Free Tommy Gabrini: The Grace Factor by Mallory Monroe Page A

him.
    But he grabbed her by her hair and
yanked her head backwards.   The pain was
excruciating.   “I’ll get out of your
face, alright!” he said.   “I’ll get out
of your face!”
    He slung her around, leaned back, and
punched her so hard in her face that it buckled her knees.
    As soon as he punched her, he
regretted it.   She could see it in his
eyes.   But her eyes were different.   They were filled with rage.   The pain still stung as she grabbed the first
thing she could get her hands on, her blow dryer on the vanity, and slammed it
against the side of his head.   Grace hit
him so hard it staggered him.
    But Grace wasn’t finished.   He might have hit her one time and regretted
it.   She hit him one time and felt it
wasn’t enough.   While he staggered, Grace
grabbed the shower curtain rod, flung it down as if it was the easiest thing in
the world to handle, and began beating the shit out of Ed Jefferson.
    “I’m sorry, alright?   I’m sorry!” Ed was backing up, holding his
hands in front of him in a defensive pose.   “I didn’t mean it, Grace!   I didn’t
mean it!”
    “But I mean it,” Grace said, beating
him out of the bathroom.   He fell but
quickly got back up, and Grace kept beating him with that rod.   When she wouldn’t let up, when she continued
to beat the crap out of him and he couldn’t take the rod away from her, he
turned to run.
    But Grace ran too, behind Ed.   She was determined to beat his ass.   No man had ever laid a hand on her before,
and she wasn’t about to let him be the first.   They made it downstairs, with Ed practically falling down the stairs, as
Grace continued to plummet him.   But when
they made it downstairs, Ed had had enough.   He turned, and found the strength to snatch that rod away from her.
    “Cut it out, Grace,” he yelled as he
tossed the rod aside.   “Now I mean
it!   Cut it out!”
    But Grace was just getting
started.   Her eye was swollen, and
closing shut.   She could barely see out
of it.   But she hurried into her kitchen.
    Ed, thinking it was over, went into
the powder room off from the foyer.    He
wanted to see if he was bleeding.   He
looked in the mirror.   When he saw where
he had a small cut just above his eyebrow, his anger rose.   “Stupid bitch,” he said mostly to himself, as
he grabbed a piece of tissue to dab his wound.
    Grace, in the kitchen, pulled open the
utensil drawer, pulled out a butcher’s knife, and hurried out of the
kitchen.   Ed was out of the powder room
when he saw her coming back.   And he had
the nerve to smile.   But that was before
he saw the knife.   When he sat that knife
in her hand, he couldn’t believe it.   “What the hell?” he asked, amazed that mild-mannered Grace would do such
a thing.   “What are you doing?”
    “I’m tired of your shit,” Grace said,
as she hurried toward him.
    He was backing up, still unable to
fathom it.   “This is not funny, Grace!”
    “Am I laughing?   Ask the last bitch who fucked with me,” Grace
said.   “Ask her if I thought it was
funny.   Ask her if I was laughing.   I’m tired of people thinking I’m some damn
doormat they can just walk over!   I’m
tired of this shit!”
    She lunged at Ed, just missing him,
and he realized at that moment that Grace was a long way from mild.   He took off.   She was past reasoning now.   Grace
seemed to be reacting to pinned-up frustrations Ed wasn’t sure had anything to
do with him.    He headed for the front
door.   She almost got him when she lunged
again, but he got out of the door and slammed it behind him.
    Grace didn’t open it back up.   She didn’t follow him.   She wasn’t about to leave her child, not even
for revenge.   She closed and locked her
door.   And leaned against it.   Tears wanted to come, but she was too angry
to cry.   She had been holding it together
for months on end.   She had been trying
with all she had to be the dutiful wife.   But