wet in the quiet of the room, followed by another and another. It felt like I was choking. Rolling to my side, I pushed myself up on my hands and knees, coughing so hard I thought I might puke.
I needed to get up. I had to get up. For Lucas.
My body felt too hot and cold at the same time, my limbs heavy like they had weights attached to them.
The kick to my side connected painfully to my ribs and knocked me off balance. Sprawling on my back, I blinked bleary eyes up at Edward, trying to get him to come into focus.
His face was bright red, his eyes gleaming with burning fire. I watched in fascination, like it was happening to someone else, as he raised his foot and landed another sharp kick to my ribs. He landed two more swift kicks, straddling me before I could make myself roll away from him.
He screamed words at me that I couldn’t understand. When he was this far gone, he seldom made sense. Though it had been a while since I had witnessed him this angry. His eyes were wild,his pupils blown, and I knew there was more than expensive whiskey fueling his strength. He was on something, probably coke. It was his drug of choice.
The first fight we ever had was when I’d walked into the restroom at the country club his family belonged to, just in time to witness my pregnant mate snorting a line of white powder up his nose. Sadly, it wouldn’t be the last time I would catch him doing it, or the last fight we had about it.
A week later, he had “miscarried”, and I’d been devastated. While I had cried silent tears for the baby we had lost, Edward had popped a couple of pain pills and gone out clubbing with his friends.
There’s your sign, Shay. Fucking hell, were you always such a gullible dumbass?
The force of Edward’s body slamming into me expelled what little oxygen I had managed to gather into my searing lungs and brought me back to the present from my wandering trip down memory lane. I needed to cough, my throat tingled, and my chest tightened, but I didn’t have enough air in my lungs.
Before I could manage to breathe properly, Edward’s fist pummeled my face. First his right hand, then his left. Each time he connected with my flesh, my head jerked to the side. I bucked, trying to throw him off, my long legs scrambling for traction against the thick carpet.
Something warm trickled over my upper lip, the coppery taste of my blood filling my mouth. Probably from my nose. The last punch had crunched my nose, agony exploding across my cheekbones and eyes. Already it felt like my left eye was swelling shut. My body was working against me. My sluggish brain not connected to my limbs. I couldn’t shake Edward’s hold, no matter which way I tried to move.
Edward’s slender hands wrapped around my throat, his thumbs digging into my windpipe. My vision grayed, then tunneled to one tiny black dot as he squeezed harder, cutting off my air flow.
This wasn’t the first time, or even the second, that he had choked me. Sometimes he did it during sex. Sometimes when he would come home raging drunk about some injustice he perceived the world had tossed his way that day.
But this time felt different. I couldfeelthe difference in him tonight. The rage burning him up and turning him into a crazed being, a demonic light shining from his bluish gray eyes.
One thought filled my head that never had before when he did this to me.
The words repeated in my head, like a mantra, until my vision finally blacked out.
