Page 81 of Hunted By the Headless Horseman
I consider ignoring him, refusing to acknowledge him, but I’ve earned the right to rage at him. Long time coming. Lowering my brows, I narrow my eyes, sporting defiance in the wake of the cold dread spreading through me. “Too much of a coward to take me yourself, Thaddeus? No, you sent your goons to do your dirty work. Pathetic. I must have stabbed you deeper than I thought. Pity no blade could find your nonexistent heart.”
Jack has nothing on Thaddeus in that department.
My ex-husband’s smile falters, but it quickly returns as he crosses his arms, leaning casually against the doorway. Acid scalds my throat at his eyes roaming across me. At least I’m still wearing my clothes, other than the ripped stockings.
Tilting his head, Thaddeus says, “I was occupied with other important business. Priorities, Belle. Burying your dear Jack, for one.”
All the blood leaves my face. My heart pounds in my chest as his words sink in. Burying Jack. How he found out doesn’t matter. Icy waves of terror rip through my veins. “What… what did you do to him?” My voice trembles. No matter how much I try to stay calm, the fear comes out. “Where is he?”
Thaddeus’s smirk only widens as he steps closer, and my panic grows. I snap, thrashing against the bed, desperate to free myself. “Where is he?!” I cry, voice too weak to scream with my breathing turning shallow and ragged.
Before I can thrash any harder, Thaddeus climbs onto the bed, his weight pressing me down as he grabs my legs. Malicious triumph infects every part of him as he digs his fingers into my thighs through my dress, his hands strong enough to preventany movements but not bruise me. “Easy, little Belle. I won’t allow you to hurt yourself,” he whispers, his tone eerily calm. His grip is firm, but there is an unsettling gentleness to his touch as he pins me. Cold. Calculated. Cunning. His eyes imprison me.
I buck but barely move an inch. “Stop it! Let me go!” My voice cracks as tears sting my eyes. My heart is seizing, ready to claw its way out of my chest. The thought of Jack—my Jack—buried, lost forever…I can’t bear it. And it’s my fault!
Thaddeus leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You’ll forget all about Jackson Moore soon enough, especially when your belly is swelling with my child.” His words drip with a cruel satisfaction, taking pleasure in twisting the knife.
My breath catches in my throat, and a wave of nausea sweeps over me. I turn my face away, tears now spilling freely down my cheeks. I can’t let him see my weakness. He will feed on it, and it will make him more monstrous—can’t let him win—but this is a nightmare. Nine years in the making. The idea of losing Jack, of being trapped here, tied to Thaddeus forever, will crush my soul.
Dark hunger invades Thaddeus’s eyes as he slowly pushes my legs up and apart—taking his place between them. I clench my eyes, my insides twisting as he gets between me, hovering above me. And when he thrusts his hips with a menacing grin, an uncontrollable cry leaves my throat—because his hardness sits against my center. Not grinding. Not yet. This is just him proving his power. And my PTSD is responding, giving him that power. I’m crumbling.
“Hmm…” he hums, wiping a tear from my cheek. I recoil at his touch. “You’ll come to accept it, Belle. The child you’ll carry, the life we’ll build together. Jackson Moore is gone, buried where he belongs. You and I—we will make a new start. A stronger one.”
His words seep into my mind like poison as I try to steady my breathing, imagining my beloved Heathcliff, wondering if I could become a ghost and find my way back to him. I’d follow him to whatever grave Thaddeus has hidden him—in a heartbeat.
Thaddeus rubs his lips along my cheek, kissing my tears. I swallow hard, trembling beneath him, but deep down, my heartrefuses to give in. Jack will come. He always comes. Always here. I have to believe he’s alive, and he will escape.
Just like Offred: This is a story I’m telling. I need to believe it. I must believe it.
Prioritize your heart first.
I will, Jack, I promise in the depths of my mind. I’ll keep it strong until we are reunited.
Finding my grit, I clench my teeth, lurch, and spit at my former husband. His jaw hardens to stone as he flings away the drops. “I swear on every feminine ancestor I’ve ever had, Thaddeus John Thorne, it will never be me. You will never have me. And I will never stop fighting you, never stophatingyou. You’ll feel every ounce of my divine, feminine wrath.” My voice steels with my rebellion, the fire inside me reigniting. “I am not little Belle anymore. You’ll regret this.”
“Divine, feminine wrath? Oh, how poetic, adorable, and meaningless.” He sneers, his fingers curling around my throat, not to choke, but to remind me of his dominance. “Raw masculinity will always overthrow a woman’s futile wrath. Breaking you until you turn back into little Belle will be a pleasure, Belladonna Thorne.”
“Moore,” I hiss.
A shadow crosses his face. His eyes narrow, brows flattening as he continues, unhindered. “You can fight, you can rage, but in the end, you’ll submit.” He pushes harder against me, and I gasp at his dick throbbing against my pussy over the fabric. His voice lowers to a deep growl, “And when you do, it’ll be glorious.”
I don’t want to believe it, but when he grips my jaw and takes my mouth again, I feel the rumblings of it. He’s too strong for me to bite. Too strong for me to do anything but a vain struggle. His tongue stabs inside my mouth, but I keep mine flat and low, not giving him the satisfaction of so much as a flick.
I hate how he tastes. Seductive, alluring, and tempting. Just as the devil would.
The moment he pauses, I snarl against his lips, “Will you rape me now, or is breaking me your idea of foreplay since we both know it was never yourstrong suit?”
His grip borders on bruising. “I am your husband. In the eyes of all my masculine ancestors and the maleness of God himself, it’s impossible for me to rape you,wife.”
“You were never my husband, Thaddeus.” I bare my teeth and snap at him, refusing to be daunted by his gorgeous face with nothing but evil in his eyes. “You were my captor. My molester. Violator. No better than a psychotic pervert.”
He raises his chin and chuckles darkly, sending a haunting chill through me. “And what of you, my little Belle? What of your violations?”
Before I can respond, he shoves off me and advances to somewhere around the corner of the bedroom. The relief from his absence is short-lived when he approaches the bed again. Furious heat fills my cheeks when I see my diary clutched in his hand.
My heart ricochets as he casually tosses a few photos onto the bed beside me—intimate photos, raw and vulnerable, of me posed naked for Jack.
“You’ve been quite busy, haven’t you?” he muses, flipping through the pages of the diary as if savoring every word. “Adultery, Belle. With a headless corpse, no less. How fitting for my wanton whore of a wife.”
