Page 1 of Sentinel

PROLOGUE - EMMA

“How did you let yourself end up here, Emma?” I mutter out loud. I angrily slam the last of my clothes into my oversized black duffel bag and zip it closed. I’ve already packed up everything else in the car, which is parked on the street and not in my usual spot in the garage. I’m not giving David the opportunity to keep me from leaving if he just happens to show up tonight—which he shouldn’t because he’s supposedly working late, yet again, for the umpteenth time this month.

Ever since we got engaged, he’s stopped seeing me as the fun, feisty girl he was head over heels for and started wanting me to be the trophy wife, who should just be seen and not heard like all the other pieces of arm candy at the country club. Like I no longer have a brain, and I’m just supposed to organize charity events and host fancy luncheons with wealthy socialites.

Yeah, that’s not me. At all.

I look around our shared bedroom one more time as I curse myself for moving in with him all those months ago—getting swept up in the fairytale romance and cover-story engagement. I feel so stupid, having fallen for such a narcissistic man, especially with how he treats me now.

I thought he was my Prince Charming, swooping in on his proverbial white horse to take me away. He was easy to fall in love with and made me feel so special, something I hadn’t felt in a long time. But then he became the villain in this narrative—an emotional, mental, and physical abuser with a fancy Mercedes and a gilded cage to lock me away in.

And, oh, how he likes to physically abuse me.

This I found outafterthe engagement when he wanted to try new things in the bedroom. I shared with him my kink for rough sex and degradation praise, which I am not at all ashamed of. But he exploited my trust and consent and took it well beyond the bedroom, calling me vicious names and smacking me around anytime he felt like it. He said he thought I’d be into it, even when I didn’t give my permission. But I know the difference between rough sex and abuse, and once I withdrew my consent, it became nothing less than assault. And soon, it stopped involving sex completely.

I know I should’ve left right then and there. But David is a master manipulator and trapped me with my own mind. He knew just what to say and do to draw me right back in—keeping me on the hook until his next transgression, gaslighting me every day, and chipping away at my self-worth and confidence until I thought I had nothing without him.

Once, I’d even told his mother he’d been physical with me, but she brushed it off as nothing. She merely said I should spend his money as a way to get back at him, and to keep my mouth shut because this was par for the course with their social standing. That I should be so lucky to have such a glamorous life, and that I ought to get used to it. Needless to say, I was stunned by her reaction. It was then that I realized I would end up like her—miserable and sad, trapped in a life I didn’t want—if I stayed here with her son.

But whenever David senses I’m aboutto do something stupid, as he likes to say, he makes sure to mention he’s golfing buddies with half the police force. If I filed a report, it wouldonly be foolishbecause no one would believea nobody like me. He never lets me forget how much money he has, or that he can find me anytime and anywhere if I ever decide to run. And he likes to ramp up the fear with a swift slap to the face and a reminder that I’mnothing without himand willalways be his.

I have to get out of here.

So, with no family to speak of, I chose a random city on the map, which turned out to be Carnage, Nevada. Then I waited for the perfect chance to make my move.

I’m leaving tonight.

I was a fool for staying here as long as I have, but I don’t need this, and I don’t need him. I will not let fear have power over me. Not anymore. I’m stronger than this.

I take a steadying breath before crossing the threshold of the bedroom into the hallway. Descending the massive, elaborate staircase of David’s lavish mansion on Millionaire’s Row, I’m almost to the final step of the landing with my last duffle bag when the front door swings open. David struts in with a sway to his gait, indicating he’s been drinking. I freeze, knowing I’ve been caught, while white-knuckling the strap of my bag.

“Where the fuck are you going?” he grits out with a slurred speech.

“Are you drunk?” My voice is incredulous as my eyes narrow, trying to determine how many drinks I think he’s had.

“I asked you a fucking question, Emma.” I don’t answer, instead turning quickly towards the back door, hoping toget therebefore he canget to me. But he closes the distance between us and grabs my wrist—his grip digging into my skin and shooting a sharp pain down to my fingertips.

“Let go of me!” I try to wrench my arm away, but his hold is too strong.

“I said:where the fuck are you going?” Spittle flies from his mouth and lands on my cheek. He smells of expensive perfume, and there’s makeup on the collar of his three-hundred-dollar shirt. What a perfect time to go, because I don’t deserve to be cheated on either.

“I’m leaving, David. So, get your hands off me.”

His voice is low and deadly when he scoffs, “So, now you have a backbone? I didn’t say you could leave, bitch. I’ll fucking kill you before Ieverlet you leave me.” His words hang in the air—heavy like a dark, ominous cloud.

The look in his eyes is cold, and I know what’s coming next. But not this time. Not tonight. So, when he rears his hand back to slap me across the face, I knuckle-punch him in the throat, then knee him in the balls.

He definitely wasn’t expecting that.

But as I turn to take off for the front door, he catches me around the ankle as he falls to the floor, taking us both down. He sputters for air, trying to catch his breath, while I thrash around in my struggle to break free of his hold.

I army crawl in the direction of the entryway table, dragging him along with me. Once I’m close enough, I pull myself to my knees just as he grips my waist and tries to yank me back down. I elbow him in the sternum and knock the wind out of him, granting myself enough time to grab the lamp from the table and bring it down on his head, shattering it to pieces and knocking him out cold.

For a moment, I’m afraid I’ve killed him, but then I see his pulse beating at the base of his neck, and I notice the shallow movements of his chest as he draws in air. He’s still alive, but I know it’s just a matter of time before he wakes up determined to come after me.

I snatch up my duffle bag from the marble floor and run out the door, jumping in my car and gunning the engine. I don’t stop driving until it’s daylight—having found a buy-here-pay-here lot and trade in my SUV for a Honda Accord. Then I get back on the road and head straight for Carnage.

As far as anyone is concerned, Emma Williams from Bay City, California is dead. From now on, I’m Sarah Smith, just a twenty-something-year-old girl from Marta, Texas, looking to start a new life in a new city.

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