Page 73

Willow

“Little Lambert is much prettier than you.” He grazed his teeth down her shoulder, pushing aside the strap of her top, then bra. He took his time, thrilled at her unease.

“Who needs you when they could have this little princess?”

Fran winced.

“Don’t touch her. This has nothing to do with—”

“No,” he barked, pushing past Fran until he crowded me again and dragged the knife down my left arm until it flattened below my palm.

He spoke as he lifted my hand with the knife.

“But it has everything to do with you. You reject me, leave the house and finances in the shit for some fresh life with your fancy boss? You take, Willow. You take and take. You took from me. You take from him. I think it’s about time I take something back, don’t you? ”

He wiggled the knife, serrated edge facing up, until my fingers fell and only the ring finger held his attention.

Beyond him, Fran struggled as quietly as possible. Her wide eyes bore into the back of his head as her hands strained to untangle themselves. Hesitant that his focus might return to her, I allowed him to continue despite the screaming voice inside my head begging me to run.

“This has healed well. If only you’d have accepted the ring to begin with. I wouldn’t have had to hurt you,” he mused as he inspected the scar on my ring finger.

Fran’s hands snapped apart from behind her, relief covering her face and she offered a nod of reassurance. My shoulders sagged as my anxiety eased slightly. He noticed the change and snapped around. Her arms returned behind her and face crumpled again.

Pride fizzled. Fran was proving to be an excellent actor, together we could figure out an escape.

Something caught my eye, and I glanced to my right, into the alcove that had haunted me, finding the old wooden bat I’d brought back from Scotland to make passing the space a little easier. It was something I’d hoped I’d never have to consider.

“Come here, Willow,” Cain instructed.

When I didn’t, he marched over, his fingers creating a vice around the back of my neck.

Forcing me across the room, he only released me when I was inches from Fran, his vigour causing me to stumble into her.

I caught myself on the metal frame of the bar stool.

Yanking me back, a hand grasped at my ponytail.

I winced as the hairs on my scalp pulled taught.

He held all control, just as he had for seven years, four months and twelve days. I clenched my eyes shut for a moment, desperate not to return to the fearful mindset I’d spent years hiding behind.

He kept hold of my hair as he rounded Fran’s stool.

With a sharp tug, he forced my head forward until I nearly clashed with Fran.

“This is how it’s going to work, little Willow—” With the knife between his fingers, he raised his right hand until the blade lay along Fran’s collarbone.

“You’re going to stand there and watch me carve her pretty little skin the same way you’ve torn apart my life. ”

He pressed the tip of the knife to her flesh. Fran’s pale skin puckered around the blade, sinking until the skin tore around metal and blood burst through. My eyes widened as Fran whimpered, droplets seeping down her skin and pooling against her white vest top.

“Please, stop.” I trembled pointlessly.

He ignored me and continued.

“This one,” he pushed the point of the blade into the cut he’d just made, causing Fran to squirm. “Is for every lie you’ve told.”

He moved the blade lower, to the swell of Fran’s left breast and forced the knife into her skin again. Muffled sobs escaped her as I desperately tried to figure out a resolution. Our eyes connected and never left, I refrained from blinking, fearful for what would happen in the split second.

“This… is for being an ungrateful bitch for seven years.”

He moved across her chest, the cuts becoming easier and more pleasurable to him, while her breaths hastened.

“Cain—” I interjected, watching Fran’s strength wither.

“This one is for rejecting the proposal. You’d have saved yourself a major headache if you’d only. Said. Yes.”

“Cain,” I bit out, my palms itching to reach out and snatch the blade.

“This,” he raised his voice over mine, “is for leaving me.” He cut the skin along her shoulder, slicing through the straps of her top and bra until they fell away.

“ Cain ,” I snapped. “Stop—”

“And this—” He pulled his arms away from both of us, stepping back until his hands were both behind Fran, his focus on her back. He took the handle in both hands.

Catching Fran’s gaze, I tipped my chin up with wide eyes.

The action was subtle but full of instruction, hoping the message would reach her.

She blinked, allowing a tear to fall to her lips, which quirked with a hint of a smile.

With my hand hanging by my side, I raised three fingers and watched his head move behind her.

Cain ogled her back, like he couldn’t choose where to make his next cut. With his decision finally secured, he stepped forward again. I dropped one finger as he brushed Fran’s hair aside with contradictory delicateness. I dropped a second finger.

“— this is for picking him instead of me.”

I dropped the third and final finger.