I come up short when I see that it’s an angry, snarling Jack standing on the porch.

“I fucking hate you,” he growls, and backhands me square across the cheek, sending me flying back into the foyer and the glass in my hand crashing to the floor. “Did you think I’d never find out?”

His words are slurred and I can smell the whiskey coming off him in waves as I try to scurry backward on my hands, unable to pull myself to my feet. I’m still seeing stars, for fuck sake.

He kicks me in the ribs twice, then pulls me to my feet by the hair and punches me in the nose before he pulls my face up to his. “Answer me, cunt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I can’t breathe. I think my nose is broken. I can barely see the three Jacks standing right before me.

He bares his teeth in a snarl and pulls me, his hand still buried and gripped onto my hair, behind him to my office. He holds me up and points to the book covers on the wall.

“Peyton Adams, Lauren? Really? You made your fucking pen name the one we planned to name our daughter and your mom’s maiden name?”

I flinch and clench my mouth shut. How do I get out of this alive?

“I’m going to kill you, you selfish motherfucking bitch,” he breathes into my face, making me gag on his horrible, foul breath. “But first, I’m going to make you fucking suffer.”

“Being married to you was suffering, Jack.” My voice is raspy and my vision is tunneling quickly, but I pull myself together as much as possible. If I pass out now, I’ll never get out of here.

He balls his fist and punches me on the jaw, snapping my head back. I can taste the coppery essence of blood as I pull my head back around to glare at him, blinking furiously.

“You owe me a whole fucking slew of money.” He spits on me, then pushes me back against my desk. I brace myself with my hands, panting, tears rolling down my face from the shot to my nose, and watching him as he turns away and tears one of my covers off the wall, shattering it on the ground. “I can’t believe you like to write books about fucking,” he sneers, and laughs over at me before he pulls the next cover off the wall. “You were a fucking joke in bed.”

“Pot, kettle,” I mutter viciously, and feel around the desk for my letter opener. It’s the only weapon I have here in the office.

He turns and glares at me, then stomps toward me and slaps me across the face again, on the opposite cheek this time. I move quickly, flailing out with the letter opener in my hand, doing my best to cut him, but he laughs as I stumble about and grips my wrist in his hand, wrenching the tool away from me.

“God, you’re so pathetic.” He shoves me back, then narrows his eyes on my laptop.

Dear God, he’s going to destroy my laptop.

I lunge for it, but he’s faster, scooping it up off the desk and throwing it with all his might against the wall. I stand, dumbfounded and numb, as I watch it shatter into about a dozen pieces.

Thank God I sent the book to the editor before he got here.

I laugh hysterically, finding it ironic that my first thought automatically goes straight to work. Jack could conceivably kill me this morning, and my biggest concern is losing my book. My ribs scream with the effort of the laughter, but I can’t seem to stop it.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Just remembering how tiny your dick is,” I rasp. If he’s going to hurt me, I’ll get my own hits in, even if they are verbal. My face is swelling as I search furiously for a way out of this room, but Jack is blocking my path to the door.

“You’re a fucking bitch.”

“So you’ve said,” I wheeze.

He advances and swings, intending to punch me, but I duck out of the way, infuriating him even further.

Suddenly, he pulls a long knife out of his back pocket and holds it in front of him.

“Oh my God,” I whisper. “You’re nuts.”

“You’re a whore. Get on the floor.”

“Just lie down and let you carve me up?”

My phone rings, distracting me, and he lunges, punching me with the handle of the knife in the temple. I fall to the floor, blinded, crying out. Jack lands three more kicks in my ribs and I throw up uncontrollably, propped on my side, as he continues to kick me in the ribs and down my back.

“Do you like it when I beat on you, you little whore?” Jack asks maliciously. His voice is pure evil. “I’m gonna fuck you before I kill you, Lo.” He pulls me onto my back and holds the knife to my neck with one hand while he unbuttons his jeans with the other. “My cock inside you is the last thing you’re ever going to feel, you stupid cunt.”

“Your cock is so small, I never could feel it anyway,” I growl.

He bares his teeth in fury and, throwing the knife aside, grips my hair in both of his fists, lifts my head, and smashes it against the hardwood floor of my office.

The only thought I have just before the darkness settles in around me is that I hope Ty doesn’t find me like this.

Chapter Seventeen

TY

“Court is adjourned for lunch.”

Thank God.

I rise and leave the courtroom, fishing my phone out of my pocket. I tried to call Lo early this morning, unable to stand being away from her any longer, but I couldn’t reach her. She was probably either sleeping soundly or still working.

I should have said fuck it and gone over there to be with her, hold her. Make her breakfast.

Reassure both of us that we’re okay and remind her why she needs to be honest with me when it comes to her asshole of an ex-husband.