Page 13 of Echo, the Sniper (Men of PSI #2)

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Rory

Oh, God.

I’d done everything right. The pan-seared lamb chops were perfect, seasoned with sea salt, fresh thyme, cracked pepper and smoked paprika.

I’d deglazed the pan with wine and made a flavorful sauce that sent curls of steam and mouth-watering goodness into the air.

Bacon-wrapped asparagus and garlic-smashed potatoes were already plated, and both the water goblets and wine glasses were full and waiting on the dining room table.

But it was 6:31.

And that was too late.

Nothing would save me now.

Maybe he’s not home yet, I thought desperately, literally running through the kitchen with the plates. Maybe it would be all right. Maybe he hadn’t noticed the time and he wouldn’t correct me. I hated it when he corrected me.

I came through the butler’s pantry, and nearly laughed out loud in sheer relief when I saw that the dining room was empty. I’d made it. Oh, thank God I’d made it. I began to quietly cry in relief. Everything was—

“Do you have any idea,” came a silken voice behind me, “what time it is, wife?”

The tears of relief froze as my stomach dropped so hard it was a wonder it didn’t hit the floor. My pulse zoomed into the stratosphere as fear prickled my skin with an ice so intense it hurt.

Too late.

Too late, too late, too late, too late, too late...

“I don’t ask for much, because it’s exhausting being disappointed by you every time I turn around. I’ve learned to ask for small things, like dinner at 6:30. That’s all. Just dinner at 6:30. Do you know what time it is, Aurora? Can that fucking idiotic brain of yours even tell the time?”

The plates began to quake, so I tightened my grip on them out of fear of dropping them.

If I made a mess, my punishment would be compounded tenfold.

My breath began to shudder as I slowly turned my head to where the voice emanated behind me.

Slowly, because I’d learned that turning into an oncoming fist made it hurt so much more.

There he was, just like I knew he would be. Dane. My husband. My monster. My everlasting regret and the creature that had taught me how to hate.

Oh God, please don’t let him kill me.

He stood, arms crossed over a chest covered in blood. He leaned next to the archway I’d just blasted through, clearly waiting for me to appear with eyes gleaming with a terrible, unholy anticipation of what was to come.

My correction.

My punishment.

Nevertheless, I tried to find a way out. “Dane, no. I’m on time, the kitchen clock says I’m right on time—”

“And now you’re correcting me. Wow.” The thin slash of his nearly lipless mouth curled Joker-style.

My stomach sank as I realized I’d only made my punishment worse.

“Tell me, Aurora. Which person in this room has more than a high school diploma? Me. Who’s not some bullshit loser college dropout?

Me. Who’s the breadwinner around here? Me. ”

To be fair, part of the marriage arrangement had been his insistence that I drop out of college to become a fulltime housewife, but I knew better than to correct his skewed rewriting of my history. No matter how unfair his statement was, correcting him again was nothing short of suicide.

Instead I tried to smile placatingly while a terrible dread sank into the pit of my stomach. I knew what was coming. Of course I knew. But if I could manage to hold it off, maybe I could distract him... “Dinner is ready now and it turned out really well. Why don’t we sit—”

He moved shockingly fast, as I knew he would, because I’d learned that Dane loved sucker punches.

One second he was leaning casually against the wall, the next he was lunging toward me, and I got only a glimpse of his fist before it smashed into my cheekbone right under my left eye.

Even though I’d been expecting it, I still wasn’t able to dodge the worst of it.

Agony bloomed even as the plates, with all that perfectly plated food I’d worked so hard on, went crashing to the floor right along with me.

Pain jolted in my wrist as I caught myself awkwardly from face-planting on the floor.

With a dread-filled terror that squeezed my heart until it could barely beat, I put a hand to my battered cheek and looked over my shoulder as my husband loomed over me.

He seemed to grow as I watched, the blood from his chest wound cascading from him in a nightmarish waterfall until the dining room began to puddle with it.

He grew bigger still, safe from the flood of red, while I stayed on the ground like the worm I was. So small. So...

Insignificant.

Nothing.

“You want to eat?” His voice deepened, reverberating through my chest like rolling thunder. “You can eat. Eat off the floor like the stupid bitch you are. If you don’t, you don’t get to eat for the rest of the week, do you understand me?”

Humiliation bit into me, its vicious teeth bearing down all the way to my soul. “P-please, Dane, don’t make me eat off the floor. Please—”

“Get on your hands and knees, bitch, and put your face in that food, you understand? Lap it up like the dumb animal you are, and don’t use your hands or I’ll kick the shit out of you, I swear to fucking Christ I will.”

Slowly, horribly, I began to roll over onto my knees and hands, despair filling every part of me, because I knew what I was going to do of my own volition. Just as I knew I’d never be the same after this. “Please, Dane, please. Please don’t make me do this. Please, please—”

Please leave me my dignity. Just that. Please...

“Get your face down into it, doggie. Lick that shit up.” His smile was wild now, gleeful in its malice.

With sinking hopelessness, I watched his hand reach down toward my head, fingers splayed impossibly wide, to smash my face into the hot food mingled with blood on the floor. “Lick it up. Lick it up. LICK IT UP.”

“Wake up. Rory, wake up.”

“Please don’t!” Frantically I hit out, flailing blindly to keep my monster from turning me into something even lower than I already was.

A nothing. A subhuman thing that wasn’t worthy of dignity or respect.

A mindless, chained animal numbly waiting to die.

I kicked and pushed and cried out, fighting for whatever was left of my humanity.

“Rory, stop. You’re okay. It’s just a dream, you’re okay.

You’re safe.” Strong arms wrapped around me, a living straitjacket.

The scent of leather and soap flooded my senses, and it was nothing like Dane’s starkly basil-type scent that always made my sinuses burn.

And while there was strength in the arms holding me, there was nothing painful or punishing about it.

They just... held me. Pulled me against a chest that was hard and warm, and I rested against it like that’s what I was made to do.

I never fit against Dane like that. Heaven knew Dane never held me like this, so this wasn’t Dane. Dane was dead.

Thank God.

Echo held me with strength tempered with gentleness. Like he thought I might shatter if he squeezed too tightly, while at the same time making me feel like nothing could get past his sheltering arms to get to me.

Was this what safety felt like?

It had been so long since I’d felt it, I didn’t know anymore.

“I’m fine.” My breath came like I’d just run a mile and I could feel the tremors shaking my body. Way to prove how not fine I was. “I’m fine.”

“Shh.” His hand made slow, comforting circles on the center of my back, and delicious warmth spread like magic through my body.

“Rory, I need you to listen to me now, yeah? It’s okay to not be okay.

It’s okay to have bad dreams. You’ve gone through a lot of trauma in the past twenty-four hours.

Anyone would have bad dreams about it. Give yourself permission to work your way through it. ”

“I didn’t dream about the fire, or anything that’s happened recently. It’s... it’s a recurring dream. Or nightmare. Whatever.”

“Tell me about it.” Circle, circle, circle .

That hand at my back was downright hypnotic, easing the tension out of my muscles.

Seriously, the man could make some major bank as a masseuse with those magic fingers of his.

“Talking about bad dreams takes their power away. That’s what my abuela always told me. ”

“What if it’s a memory?” My voice was small. Small, like Dane had made me feel. With the ghost of his fist still buzzing along my cheek and my hands and knees still hurting from being made to be on them, I was sure I’d be small for the rest of my life. “How can I make bad memories stop hurting me?”

“Same thing. Talk to me.”

At last I slanted him a look. Until now, all I’d been able to do was stare unseeingly at his collar. “It can’t be that easy.”

“It also can’t do any harm. Come on, talk. I’ll listen.”

“It’s...” Humiliating. Horrifying. Shameful. Take your pick . “Nothing.”

The arms around me tightened. “You were screaming in your sleep, Rory. Screaming and crying. And when I woke you up, you tried to take me out like you were fighting for your life.”

“More like my dignity, but I lost that a long time ago.” Then I bit my lip. I hated myself, knowing what I’d allowed Dane to do to me. I didn’t want Echo to hate me too. Or worse, pity me. “Please drop it.”

He tilted his head, as if giving it some thought.

“As much as I’d like to give you your space, I need to know all that I can about the body I’m guarding.

That means knowing what triggers you, in case we run into a scenario that makes you flip out and I can’t keep you adequately covered because you’re losing your shit. ”

“I doubt I’ll lose my shit over what my dream-slash-memory was about.”

“How do I know that?”