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PROLOGUE

Violet

Two years ago

“Where were you yesterday, Violet?” My husband’s voice is eerily calm as he sits at the kitchen table drinking his morning coffee. His scrambled eggs, three pieces of crispy bacon, and home fries freshly made to perfection sit getting cold on the plate before him.

Carter, our nearly seven-year-old son, is sitting across from James, tucking into his plate of food, pretending he isn’t listening to our conversation, but I know he is. He always is. My boy is smart as a whip and pays very close attention to his father’s moods. He’s learned when to keep his mouth shut, and when to hide. He’s seen and experienced things no child should ever have to go through.

I continue washing the pans from breakfast in the soapy water I’ve filled the sink with, while answering the question truthfully. Mostly.

“I had a follow up appointment at the clinic with the doctor we saw last week. We spoke about it the other night at dinner.” I keep my tone light, pleasant … passive.

“I did some research on that clinic,” James says. My stomach drops. “They specialize in helping women who get themselves into trouble—in unwanted situations—a way out.”

Shit. He knows. How does he know?

Not sure what exactly James thinks he knows, I feign ignorance and say, “I’m not sure what you mean, sweetheart. I went to the main clinic on the first floor. The nice woman doctor took my vitals, asked about my, uh, wrist and how it was healing after my nasty fall.” I look over my shoulder at Carter, who gets the hint and quickly eats the last two bites on his plate, then brings it to the sink for me to wash.

“Thank you for breakfast, Mama. I’m going to go brush my teeth now.”

“Okay, sweetie.”

“Have a good day at work, Dad,” Carter says to James before scurrying out of the room.

James pushes his chair back and stands. He carries his plate to the sink. Pressing his body into mine from behind, he places the plate in the warm water. Both his hands grip the sink on either side of me, caging me in.

His mouth grazes my ear and my body shudders. It’s not the kind of shudder a woman feels when she’s turned on. It’s quite the opposite. It’s the response one’s body has when it knows imminent danger is near.

James leans in, his mouth near my ear as he whispers, “Are you pregnant, Violet?”

“What?”

His left hand, like a snake strike, grips my throat, squeezing enough to make me choke for air, but not enough to close my airway completely. It’s what he does when he wants my undivided attention.

“I researched your little doctor’s clinic. They specialize in abortions and various types of birth control and family planning bullshit.” He runs his nose up the side of my face as I struggle to take short breaths and not hyperventilate. “Did you go there to abort our baby?”

His grip is too tight for me to speak, so I simply shake my head no.

“You’re late. It’s been seven weeks since your last menstrual cycle. So, tell me, sweetheart. What were you really seeing the doctor about? Did she tell you about the baby when you went to the ER, and you made a plan to see her again, hoping I wouldn’t find out about the baby?”

“We’re having a baby?” Carter’s excited voice breaks the tension slightly, only to fill my heart with such pain. He has always wanted a sibling. James has tried for years to get me pregnant again, but my periods are never consistent, and my hormones fluctuate on a regular basis. The last obstetrician I saw told me stress could be a major contributing factor to the irregular cycles.

It happens when you live with a monster who’s always waiting to strike.

James releases my throat, wrapping both arms around my middle, and spinning us to face Carter.

“Tell him, Violet. Are we having a baby?” His voice has an edge, and I know, no matter what the reason, when I tell them both I’m not pregnant, I’m going to pay for it.

Looking my excited son in the eyes and hating the blow of disappointment I’m about to deliver, I tell him the truth. “No, Carter. I’m not pregnant. Me and Daddy were just talking about how we would like to have another baby. How we wish I was pregnant. But I’m not. Not yet.” Bile rises in the back of my throat at the thought of giving this man another child. Another person for him to terrify and abuse. If I could, I’d get my tubes tied to ensure he could never bring another life into this world for him to torment. For now, I’m just grateful my body is as repulsed by the idea as I am, because I’ve not been able to conceive since Carter was three years old.

One night after work, James learned I had taken forty dollars out of our grocery money and hidden it in a drawer in the bedroom. He accused me of stealing ‘his hard-earned money’ and then proceeded to beat the hell out of me as a reminder that I don’t earn the money that pays our bills—therefore I don’t deserve to have any of it for myself.

He never did ask me why I took the money.

I was planning on ordering a special cake to tell him we were expecting again. Only after the three punishing blows I took to my abdomen I no longer needed the cake because we were no longer expecting.

Of course, James blamed my weak body for the loss. Never taking any blame for his actions.

Carter’s little face fell. My heart ached for my son to have a sibling, but the guilt I feel every day for bringing my son into this nightmare is difficult enough to bear.

“Carter, why don’t you kiss your mother then go watch tv until it’s time to leave for school.”

Carter did as he was told, warily watching us as he approached. James released me long enough to allow me to hug Carter to my chest and kiss the top of his head. When Carter pulled back out of my hold, his ever-observant eyes bounced between me and James. He’s a clever boy. He knows when his father is sending him away to keep him from being a witness. He’s a sheriff, and children lie all the time, or so he tells me all the time in warning.

I smile down at my boy and pray he knows how much I love him.

Carter heads into the living room and we hear the moment he turns the tv on and to his favorite morning show.

James roughly grabs my biceps and starts shoving me down the hallway and up the stairs to our bedroom. Once inside, he slams the door shut with his foot, spinning me around so hard I nearly fall to the floor, catching myself with one arm on the bed as he releases me.

I’ve nearly risen to my full height when James’s hand connects with my cheek, pain radiating across my face and around my eye. I stumbled back, and another blow came hard and fast to my stomach. Doubling over, I fall to my knees on the ground. I hear his belt release and the swish as he pulls it through the loops. I brace for the impact, but it doesn’t come. Confused, I foolishly look over my shoulder.

James loops his belt around my throat and threads it through the buckle. I sit up, grab for the leather, grasping and pulling, barely able to slide my fingers between the leather strap and my windpipe.

“Let’s see if we can’t get you pregnant before I leave for work, shall we? Then you can stop seeing that bitch of a doctor at the clinic because no one is going to take away what belongs to me. Do you understand, Violet?” He grits between his teeth, his face close to my ear.

He shuffles my leggings and panties down to my knees, trapping my calves between his thick, muscular thighs. I hear his zipper drawn down and try not to focus on what’s coming. My primary concern is the belt and not losing consciousness. If I blackout, I leave Carter at James’s mercy.

I’ll take whatever he wants to dish out on me, but I won’t let him hurt my son.

I scream inside my head.

James grabs my left arm, ripping it from under the leather belt and forcing it to fold behind my back, wrenching my shoulder as he does. My chest hits the floor, my head tilted back, my right arm caught underneath me, still gripping the belt. A sharp pain radiates across my left shoulder, up my neck, and down my arm.

I gag as the belt pulls tighter against my fingers, sending sharp tingling sensations through each digit. I gasp for breath as my peripheral vision starts to blacken.

Fight Violet! Fucking fight it! I scream inside my head.

Tears are streaming down my face. My breathing is shallow, but I’m still conscious as James thrusts himself inside me without warning. As my skin pulls, I feel the painful sting as he stretches me, thrusting in harder and harder with each stroke.

My eyes are nearly swollen shut, my head is throbbing as I fight to keep consciousness.

James roars with his release and my heart gives a slight flutter of relief that this is almost over.

He leans over, putting his full weight on my back. An animal like sound is ripped from my throat as pain extends from my shoulder down my spine.

James chuckles.

He releases the belt from my throat and moves off my body, standing to his feet. I hear him getting dressed, but I don’t move even the slightest muscle. Once his clothes are on, he uses his booted foot to turn me over onto my side. I whimper.

“Don’t let me catch you seeing that bitch doctor again. You need to see someone you go see Dr. Woodrow. You hear me?” He kicks my stomach, and I can’t help the scream that tears out of me. It’s a sharp, piercing sound and my head feels like it’s going to explode with the force it took to make the sound.

My throat feels like I’ve swallowed glass, and it’s all I can do to keep from passing out.

“Mama! Mama!” Carter shouts from the hallway, his little fists pounding on the wooden door frantically. He twists the knob, opening the door just as James is shouting for him to go downstairs—but it’s too late. Carter is standing in the doorway, staring down at my half naked, battered and used body lying on the floor. His father, standing over me, is furiously glaring at my boy.

“Carter, run!” I shout, but my voice is nothing but a scratchy whisper now.

James catches Carter in two strides, gripping Carter’s wrist in his meaty hand. Carter grabs at James’s fingers, trying to loosen his father’s grip. He’s crying, screaming at James to let him go.

“Mama! Mama! Help!” I push up with my right arm, getting myself to a sitting position.

“You stay the fuck down,” James bellows at me. “You move an inch and swear to God I’ll snap his wrist in two.”

I freeze.

“Okay. Okay, James,” I plead, my voice so quiet I’m not sure he can hear me over his own rage and my son’s crying.

I raise my right hand. “Please, James. Let him go. He didn’t mean to barge in. He was scared. I’ll talk to him. Just please, let him go.”

James tosses Carter at me. I move to catch him but collapse, pain shooting through my arm and shoulder. My body lying limp beside him on the floor. Cater scoots as close to me as he can get, attempting to shield me.

My brave boy.

“Call the school. He’s staying home sick today.” James growls. “Talk some fucking sense into our son Violet, or so help me, I’ll do it myself.”

I nod my head. It’s all I can muster enough to do.

“I’m going to work. I want this place cleaned up when I get home. And don’t you fucking think about going to the hospital. I’ll call Dr. Woodrow to come fix you up. As for you, you little shit.” James stalks forward two steps, pointing his finger in Carter’s face. “You better learn your fucking place, or you’ll find yourself at the other end of my fist, like your mother. You got it?”

“Y-y-yes sir.”

James storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Carter goes to speak, but I quiet him with a finger to my mouth. We wait until we hear the front door close, followed by the sound of James’s cruiser leaving the driveway.

“Mama?” Carter’s soft, scared voice whispers my name.

“Carter, I need you to help me sit up. Can you do that, baby?” He nods, wiping the tears from his face with the back of his arms. He reaches his little arm under my right side and pushes me up. I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting back the groan of pain, not wanting to scare him further. Once I’m seated, I use my hand to hold Carter’s chin, keeping his eyes on mine.

“Go to the closet, and behind my shoe shelves there’s a cell phone. Get it and bring it to me. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yes ma’am.” While he runs into the closet, I scootch around on the floor, tugging my panties and my leggings back up my legs with one arm. It’s not the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do, but it’s not the hardest either. I get them up as best I can and sit, trying to catch my breath.

“Here Mama.” Carter hands me the phone. I push the button to power it on and wait.

“Baby, go get your backpack and bring it here.” He doesn’t hesitate to do as he’s told.

When he leaves the room, I open the phone app and push the contact listed as GUARDIAN.

It rings twice before a deep masculine voice says, “This is the Guardian. Angel, are you safe?”

“No. Angel and her cherub need a lift,” I repeat the code words Dr. D’Angelo made me memorize.

“I have a flight available in two hours. Take only the essentials. Your Guardian will pick you up at the rendezvous point discussed in our meeting.”

“Negative Guardian. Angel is injured. I won’t make it to the rendezvous point. The cherub needs medical attention as well. A doctor is coming to the house. I have to be here when he arrives, or he will notify my husband and the cops.”

“Fuck,” the man on the other end of the line mutters. “Standby.”

I focus on breathing through the pain as I wait for him to return to the line. It feels like time crawls. My head is pounding, my heart races as I wait to find out if they can still help me.

“Okay, Angel. When the doctor leaves, I want you to call me back. We will have Guardians in the area awaiting contact. Be ready to move immediately after contact is made. How badly are you and the cherub hurt? Are you mobile?”

“Yes. We’re mobile. I-I think my shoulder may be dislocated and I have some other bruises. I-I don’t think anything is broken. Maybe a cracked rib going by the pain I feel when I breathe deep.”

“Got it. And the cherub?”

“He’s okay. His wrist is injured. Bruised, I think, but I haven’t had a chance to really look at it.”

The doorbell rings and panic fills me.

“Mama, the doctor is here,” Carter yells up the stairs.

“Let him in,” I answer back. “I have to go. The doctor is here.” I end the call and shove the phone under the foot of the bed. When the doctor enters the room, he doesn’t show any signs of empathy or compassion. He’s one of my husband’s lackeys.

James has people in places I can’t even imagine. Cops, attorneys, judges, and apparently doctors. He can spin a story and have everyone on his side because he’s a good ol’ boy.

James Swanson. The kind, loving husband and father. Devoted to service and community. Respected Captain of the Baron’s Edge Sheriff’s Department. To the people of this town, he is the epitome of a good man.

To us—he’s the devil incarnate.

“I hear you took a nasty spill down the stairs, Mrs. Swanson. Let’s have a look.” He places his bag on the nightstand and pulls out a vial with clear liquid and a syringe.

“W-what’s that? I don’t want any drugs. Please. I need to be awake to take care of my son.”

The doctor eyes me suspiciously. Just then, Carter strolls into the room with a glass of water in his hand. He’s put a long sleeve shirt on, hiding his wrist from sight.

Smart boy.

“I brought you some water, Mama. And an ice pack.” He pulls the hard square ice pack he uses for his lunches out of his back pocket. “For your eye.” He motions, handing me the block.

I take it out of his hands and hold it to my face.

“Thank you, sweetie. You should go back to your bed since your tummy is hurting. I’ll be okay. Dr. Woodrow is going to fix me right up.” I try to put some cheeriness into my voice. Carter nods and leaves for his room.

Dr. Woodrow examines my face and neck. When he gets to my shoulder, he clicks his tongue. “I don’t think it’s dislocated. Looks to have been hyper-extended, but you’re going to want pain meds …”

“No.” I snap. “Just give me something to take later after my husband is home. I can take ibuprofen for now. I’ll be fine.”

“Very well. But you still need to get some ice on it and put it in a sling. Keep it elevated. I’ll help you up.” Dr. Woodrow stands, but as he places his arm around me and begins to lift, a sharp, searing pain shoots through my entire body and a scream rips from my throat as darkness takes me under.

I awake to the smell of ammonia, shaking my head to get away from it. My throat burns, my eyes are tearing, and all I want to do is close my eyes and ignore it all. Let the darkness have me for a while. But I can’t. I need to do something. Someone needs me.

Carter.

My eyes jolt open, and I find I’ve been moved to the bed, my bottoms fully pulled into place, and my arm is now in a sling.

“You passed out. I was able to get you situated. Your son is still in his room. If he’s not feeling well, I can have a look at him before I leave as well.”

“No. No. Thank you. He just has a tummy ache. I think he had a test today and worried himself over it. You know how kids can get themselves worked up over the smallest things.” I smile, giving him my best mama knows look. At least I hope I am. My face is swollen, so it’s highly possibly I look more like a toasted marshmallow. I have no idea.

“Very well.” Dr. Woodrow places a bottle of pills on the nightstand. “Pain meds. Take two every four to six hours as needed. Tell James to bring you by the office tomorrow for proper x-rays and care. I can only do so much from here.”

“Thank you, Doctor, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

It’s another thirty minutes before he leaves the house. I watch out the window as he pulls out of the driveway and drives away.

Jesus.

I take a deep breath, centering myself.

I’m doing this. We’re going to get out of here and we’re going to be okay. I’m doing it for Carter.

I repeat the words over and over again as I walk through the eerily quiet house, gathering my things.

Reaching under the bed, I grab the phone and dial.

“This is the Guardian. Angel, are you safe?” A masculine voice asks.

“I will be. Angel and Cherub need transport immediately.”

“Guardian transport is in motion.”

I sit on the edge of the bed and breathe the first, real deep breath of relief that someone is finally going to help us escape this hell and set us free.