Free Broken Illusions (His Agenda Volume 3) by Dori Lavelle Page B

breath, “that was better than I imagined it would be after all this time. You still have it.” He pulled the rag out of my mouth and laid the palm of his hand on my cheek. “I wanted it to end here, tonight, to just kill us both and move on to another world, but I liked this. I think we should spend a little more time on Earth.”
    “You won’t get away with this.” I wet my dry lips. I figured I might as well say what was on my mind. What did I have to lose? In this moment, some part of me wanted him to finish me off. At this point death would be better than what I had endured, what I might have to endure for the rest of my life. “Dustin.” I swallowed my tears. “Dustin is on his way. You will pay for this.”
    “No one will come for you, sweetheart. I run your life, remember? As far as everyone is concerned, you’re out of town. You’ll be shooting a wedding in Texas tomorrow, one you had forgotten about. You won’t be back until Sunday evening. I sent all the necessary messages with your phone.”
    I gasped and fresh tears filled my eyes. “You have my phone.” It was not a question.
    “That’s right, my love. I needed to have you all to myself. I will be the last man you’ll ever be with—your husband, as it should be. Now let’s pretend we’re on our second honeymoon.”
     

Chapter Twenty-Two
    Haley
     
    Jude raised himself onto his elbow and kissed my neck. I didn’t budge, simply stared up at the ceiling. He drew back and looked down at me.
    “I don’t like you like this.” His voice was low and tortured. “I can smell him on you.” He meant Dustin.
    I said nothing.
    “Don’t you hear me?” His voice hardened.
    I swallowed the sob inside my throat. “What do you want me to do?”
    He got to his feet, towering over me as he zipped up his pants. “Get up.”
    I stayed put and looked away. Angered by my disobedience, he grabbed me by the arm and yanked me to my feet. My legs had no strength so I sank back down. That didn’t deter him. He tightened his strong fingers around my arm and dragged me across the floor. I had a choice: be dragged around or force myself to stand.
    Groaning with pain that raged everywhere in my body, I attempted to get to my feet, even if he was moving too fast and I kept stumbling. I gritted my teeth when the handcuffs rubbed against the skin of my wrists.
    Before we reached the door to the kitchen, I spotted the maple block displaying its gleaming kitchen knives. If my hands hadn’t been handcuffed, it would have been within arm’s reach. A vision of myself reaching for one of the knives and jamming it into his neck flashed before me. The desire to stab him and watch him suffer a slow death burned like liquid fire through my veins. My hopes crashed when he pulled me through the door in the direction of my bedroom. He knew my place. He’d been here, God knew how many times.
    In the moment my foot hit a standing vase and it crashed to the wooden floor and shattered, it all became clear to me. All those times I’d thought I was being paranoid—the weird things that had happened around me, the unmade bed, the panties inside the fridge—I was right. I had told myself I was being silly, but my instincts were correct.
    He slammed the door of the room shut, pulled me to my feet, and shoved me onto the bed. My wrists screamed with pain. While I lay on the bed, he strode to the door and locked it, tossing the key into his pocket. He returned to me before I had a chance to collect myself, to think of a way to get away from him.
    With a crease between his brows, he focused on the job at hand. He sliced off the rest of my clothes first. I cried out when the cold blade touched my boiling skin.
    Once I was fully naked, I attempted to curl up into the fetal position as a way to protect myself, or maybe guard whatever was left of my dignity.
    “I’m your husband. No need to be self-conscious.” He swept his gaze over my body. “You’re still so damn sexy. But you