Page 28 of Echo, the Sniper (Men of PSI #2)

Oral Argument

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T HE SMELL OF PAN-SEARED lamb chops perfumed the air, mingling with the rich scents of bacon with the earthier undertone of the asparagus. Even the garlic smashed potatoes were exactly as they should be—not too lumpy, not too smooth. Perfect.

Then I glanced at the clock.

6:30.

Shocked horror stabbed me like an icy dagger. How did it get so late? Sweat broke out all over, prickling along the length of my spine. I thought I had more time.

But I could still do it. I had one minute.

I could do a lot in one minute.

The plates were spotless, and it took no time at all to serve up everything, the food steaming to prove nothing was too cold to eat. It was perfect.

It had to be perfect.

The sound of my heartbeat thundered in my ears as I turned toward the kitchen door, refusing to take another peek at the clock. But I stopped in my tracks in utter dismay as the door I needed to get through stretched so far away I could barely see it.

No!

My grip tightened on my perfect plates as I broke into an all-out run.

I didn’t give a damn about myself; all that mattered was that I get the plates on the table.

I’d served everything so perfectly, the food was the best I’d ever made.

It had to get to the table on time and then it would be appreciated.

I needed these plates and their effort-filled perfection to be appreciated.

I couldn’t breathe by the time I at last burst through the kitchen door, gasping hard yet unable to fill my lungs.

Frantically I checked the table—new candles lit, fresh flower centerpiece, water and wine goblets filled and silver chargers with all the silverware in the proper place.

But that didn’t matter. What mattered were the plates I held, and everything I’d poured into them.

That was what was important. Not me. But what I held was enough.

It had to be.

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

My blood froze. I froze, and it hurt . It was worse than not being able to breathe. It was the abject fear of something special being destroyed. All the deliciousness I’d created didn’t deserve to be destroyed. It didn’t...

The plates I held trembled, but I didn’t drop them as I slowly turned, looking fearfully over my shoulder even though I didn’t want to see what was there.

A huge clock I didn’t remember being in the dining room hung over Dane’s neatly groomed head. A vicious, teeth-bearing smile stretched all the way across his face, showing too many teeth that I knew instinctively he wanted to use on me to tear me apart.

Monster. He’s a monster...

“6:31, wife.” His hands were behind his back, his thin chest out, and suddenly the white shirt he wore soaked through with blood, but like the monster he was, he didn’t notice. He took only one step and was suddenly right in front of me. Grinning. Menacing.

He was loving this.

That was when it hit me for the first time—he didn’t give a damn about the plates of food I’d poured my heart and soul into just to make him happy. He never had. What he cared about was this manufactured opportunity to tear me apart.

Because that’s what monsters did.

But still I had to try. “I-I’m not late, Dane. See? I have the food right here, and if you’ll just give it a chance you’ll see how good it is. Let’s just sit down and eat—”

“Oh, you’ll eat it, Aurora.” With his cruel, unblinking eyes never leaving mine, he smacked the plates I protected so diligently.

My heart—my soul—lurched in desperation as that precious cargo flew from my hands as if in slow motion, and all at once I realized why it felt so catastrophic to have those plates fall to ruin.

Over time, I had been reduced—as both a woman and a human that deserved basic decency.

Now I could only measure my worth by how well I fed a man who never appreciated the effort.

He’d trained me to believe I didn’t even deserve that appreciation.

All I had now was the feeble hope that I could make a meal so perfect I wouldn’t be punished for it. That was how low my bar had become.

How low I had become.

But then he went and knocked those plates to the ground, my perfect, perfect plates.

Worse, he’d knocked them to the floor like they were nothing.

Like I was nothing. I had attached my self-worth to them, hoping they would be good enough to earn myself a pain-free night.

Now it was on the floor, untasted. Unappreciated.

My worth...

It was now garbage.

Because that was how he made it.

As I stared at the ruined dinner splattered all over the floor, a terrible rage began to boil.

“I eat at 6:30, but you eat at 6:31, Aurora, with the rest of the animals of the world.” The monster, my husband, breathed through those rows of too many teeth so that the air whistled. It sounded like he’d swallowed a chorus of demons. “On. Your. Knees.”

I knew what was coming. Oh God, I knew. “Please, Dane—”

His hand whipped out, too fast to dodge.

The hit spun me around, and I stumbled half-blindly toward the kitchen door with the dim hope of escaping him.

But before I knew it, I was somehow on the floor, my knees and hands hitting so hard my bones rattled.

Then his fingers fisted in my hair so hard I heard the unmistakable sound of some of my hair being ripped from my head.

“Eat up, Aurora,” the monster screeched in my ear, and though I couldn’t see it, I could hear that gleefully cruel smile in his voice. “If you don’t eat it all up now, you won’t eat for a week, so lap it up, bitch. Lap it up like the useless animal you are.”

NO.

Every part of me screamed that word with a strength that shocked me, my muscles locking even as he tried to push my face to the floor. No, I wasn’t an animal, or useless. No, I hadn’t done anything wrong. No, I wouldn’t let him force me to eat off the damn floor.

This wasn’t fair.

This wasn’t right.

He wasn’t right.

“No.” It didn’t come out pleading, begging for him to leave me just one last meager shred of dignity. That would have been merciful, and Dane had no mercy in him. Monsters never did, so begging was pointless.

With that one word, what came out of me was... denial. Refusal. The first stirrings of rebellion.

And it felt good .

“No, Dane. No.” Somehow I found the strength to keep my face a few inches off the floor. Then a few inches more. With everything in me, I strained to keep my head up. He may have knocked me and my plates onto the ground, but by God I would find a way to keep my head up.

I could do this , I told myself while my neck muscles strained and popped and tore themselves to shreds. I could...

“I will always win, Aurora, because I hold all the cards,” he breathed in my ear. A horrific weight slammed down on the back of my head, and the floor came rushing up to smash my face—

I tore at the air, my head straining back as I jack-knifed my body so hard the world shook.

“Easy, Rory, easy. You don’t want to push us off the bed. You’re okay, you hear me? You’re safe.”

“What...?” The dining room floor faded away, and it dawned on me that it hadn’t been the world that shook, but the bed I was in.

The nondescript ceiling was awash in the muted pearl-gray light of a newborn dawn.

My legs were tangled in not just a white duvet, but in a pair of much longer set of naked legs sprinkled with a dusting of black hair.

Strong arms held me against a steely wall of a chest, giving me the sensation that I would have been safe, even if an entire army had decided to attack there. I was infinitely protected.

Echo. Echo is here.

Relief hit like a shockwave, like it always did when I realized I wasn’t on the floor scrambling to hold onto the last scrap of my dignity.

But for the first time, I didn’t burst into humiliated, hopeless tears.

Ripples of that remembered humiliation were still there—God, yes, and I feared deep in my soul it would never vanish completely.

But this time it wasn’t so overwhelming that it was all I felt.

That was how the dream usually worked; in its aftermath, I mostly just curled up into a ball and prayed the humiliation would finally drown me and that would be the end of it.

But this time I felt something else. Something equal to the shameful loss of my dignity.

Rage.

“There we go.” The hand smoothing my hair never lost its gentle rhythm as my hiccupping gasps eased.

His touch... It was amazing how completely different his touch was from anything I’d ever experienced.

Soothing. Comforting. Almost loving. “You know where you are now, right, Rory? You know you’re okay? ”

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” My voice was hoarse, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d screamed him awake. Not exactly the sexiest morning-after moment. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“We’ve talked about not apologizing for things that aren’t your fault, and how we’re doing our best not to do that anymore, yeah?

Because only shitheels want apologies they’re not owed, and as far as I know, there are no shitheels in this room.

” He gave me a quick squeeze. “Now’s the time for you to agree with me on that, baby girl. ”

“There are definitely no shitheels in this room.” To my utter shock, I chuckled. I may have sounded like I gargled with gravel, but it was the real deal. “There’s just an amazing man and the woman who won’t let him get any sleep.”

“You did keep me up well past my bedtime with that booming body of yours. I’m not complaining though, because I’m not an idiot.” He straightened a little so that he was now propped up on the headboard, while he cradled me more securely against him. “Do me a quick favor and tell me where you are.”

I blinked, confused. “What?”

“Where are you, Rory?”

Again I looked around the room, so peaceful in the sleepy hush of a newly dawning day. “I’m in a hotel room. In Denver, Colorado.”