Page 28 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)

Aaron doesn’t seem to share my evaluation. He shoves me aside and turns to her. “Lady, this is family business, nothing to do with you. Now get out of here before I fuck you up.”

She straightens and puts a fancily manicured hand over her chest. “Fuck me up?” She points at Aaron. “You?”

“Yeah, me.” His chest puffs out like he’s a rooster gearing up for a fight.

She snickers. Genuine amusement glitters in her eyes. Every hair on my body stands.

Suddenly she lashes out, a backhand that connects with Aaron’s face hard enough to make a cracking sound. His head snaps to the side and he bends slightly, covering his mouth with one hand. She steps closer and kicks his balls with a stiletto.

He screams and falls, curling onto one side.

“Say it again.” Her voice is calm, almost dulcet. “Say you’re going to fuck me up.” Another kick, this time to his stomach.

He groans, wrapping his arms around his belly.

“Come on. Say it and I’ll stop.” She smiles, not even breathing hard.

She’s lying. The steely glint in her ice-cold eyes says she won’t stop until she’s convinced Aaron’s learned his lesson.

Red spreads on his hands. I squint. What the…? I let out a gasp when it hits me— blood! Her shoes aren’t just any old footwear.

“Stop it!” I say. “You’re going to kill him!” Aaron’s a horrible human being, but he doesn’t deserve to die.

She frowns in confusion. “So?”

So?

“What’s wrong with that?”

My throat dries. “Because…” I cast about helplessly. “Murder is bad…?”

“Oh, sweetie.” She laughs. “Murder isn’t bad. Getting caught is.”

“You’ll get caught! The body alone… There are security cameras inside the hotel—the cops are going to know!”

“Cameras, a body…” She shrugs, her palms turned upward. “Do you think he’d be the first body I’ve had to bury?”

My knees tremble. Oh my God.

“You look like you’re about to lose your room service, so I’ll let him live. But you’ll need a stronger stomach if you want to bear a great-grandchild for my father.”

What? I just stare, unable to process.

She kicks Aaron one last time. He remains limp, doesn’t even moan anymore.

“How did you get in?” I ask shakily.

“The door was open. You should keep it closed for security.”

“Right.” I’m never opening one again without checking first.

“You should be grateful. You’re lucky I dropped by when I did. Imagine what could’ve happened.” She saunters to the room service table, looks at the empty cup of coffee and tsks. “And you shouldn’t drink coffee when you’re trying to get pregnant. It’s not good for the fetus.”

“I’m not trying to get pregnant.”

“Not trying?” She turns her head, the motion like that of a possessed doll.

“Why do you think I sent you? Not so you could just enjoy his body, you stupid whore. You better not have lied to me. You’d better be ovulating, and you better have ensured he came without condoms. He should’ve emptied every one of his swimmers into you last night.

Wouldn’t have been able to find any respite without being balls deep. ”

The more she says, the more lost I become. I’ve never even met this woman before. But there are enough clues for me to figure one thing out. “Are you talking about Bryce?”

“Obviously. I already have someone else working on Josh.” She tilts her head, her arctic eyes studying me up and down.

“Although…you’re sort of disappointing. I thought I was going to get somebody with bigger tits, a tighter waist and longer legs.

A bit more flair and sex appeal. You’re sort of… drab. Small tits. Slightly paunchy.”

My jaw drops at the way she catalogues what she perceives to be my flaws in that flat tone.

“You like dairy, don’t you?” she says, waving a hand vaguely in my direction as she heads to the minibar. “The extra fat around your hips.” She sighs, then pulls out a bottle of Merlot and studies the label while twirling a corkscrew between her long fingers. “I want the best for my son. ”

Son?

“He deserves better. You’re…” She twirls the corkscrew in the air.

“You’re Bryce’s mom ?”

“Of course. The Zoe Dunkel, in the flesh. Couldn’t you tell? We look alike.” Her smile dares me to disagree.

I can still see Aaron’s prone body on the floor in my peripheral vision. I keep my mouth shut.

“Did he even fuck you last night? How many times did he come inside you?”

Nausea roils through my stomach. “That’s disgusting. He’s your son.”

Her eyes narrow. “Take off your robe. Let me see.”

“What?” I cross my arms. “No!”

She strikes before I can take my next breath.

Her hand grasps the robe lapel, her forearm putting enough pressure on my neck to cut off some of the air.

I stumble backward, with her pushing forward, until my back slams into the wall.

I start to twist away, then scream when she raises the corkscrew toward my face.

I squeeze my eyes shut and jerk my head to the side, praying she slashes my cheek rather than something more important.

“Stop being ridiculous and open your eyes before I gouge them out.” Her licorice breath fans over my cheek, sending chills down my spine.

Adrenaline burns in my veins. I shake from the need to run or flee, neither of which is possible. She’s much stronger than she looks.

Panting, I obey, then inhale sharply. My heart pounds a thousand beats a minute at the sight of the corkscrew a hairsbreadth away from my left eye.

“Open. Your. Robe,” she commands. “No argument unless you want to go blind. You don’t need eyes to bear children.”

I undo the belt with trembling hands. Humiliation and fear clutch my throat. I spread the robe, thinking of her violent attack earlier. She’s still gripping the lapel, so I can only open it so much. Or so I plan to tell her if she gets upset.

Her eyes glide from my chest to belly to crotch.

She sniffs, then wrinkles her nose. “Good. I guess you did all right after you gave him the meds. At least you aren’t totally useless.

” Her tone says that useless people don’t get to live.

She eases the pressure off my neck and takes half a step back, although the corkscrew remains perilously close to my eye.

My eyelashes flutter, the sensation of brushing against the cold metal sickening. A sob catches in my throat. My eyes burn from keeping them open, but I don’t dare blink.

“Here.” The woman drops a small Ziploc bag full of powder into my bathrobe pocket. “Use this next time. It’s more potent than the compound from last night. And remember: there are other girls after him. Whoever gets pregnant with his baby first wins.”

My mind freezes with shock and disbelief. She’s psychopathic. Absolutely mad.

“Since you did well last night, I’m going to do you a favor.

I’ll clean up that trash, still breathing, because you seem fond of him.

But you should warn him—the next time he manhandles you, he’s dead.

I’m not risking anything happening to my key to the kingdom.

” Her gaze drops to my belly briefly, then she tosses the corkscrew on the floor and struts away, dragging Aaron by his collar on her way out.

When the door shuts behind her, I wrap the robe tightly around myself and drop to the floor. I stick my head between my knees and focus on breathing as my heart races faster. The adrenaline still sizzles in my veins. Just what the hell was that?

Wait a minute… She said I gave Bryce “meds.” Given the way she spoke, I doubt she wanted to feed him Tylenol.

He was insatiable last night, refusing to go limp, drowning me in orgasms once he realized edging me wasn’t going to earn him a kiss.

She drugged him—her own son. So that he’d impregnate some random girl.

I cover my mouth as another wave of nausea roils. What kind of people do things like that? Has she done it before? Does he know it was his mother who drugged him?

That might explain why he waited until I was up and ordered room service and Epsom salts. He probably felt guilty about the entire incident.

Why didn’t he warn me, so I’d be prepared? Now I’m on his mother’s radar. She’s seen me—and worse, has taken Aaron, who’d sell me out in a heartbeat just to see me suffer—and thinks I’m going to give her a grandchild.

No. A great-grandchild for her father.

Oh God. Uncontrollable tremors rack through me. What do I do now? Can I even run? Will that psycho woman let me?

As my predicament becomes clearer, resentment and anger start to rear their heads.

Bryce has to know his mother isn’t normal, but he dragged me into it anyway.

If another girl drugged him last night, he could’ve just spent the night with her and left me out of it.

We don’t have the kind of relationship that requires fidelity.

And getting entangled with his Looney Tunes mom wasn’t part of the deal, damn it.

I jump to my feet and put on my clothes—or try to. The underwear is ruined, and the only things still intact are my trench coat and shoes. I slip into them, cinching the belt tightly. I open the Uber app, my fingers clumsy with nerves.

The question on the screen: Where to?

The burst of energy that got me moving drains away. I lean against the wall, then slowly slide down until my butt hits the floor. My teeth dig into my lip until it bleeds. I look out across the room and out the window to the vast panorama of Los Angeles spread out below.

I have nowhere to go.