Unsteady (The Torqued Trilogy Book 1) (7 page)

I’m not sorry. I’m never sorry anymore.

He’s silent for a moment. “No, you’re not.” He stands, coming closer to me so his breath pelts the side of my neck, his fists tightening at his side, making the veins stand out on his tattooed forearm as he sets his beer on the counter.

Breathing in deeply, I study him, taking in the stiffness to his shoulders and the hard set of his jaw.

Great. Tonight is going to go badly.

Ben leans into the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw set. “Got off work early today. Thought I would come by the shop and surprise you. Guess I was the one who was in for a surprise.” And by surprise, he means check up on me.

“What are you talking about Ben?” I sigh, not wanting to hear the answer. There’s a heaviness in my stomach, a chill crawling up my spine that tells me to stop now.

“I saw you. Why were you flirting with him?”

“I wasn’t. I don’t want to go through this with you again. I
work
with Eric. There’s nothing to it. And in case you’ve forgotten, Eric is your step-brother. Why would I cheat on you with your brother?” And then, I laugh because I can’t seem to help myself tonight. Especially not after seeing Val leaving just as I was pulling in.

That sets him off. “Why are you laughing? You think it’s funny to disrespect me?”

I take a step away. “It’s funny that you’re accusing me of flirting when we both know
you’ve
done more than flirt.”

He sighs and adjusts is stance, his legs wide apart. He’s trying to be intimidating. Ben doesn’t react much, doesn’t get emotional, but when he does, it’s not pretty. It’s actually terrifying. He’s like a tornado. No warning at all, just bam, deal with this side.

His eyes narrow. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t have to step out if you’d give it up sometime.”

It’s
always
my fault in some way. It’s how guys like him work. Accuse to avoid being accused.

Drawing in a deep breath, I try to keep myself from reacting too much. “Whatever, Ben.” I blow off his words just for the hell of it. It helps me in some way. Pretend I have the upper hand in a situation that I
never
will. My whole life has been a fight for some kind of control when I know I might never have it. “Don’t blame me for
you
being a two-timing piece of shit.”

He snorts, wetting his lips. “Tell me, though….” He waits for me to look at him and then smiles. It’s not that he thinks this is funny. He’s vindictive. There’s a difference. “How long have you been fucking him?” The question’s asked in his low, labored voice, the one that demands my attention.

I scrunch my face in incredulity that he thinks I
would
do that. I consider the possibility of saying nothing, turn the words over in my head before I say anything, but my mouth has a way of remaining quiet at times when I need it the most. The selfish bitch.

“Keep in mind
you
live in my house,” he reminds me, as if I would have forgotten. “
You
sleep in my bed. It’s because of me that
you
have anything. Be careful how you talk to me right now. Show me some fucking respect in my home.”

Breathing deeply through my nose, I push him back, needing the distance. “Screw you, Ben. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m tired of this crap. I can’t live like this anymore. This isn’t a life. It’s a fucking prison sentence.”

He reacts, smiling and takes a step back, his arms widening as if he’s inviting me in. “There’s the door, sweetheart. Go for it. Just remember when you come crawling back, you’re gonna be doin’ it on your goddamn knees.” He reaches for me, a fist full of my hair in his grasp. “Matter of fact, maybe you need to be reminded of how that feels.”

This is why I hate my husband. One of many reasons.

Instinctively, I stand my ground, despite him moving his hands to my shoulders and struggle against him. He’s stronger than I am, my defensive stance absolutely no match for his bulging muscles. With as much strength as I can muster, I push against his chest only to crash back against the wall, my head connecting with the wood paneling.

Next thing I know, his hand draws back, and he hits me across the face with an open palm. It stings, but I show no reaction other than raising my hand to my cheek. Both his hands raise and he wraps them around my throat, constricting my breathing. “Don’t you
ever
walk away from me when I’m talking to you. Do you hear me, Lennon? I’m your fucking husband. I will tell you when we are done!”

Does he think I’m going to apologize?

Hell no. Everything he just said only fuels my hatred for him and who he’s become.

His breathing falters, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as he bends down to look me in the eyes, one hand on my neck, the other on the wall behind me. “Did you fuck him in my bed?”

“I’ve
never
had sex with Eric,” I answer truthfully, reluctantly making eye contact with a monster.

“What about the other guys in the shop?” He speaks in a dark tone with words that roll off his tongue easily, ones laced with a bitterness that I chose to work late, as opposed to being here acting like the perfect wife. But what he’s forgetting is he is the one who has been fucking other women in our bed. He’s not thinking about how
he’s
chosen to betray me.

My stomach churns at the thoughts of him thinking I would do that. With quick short breaths, I swallow my irritation, but I’m sure he can hear it in my voice. “Stop being an asshole, Ben.”

“I’m the asshole?” He walks away, in the living room and straight to the liquor cabinet, reaching inside for the bottle of tequila and taking a drink straight from the bottle, squinting at the burn. Guaranteed, he’s already drank half that bottle today. The beer in his hand when I came inside was probably a cover. “Yeah and you’re a fucking bitch who can’t keep her goddamn legs closed.”

“I should have known when I picked you up in a fucking bar you’d eventually turn into this…
this
… I don’t even know what the fuck you are beside a cunt who fucks anything with a dick.” I will never forget the look on his face when he says that to me. It’s one of disgust, and the meaning behind them, the blazing eyes, all of it makes me flinch back at his tone because it’s not me. This person he’s portrayed me to be in his mind is nowhere close to who I actually am. Sure, I slept around before him, but I didn’t once we were married.

The glass in his hand crashes against the wall, and curse words are muttered under unforgiving breaths. The fury inside him is blinding as he stalks toward me.

Timidly, I stay rooted in place, my arms flat at my sides, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe as my mind scrambles for how this might end.

“I’m not going to hit you, again.” He snorts, bringing the bottle to his lips and then back down at his side. It’s a lie. There’s an eerie calm about the way he’s acting so suddenly. Something seems off. Remember that tornado theory? This is it. This is when the sky turns black and the wind picks up. “But I am going to fuck you. I think you need reminding who you belong to.” He pushes himself on me, pinning me against the wall. “Have you forgotten you’re still mine? People are starting to talk around town,
Lenny
.” Trying to create space between us, my hands jet out against his chest. He pushes against me, leaning in to spit the words in my face. “People are wondering what you could be doing at the garage so late. They think you’re fucking around on me. You’re embarrassing yourself. You’ve embarrassed me!”

“Screw what people are saying.” I shove him back away from me. “I haven’t done anything wrong, Ben.”

He catches himself against the wall, rage racing through his veins by the heavy breath he takes. “Oh, honey, you’ve done
everything
wrong since the day you were born. You’re so worthless. Even your crack whore mom didn’t want you.”

The sound of my hand connecting with his cheek echo’s through the room. My palm stings, and I assume his cheek does by the pink illuminating it. I certainly have his attention now, and I know exactly what’s coming next, but first, I’m the one screaming at him. “
Fuck you
, Ben! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

Spitefully, he smiles, and I hate the way it looks on him because it’s so natural, so convincing. “I think you need a reminder of your place in this house.” His hand moves from his side, jets out and grasps my neck with force, slamming my head back against the wall again.

He hits me once, twice, right across the cheek. It leaves me stunned, breathless and well, angry.

“You’re not messing around on me?” I shake my head, what little I can. “Prove it then.” He nods south, and I know what that means when his hands slip off my neck to his buckle. “Fucking prove to me you’re not messing around.”

“No,” I say, shaking my head, my cheek pounding hot and pulsing from the heat of his anger that lingers. “Not like this.”

He raises a dark eyebrow, looking down at me intently. “No?”

Ben used to be attractive to me. He’s got everything I would want in a man from the muscular physique to the blue eyes that shine brightly. Not to mention the tattoos covering most of his body and the pierced tongue, always a sucker for that. But now, love isn’t a word I’d use to associate myself with him. Hate is. So much fucking hate I can’t even look at him without wishing he’d die a horrible death.

“No. I don’t want to,” I push back, dropping my stare to the ground. “Not when you’re like this, and drunk.”

“You don’t really have a choice,” he says smoothly with no expression on his features. It’s a look I’ve grown to hate, his liquored breath so strong I turn away.

Though I know the way this is going to go, I try my hardest to stand up for myself. “Yes, I do.”

He shakes his head, slowly, back and forth, his face remaining stone like. “No, you don’t.”

And he’s partially right. I don’t right now because I know where this is heading and if I want to make it out alive tonight, I’ll do as he says.

I don’t scream. I don’t fight as he pushes my head south.

Over and over again my head is slammed down until tears and spit cover my face. Never again. I will
never
allow him to do this to me. I’m a strong, independent woman, and this is not a life for anyone.

He uses me to get off, and when he does, he makes sure to pull out so that he comes on my face, hot bursts of liquid smeared over my cheeks, dripping down my chin. “Don’t act like you don’t fucking want it.”

My cheeks burn, hot tears spilling from me, only a torn apart humiliated soul left inside.

I try to wipe it away, a quick swipe of my hand, my hands shaking with the terrifying reality I let him do this. I’m on the ground, left in his destruction, an aftermath of a cold heart.

He rights his jeans, buckles them, the clanging of the metal making me blink and watch his hands work the leather together. He kneels before me, waiting for a reaction.

Never again.
Never
fucking again will I allow him to demean me in this way. I sob in uncontrollable gasps.

He grabs me by the chin, his tight grip on my skin pinches together and I know bruises will follow.

Our eyes meet. Does he see what he’s done? Does he know the ways he’s torn me apart inside? “Remember
this
moment.” His bitter tone stings. “You’ll never be better than this, and you’ll never be better than me. Don’t even think about leaving.” He pauses and draws in a labored breath. “You will
always
belong to me. Even if you leave, I will always find you. Keep pissing me off, Lenny, and the next time, I won’t be so nice about it.”

I hold in a sob, biting back so much. And then I’m angry. Fucking pissed. Wanting to scream at him for doing this and making
me
wish I were dead instead of in this life, with him. When the wave of emotion hits me, it nearly knocks me off my feet, utterly unexpected and I rush to the bathroom just before I vomit.

After I finish, I stand in front of the sink to rinse my mouth and wash the remnants of Ben’s lesson off my face. I scrub until my face burns and the skin is raw. Even then, it’s not enough.

When I look up and see my reflection in the mirror, all I can think is... I hate my life. I hate my husband.