Page 97 of Coercion

But she wouldn’t do it, she wouldn’t. I trust her. I trust what we have.

Ruby wouldn’t betray me. Not like that.

I flick on a lamp and she flinches at the sudden brightness, shielding her face with her arm.

“Ruby?”

She looks up, her eyes unfocused but full of tears. She’s sat on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. There’s a bottle in her hand but I can see it’s all gone. She’s drunk the lot.

“I…” She slurs like she can’t even string a sentence together because she’s so damned inebriated.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, fearing whatever words are going to come out of her mouth.

“I lied.” She stammers. “I lied and I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Lied about what?”

She drops her gaze, staring at her feet. “It wasn’t supposed to be…” She hiccups. “He’s going to be so mad at me.”

“Who?” I growl.

“Gunnar.” She barely whispers his name but it’s like a damned stake in my heart.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be…

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I snap.

She shuts her eyes, trembling. “I didn’t want to do it but he was trying to make me. He was trying to force me…”

“Force you to do what?” I snarl and then I hear the word I’ve been dreading, the word I never believed she’d speak. “Betray…” She gasps almost incoherently.

It’s like everything shatters. Like my entire world crumbles around me and I don’t think, I just react, hauling her to her feet.

Jace was right. Ruby is a mole.

The bottle slips from her grasp, smashing to the floor. She whimpers more, trying to bury her face into my chest, only, I won’t let her.

My heart turns to stone as I realise how stupid I’ve been. I don’t know how she got hold of anything of worth, perhaps I confided something – though I don’t remember doing so…

Christ, did she ever even care for me or was that all an act? Was I so damned stupid to fall for a pretty face?

She can’t walk. She can’t even stand.

She must have drunk herself into a stupor to block out all the guilt about what she knew was going down today.

I pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, carrying her through the house and down into the basement.

I have a room down there. A cell for necessary moments like this.

I yank her arms above her, tying her wrists with rope, making sure my treacherous wife is properly secure to the chain that hangs down from a reinforced beam in the ceiling.

She isn’t even fighting me as I do it. I lift her head and can see she’s passed out.

As I let her go she drops forward, her arms taking the full weight of her body.

I roll my sleeves up, every ounce of love I felt for this woman turning, twisting into hate.

How the fuck could she do this?