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Gretchen shifted, slowly, positioning herself behind a different table. There was twenty-five feet and three round tables between them. If she could cat and mouse her way across the room, she might be able to make it to her phone or even the door.
The fact Briggs was out of his mind with anger—and possibly drunk—worked in her favor because he was too distracted to realize she was moving.
“I lost my job,” he said, his voice gruff but quieter. “They fired me for illegally obtaining phone records. They fired me because I was looking for you.”
“I’m sorry,” she lied, simply to try to calm him down. Because she wasn’t a bit sorry he lost his job. He’d abused his position with the force, used it to get close to a young, lonely girl. One of the things she’d worried about since leaving was that he would use that uniform to prey on some other unsuspecting woman.
Briggs stumbled slightly, even though he was standing still. How drunk was he? “You have to come home. Nothing’s right without you there.”
Hell would freeze over first.
“Do you hear me?!” he yelled, when she didn’t respond.
“I hear you.”
“So you’re coming,” he said confidently, like he’d actually convinced her.
“No. I’m not.”
Briggs picked up one of the new folding chairs and flung it across the room. It crashed into another table, knocking the tablecloth and festive centerpiece off, the potted poinsettia crashing, broken petals and dirt littering the floor.
He looked at the damage he’d wrought with a malevolent grin, as if destroying her work pleased him. Pleased him enough that he kept going, overturning tables and chairs like he was some sort of rampaging Incredible Hulk.
While he was focused on destruction, she moved, rushing toward the exit. She managed to grab her phone on the way by. Juggling it, her hands trembled as she tried to open it and hold it up to her face, while still running for the door. She managed to hit the emergency button just as Briggs’s hand gripped her upper arm, flinging her around.
He grabbed the phone and slammed it down on the floor. She heard it crack. “Who are you calling?” he screamed in her face. “Him?!”
Gretchen tried to pry his fingers off her arm, thinking she would have been smarter to ask Theo for self-defense classes rather than driving lessons.
Had the call connected? Was her phone destroyed, or was someone on the other end, listening?
“Let go, Briggs,” she said, as calmly as she could muster. “Let go and I’ll leave here with you.”
She couldn’t remain in this barn with him, not when he was holding on to her so tightly. Staying here, trying to resist him, would only end with him beating her. Right now, her best shot was to get outside, where she could hopefully outrun him.
Oh, and scream her fucking lungs out while praying someone was close enough to hear.
He didn’t release her arm. Instead, he tightened his grip painfully. “I was the only one who ever loved you, Gretchen. The only one. I took care of you, gave you a home, bought you food and clothes, found you a job. I was the only one! Everyone else left.”
Shaw didn’t leave, but she wasn’t about to say that aloud. She needed to get out of here. He was standing too close, holding her too tightly.
“I know, Briggs,” she said softly, desperate to get outside. Every part of her body was tense, remembering this all too well. She tried to brace herself, to mentally prepare for the punches, the slaps, the kicks.
As if those were things a person could prepare for.
“You always blew things out of proportion, always acted like I was some kind of bad guy. All I’ve ever wanted to do was take care of you, but you wouldn’t let me, wouldn’t listen and do what I said!”
She nodded, wincing when he reached up with his free hand, grabbing a handful of her hair, pulling her face close enough that she could smell the liquor on his breath.
Her scalp burned as he yanked hard, tilting her face up, fury lining his mouth and eyes. She would be lucky if she didn’t leave here with a bald patch.
“You belong to me,” he said through gritted teeth, his eyes blown, pupils dilated so that she could barely see any of the pale brown irises. His face was blood red, and he ripped out more hair as he shook her roughly, her brain rattling against her skull. She fought not to whimper, not to show any sign of weakness, but her courage was fading fast.
“You let another man touch you—fuck you. My property. You’re ruined now!”
Fear struck as Gretchen realized there would be no talking her way out of this. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like Briggs was here to drag her home.
He was here for revenge, for pain.