“It’s not my fault you guys bought all those shots,” she said. “It’s not like I could let them go to waste! That’s just wrong.”

Darcy nodded sagely.

“She’s right—if you throw away booze at your bachelorette party, the marriage is doomed.”

“You say that about everything,” I accused. “The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t order the steak and the shrimp. The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t dance with at least ten guys. The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t tell us how big Horse’s dick really is. How can all of that be true?”

“I know these things,” she declared. “Am I right, ladies?”

“Hell yes,” Dancer chimed in. “Darcy knows her shit. If she says the marriage is doomed if Marie doesn’t drink enough, it’s time to start pouring shots down her throat!”

“Right now it’s time to open presents!” Maggs yelled. “Ladies, we need to focus. The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t get these open before we hit the karaoke bar!”

“Shit,” Marie said, her eyes opening wide in panic. She ripped into the bag, peeked down inside, and started giggling madly. Then she pulled out a giant double-headed jelly dildo in swirling colors.

“Oh, Cookie,” she said, sighing. “It’s beautiful! How did you know?”

We all burst out laughing, and Maggs grabbed another present. This one was from Darcy, and I shit you not, it was a giant, strap-on cock.

“That’s so you can put Horse in his place,” she told Marie. “That man’s ego needs controlling, and that’s a great tool to do it with.”

“I love it,” Marie whispered. “Oh, I cannot wait to try this.”

“You think he’d actually let you use it on him?” I asked. She started giggling.

“I think just the sight of it will make his head explode,” she said. “It’s all about creating the right kind of romantic mood, you know?”

Em got her a beautifully illustrated Kama Sutra, Dancer got her a thong that said “Support Your Local Reapers MC” on it (along with a little Reaper’s skull), I got her sensual massage oils, and Kimber got her some sort of electronic thing that we all just looked at, trying to figure out what the hell it was.

“Read the instructions,” Kimber said. “Trust me, you turn this baby on, you’re gonna love it.”

Marie tilted it, obviously confused, and I tried to figure out where it would even fit on a person’s body.

I really, really wanted a look at those directions, but when we looked for them, nobody could find them in the piles of tissue paper cluttering the limo.

We pulled up to the karaoke bar right as she finished. It was quarter to one, which gave us about an hour before last call. Because the marriage would be doomed if she didn’t have more shots, Marie had more shots. Then she got up and sang her Def Leppard song and we all joined her for the chorus.

Maggs took over the mike to sing “White Wedding,” and then Marie realized the marriage was definitely doomed if she didn’t text Horse a picture of her modeling her new panties, so we all tripped back out to the limo.

That’s when I decided to call it a night—it was my understanding that when the bar closed, they’d all be heading back to the Armory to join up with the guys. The girls didn’t want me to leave, but seeing Ruger wasn’t exactly one of my goals for the evening. Ten minutes later the cab pulled up and I gave him my address. I guess I’d had more to drink than I realized, because the next thing I knew, we’d pulled into Elle’s driveway.

“Wake up,” the driver said. “This where I drop you?”

I looked around, trying to clear my head. I wasn’t drunk, but I wasn’t totally sober, either.

“Um, yeah,” I said. “Just pull around the house, okay?”

He did, and I fumbled in my purse for money. I gave it to him and stepped out, digging for the keys. I’d forgotten to turn on the outside light, which didn’t help. Or maybe it was just burned out … I usually left it on all the time.

The driver must’ve been a nice guy, because he waited until I got the front door open before he pulled away. Too bad he hadn’t waited a minute longer—when I flipped on the light I nearly had a heart attack.

Zach sat in the center of the couch.

“About time you got back,” he said pleasantly, arms crossed over his chest. “Let me guess, you’re drunk? Some mother you’ve turned out to be, Sophie. You’re nothing but a f**king slut, you know that?”

Seeing him hit me like a physical blow.

I mean that—if someone had punched me in the stomach, it couldn’t have hurt worse. I couldn’t breathe, and I had to grab the wall to stay upright. That’s the thing that nobody tells you as a girl, when they warn you about guys like Zach. You hear about women getting “abused,” but that’s such a sterile word for what Zach did to me. He didn’t “abuse” me. He hurt me, owned me, trained me …

Broke me.

It’s like hitting a dog with a rolled-up newspaper. You do it enough times, the dog will cringe whenever it sees the roll. Obedience becomes instinct, and in that second I felt it all come back to me.

Zach’s bitch. That’s all I was.

“You can’t be here,” I said feebly, wondering how just seeing him could make me feel so weak. “The restraining order says you can’t be here. You’re supposed to be hundreds of miles away. How did you get in?”

“I picked the lock, you stupid cunt,” he replied. “Ruger taught me when we were kids. That and how to hotwire a car. Only f**kin’ thing he ever did for me …”

He stood and walked over to me, a nasty gleam in his eye. He’d gotten bigger, I realized. Not taller, of course, and not fat, either. Zach must’ve started lifting weights, because those were some serious muscles. Steroid-sized muscles. He flexed them as he walked toward me, grinning as he read the fear in my face. He’d always had little-man syndrome.

My brain screamed at me to run, but my body wouldn’t obey. I was strong during the kidnapping. I’d run from Skid, but then I turned around and fought him.

Why didn’t I do that now?

I couldn’t. My body wouldn’t move.

Instead I just watched Zach, terrified, as he came up and cupped my face in his hands, fingers holding me just a little too tight.

“You’re looking good,” he said, licking his lips. He leaned forward and kissed me. Not a nice kiss—no, this one was meant to punish. I locked my jaw and kept my lips closed until he reached up and grabbed my hair, pulling it back sharply. “Open your f**king mouth, bitch.”

I obeyed, because I knew pulling hair was the least of what he could do. He kissed me for an eternity, tongue stabbing into mine painfully. His mouth tasted stale and nasty, like he hadn’t brushed his teeth in a year. I couldn’t get any air and tears built up in my eyes.

Finally, he pulled away.

“Cunt still sweet as that mouth?” he asked. I didn’t respond and he yanked my hair again. “Answer me, bitch!”

“I don’t know,” I whimpered. I should try to knee him. I should fight or kick or bite or something, but seeing Zach made me feel like a helpless little girl. He knew it, too. I could tell by the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. Zach was a bully. How I hadn’t recognized it from the start I’ll never know, but I could sure as shit see it now.

“I hear you’re f**king Ruger again,” Zach whispered, face turning ugly. “I hear you’re sucking his c**k all over town, and that you’re f**king his whole club, too. Is that true, slut?”

“No,” I whimpered. “No, it’s not true.”

“What’s not true?” he asked, mouth twisting into a smile. “Not true you’re f**king Ruger, or not true that you’re f**king his club? Because they don’t just steal a man’s inheritance for shits and giggles, babe. They don’t do anything for free. You gotta tell me just how big a whore you are. Otherwise I won’t know how much punishment you need.”

“I’m not f**king anyone,” I said. Zach burst out laughing. Seriously laughing, so hard he actually let me go and used the heel of one hand to press against his eyes, wiping away the tears.

“Let’s try this again,” he said when he finally stopped. “Who are you f**king? You belong to me, bitch. If you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll start breaking fingers.”

He reached down and caught my hand between his, gripping my right index finger, bending it sharply backward.

I panicked, wishing I could get myself to think. My mind was numb, old survival instincts taking over.

Get it over with.

Do what he says.

Maybe he’ll show mercy if you’re a good girl …

“I had sex with Ruger,” I said quickly. Then I closed my eyes, bracing for whatever might happen next. There’s no preparing for something like that, though. Not really. I waited for my bone to snap, so it came as a complete surprise when he punched me in the stomach instead. I doubled over, gasping for breath. Holy shit that hurt.

Zach burst out laughing.

“You’re too f**kin’ easy.”

Silly of me, I realized, clutching my stomach and praying he’d stop at just one hit. Zach never did what I expected him to do. You couldn’t plan, couldn’t get ready, nothing like that. He was like a tornado—suddenly there, spewing evil without warning.

Zach’s laughter died.

“Hell of long drive to get here. I’m tired and hungry,” he said. “So you’re gonna make me something to eat. Then we’ll talk some more about who you’re sleeping with. Don’t want to leave out any juicy details, do we?”

I dug through the fridge, trying to figure out what to cook him. My stomach ached, although I didn’t feel like he’d broken any ribs. Yet. We didn’t have a lot of food, but I could fix some eggs and toast. Zach had always loved breakfast for dinner.

“It was f**king stupid of you to come back to Coeur d’Alene,” Zach said conversationally. He sat at the small table between the living room and kitchen, watching me and picking at his fingernails. “You couldn’t just keep your legs shut, could you? I’ll never let him have you. Never. Thought I’d made that clear?”

I didn’t answer. No matter what I said, it would set him off. I remembered that much from before. Zach had always liked lecturing me during punishments, and if I didn’t listen, the punishment got much, much worse. I just had to hunker down and push through. Sooner or later he’d get tired or bored and then it would stop.

At least for a while.

I’d never be truly free from him, though. I’d thought I could change my life.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I’ve told you a thousand times about Ruger, but you still don’t listen,” he continued. “You never get it through your head, do you? I guess sluts like you can’t control themselves … You need to be trained, like dogs. Bitches. Do you want me to train you?”

I took a deep breath, then let it out, closing my eyes tight. I knew what the next step was. Our little dance was well-choreographed.

“Yes, Zach,” I whispered, feeling my soul tuck down deep inside, hiding from what was coming. If I drew far enough away from reality, it wouldn’t hurt as bad when he started really hitting me. “I want you to train me.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, sounding almost human.

I knelt down and opened the drawer under the oven, looking for something to cook the eggs in. I had a small, non-stick frying pan I usually used. There was also a large, cast-iron skillet that I’d found when I moved into the apartment.

I’d never cooked with it—cast iron always seemed sort of strange and scary to me.

Huh.

Why should I be afraid of using a f**king pan? Because it was different than what I was used to? But changing how you do anything is difficult.

I could do it, though.

I could use that pan.

Almost in a dream, I reached down and picked up the skillet. How hard would it be …? Harder than a man’s fists against your flesh? Harder than cracked ribs, blackened eyes—your baby screaming for an hour because Mommy can’t get off the floor to pick him up?

Changing how you react to a man hurting you is hard.

But it can be done.

The pan was heavy. Really heavy. My arms were strong, though. I’d been carrying Noah for years—this was nothing in comparison. I stood up and set the skillet on the stove, reaching over and turning on the burner.

“I think we need to get something clear,” Zach said. He leaned back in his chair, grinning at me, all pleased with himself. Only seconds had passed as I found the skillet, but everything had changed. I felt my soul uncurling from its hiding place.

“You sent me to jail,” Zach continued. “That was a very, very bad thing to do. I’ll admit it threw me for a while. I let you get away with it. Then you stole my money, and that’s more than a man can take. You try to fight me, I’ll kill you. In fact, I won’t just kill you, I’ll kill Noah. Never did like that little shit.”

Another gut punch. He hadn’t used his fists this time. He didn’t need to.

I looked down at the slowly heating skillet.

“Maybe I’ll just make him disappear,” he muttered. “Just take his little ass and dump him somewhere. You’ll never find him again, always wonder if he’s dead or alive. Maybe if you’re really good, I’ll tell you where the body is for his eighteenth birthday …”