Page 31 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)

Fiona

I stand outside Bryce’s gates and stare at the security pad. I don’t have the code or anything. Didn’t need one to leave his place last night, and I didn’t think to get one when I walked out of the hotel room in panic and fury.

I bought a shirt and skirt, along with some underwear, and walked around the city until it started to get dark, then called for an Uber.

The easiest solution would be to contact Bryce and ask him for the gate code, but I don’t want to be in touch with him until I’ve decided what my next step should be.

Is there a good next step?

The gates open and a modest car comes out. I trot over and wave at the driver. A man with a straw hat lowers the window and squints at me suspiciously, a thick-knuckled hand resting on the steering wheel. “Yes?”

“Hi. I’m Fiona. I’m Bryce’s”—my voice falters as I search for a suitable word: plaything, sex partner, debtor, friend ?—“ex-girlfriend.”

The man’s eyes sweep over me, taking in my disheveled hair and the trench coat. “He didn’t say anything about anyone coming over.” He could’ve easily said, “You look like a freak and I’m calling 911,” in the same voice .

“I’m actually staying here for a bit. Can’t really go home.”

He nods slowly. “Is that a fact?”

“I’m not a weirdo, I swear. And I really am staying here. The backyard has really pretty shrub roses. Red. I saw them earlier. And if you let me into the house, I can show you my clothes in one of the upstairs bedrooms.”

“Oh.” He blinks in surprise, then gives me another once-over. “Bryce doesn’t bring women over. Been with him five years and never seen one.”

What? Given Bryce’s sexual appetite, it’s hard to believe. Maybe he likes to take them to hotels. “Well, he brought me over. I couldn’t have known what he has in the backyard otherwise.” A tall, thick wall surrounds the entire mansion.

The man chews his lip for a moment. “All right, I guess. But you can’t go into the house. Housekeeper set the alarm before leaving.”

“That’s fine. I’ll just wait in the yard.”

The man nods and lets me walk past the gates.

I sigh with relief and weariness, then head to the backyard.

My calf muscles ache from so much walking.

Stilettos aren’t very practical for long hikes.

I toe off my shoes and lie on the freshly mown grass, staring up at the darkening sky.

The evening breeze carries the scent of the surrounding roses.

Suddenly I realize I’m smiling, and I smack my forehead. What’s wrong with me? I’m entirely too pleased that Bryce hasn’t brought any woman over in the last five years. I’ve already decided I have no territorial feelings about him. I’m not entitled to them.

Besides, there’s a bigger problem: his mom’s threats and what to do about them. Bryce suggested we marry, but that’s got to be the worst solution. He must’ve regretted it as soon as he blurted it out.

I’m still pissed that he didn’t tell me about the possibility of running into his psychotic mom, but now, anger isn’t the only thing I’m feeling.

It must’ve been incredibly hard to have a mother like that.

Just like I couldn’t choose how I was born, he couldn’t choose whom he was born to.

Apparently she stayed away for a while, but she must’ve raised him when he was little.

The first time I saw the nice, off-campus house that he and his twin brother shared, with its sizable yard, I thought he must’ve been raised in luxury and thoroughly spoiled by his wealthy and powerful family.

After all, who at Harvard hasn’t heard of the Huxleys?

But now, after actually meeting his psychopathic mother…

His childhood might not have been much better than mine.

Still…marriage? Just the idea is wild. We don’t even like each other. Well, he certainly doesn’t like me, and I doubt anything will change that. The things that I did to him… If he’d done them to me, I’m not certain I could forgive him.

Jude wanted to make sure I couldn’t go back to Bryce, even if I managed to break free from his own clutches. Asshole . I almost wish it were Jude who’d come to the hotel to confront me. He deserves a beating more than Aaron.

I hope Bryce’s kick at the wedding crippled Jude for life—or at least causes him lifelong pain.

My phone pings, and I tense. Bryce? I’m not ready to talk to him yet.

–Sherry: Are you really all right? Where are you, Finn? I thought you’d be back by now. I’ve been offering incense and prayers.

I sag a little. Not Bryce, but not somebody I want to talk to right now, either. I’m actually a little surprised Sherry finally remembered my existence and texted. She didn’t even glance in my direction when I took Bryce’s hand at the wedding.

Many girls I grew up with said they turned to their moms, sisters or best friends when they needed to discuss something.

I didn’t have any of those. Sherry’s always been too obsessed with getting good karma for Finley’s reincarnation.

I’m never certain what she sees when she looks at me—a girl she’s adopted or Finley.

To be honest, Zachary probably never knew either.

Girls my age didn’t like to open up to someone who was awkward and standoffish.

Besides, many of them knew I was adopted, and some probably heard the reason from their parents’ gossip.

L.A. is a big city, but its wealthy elite social circle is small.

Girls whispered and speculated, but they didn’t befriend someone like me.

–Me: I’m fine. I’m sorry about the way the ceremony ended.

–Sherry: So you’re really okay? You haven’t come home.

–Me: I’ve been staying with a college friend. Are you okay? Nobody’s tried to hurt you ?

The loan sharks still haven’t gotten back to me. I make a mental note to text them again.

–Sherry: Not that I know of. I’ve been away to offer incense.

Of course. She needs to pray to make Finley’s next life better. Apparently, the fragrance from the burning incense is supposed to honor Buddha and incinerate “negativities.” Anything beyond that is also beyond me—I’m not well versed in the religion the way Sherry is.

The memory of the harsh way Zoe attacked Aaron flashes in my head.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping Sherry won’t have to pray for Aaron’s reincarnation as well.

As horrible as he is, no mother deserves to bury another child.

And no amount of incense will ever provide Aaron with a better life, given what a horrible human being he is.

He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get reborn as a cockroach’s lower intestine.

–Me: Did Aaron come home?

–Sherry: No. I haven’t heard from him since last night. Why?

–Me: Did he text you or anything?

–Sherry: No. What’s wrong, Finn? Did he do something?

Oh, did he ever.

–Me: No, just wondering. Can you text me when he gets in touch with you or comes home?

–Sherry: OK. But wouldn’t it be easier if you just text him?

–Me: I’ll try.

I won’t try, but I don’t want to have a debate with Sherry. She’s convinced her son is an angel. I just want to make sure Zoe hasn’t killed him.

I put the phone down and drape an arm over my eyes. How did my life go from making videos for social media to promote cheese to my being chased by loan sharks and my ex’s lunatic mother?

And Bryce’s proposal is ridiculous. Us? Married?

No. I shake my head. It isn’t happening.

My phone pings again. I lift it fast, hoping it’s Sherry telling me Aaron’s finally home.

–Unknown: You fucking lied to me.

What?

–Unknown: You aren’t the merchandise I picked for my son. How dare you trick me !

Tension wrings my gut.

–Me: Is the guy you took still alive?

–Unknown: How am I supposed to know?

My palms dampen with cold sweat. I should’ve expected this sort of response based on her actions at the Aylster.

–Me: I can tell the cops what you did to him. And your threats.

–Unknown: And I can carve your tongue out of your mouth and hang it up on my rearview mirror. Don’t write a check you can’t cash, little girl.

The air thins in my lungs.

–Unknown: Did my son even fuck you properly? Aaron says Bryce hates you and will never have you as the mother of his child.

–Unknown: Answer me!

–Unknown: You think you can ignore me? Think you’re so special?

My breathing roughens.

–Unknown: You screwed around on him. Infidelity is unforgivable. I’ve been faithful to Prescott since our divorce, even though he remarried that mealy-faced hypocrite.

–Unknown: I should’ve killed you at the hotel.

–Unknown: Stay away from my son if you value your life.

–Unknown: Actually, I’ll kill you anyway for hurting my son in college. You don’t get to abuse my precious baby. My prince, my good boy.

Three dots appear, signaling more insults and threats are heading my way. I block the number and drop my shaking hand. I was hoping she’d never find out who I was, but of course Aaron sold me out.

Bile rises in my throat. I curl up on my side and gag a little, even though nothing comes up. I doubt she knows where I live, but it’s only a matter of time before she finds out. Will she really kill me? Will she hurt someone else to get to me? She wouldn’t touch Bryce, but what about Sherry?

Although she’s never been an attentive parent, she doesn’t deserve to be tortured by someone like Zoe. Now I wonder what she’ll do to the girl who was supposed to have slept with Bryce last night. It’s clear she doesn’t regard any of us as human beings, just tools.

I start to stand, to pull myself together .

Another pinging from my phone—and my mouth dries.

–Unknown: Did you just block me, you disrespectful wretch?

–Unknown: You’re so fucking dead.

–Unknown: You’re next.

A photo pops up. A bloody finger on a gray concrete floor, with poor fluorescent lighting. I scream. The phone slips from my grip. I press a hand over my racing heart. Horror pumps through my veins. Oh my God. What the hell was that ?

I reach out with a trembling hand and pick up my phone, then study the picture carefully, clenching my teeth to avoid hurling.

The finger is long and slim with a long, lacquered pink nail. Not Aaron’s. Is this from the girl who was supposed to have slept with Bryce last night? My pulse accelerates.

I feel sick. Clammy sweat mists over my spine.

A feeling of overpowering helplessness wells up, and I clench my hands, hating it.

When I left Harvard, I vowed I’d never let myself be swept away by other people’s actions and decisions.

I moved to Wisconsin to reclaim my life.

But ever since Zachary died, I’ve let circumstances and other people dictate my life to the point that I’m stuck with a guy who hates me, dealing with a psycho who sends me a picture of a bloody, severed finger and being told I have to head into marriage that’s doomed to fail to ostensibly keep me safe.

Lights come on inside the house. Bryce is home.

The pent-up frustration, fear, bitterness and impotence erupts like a volcano. I march up to the window and knock. “Bryce! We need to talk!”