Free Fire and Rain, Season 2, Episode 5 (Rising Storm) by R.K. Lilley Page B

has,” she said meekly. “It’s none of my business and it’s not returned by me if he does.”
    That appeased him but only a small amount. “Dakota said he came over all the time. Why did you let him do that?”
    There it was. The proper amount of fear in her eyes. About goddamn time.
    “She was exaggerating. It wasn’t all the time, and when we did see him, he was usually here for Marcus.”
    “Usually? And what about the other times?”
    “Work related. He was helping with work stuff for Tate. Remember, they’re cousins.”
    He’d forgotten that. It did explain a bit about why the sheriff would help with that sort of thing. “Good,” he said, somewhat satisfied on the subject. For now. “Now what about that other man?”
    “What other man?” she asked. The dumb woman looked genuinely confounded.
    “Tate Johnson. That asshole on the phone. The one you work for,” he shot back, tone mocking hers. “What do you really do for him?”
     
    * * * *
     
    Joanne swallowed, trying to hold back her fear as she stared up at her husband.  “I told you. I’m his campaign manager.”
    “Bullshit.” She jumped at the anger in his voice, wishing, not for the first time, that she had the strength to fight back. “You can’t even keep this house running, let alone a political campaign.”
    It was her turn to grow angry. Joanne felt something inside of herself come alive again at his taunts. Because he was wrong. There were a lot of things she could do. A lot of things she hadn’t given herself enough credit for.
    She wasn’t an idiot. She wasn’t worthless. She wasn’t incompetent.
    Hector was wrong about her.
    “I do run his campaign,” she said with grim determination. “And I’m good at it. I’m organized. I’m resourceful. I’m hardworking. There are a lot of things I can do that you’ve never given me credit for, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do them.”
    “You can’t even make a meal on time, or has that changed?”
    “I made you breakfast this morning,” she pointed out calmly. “And I’m in the middle of making you dinner now.”
    “That’s funny,” he barked back. “I didn’t eat any breakfast. Why the hell would anyone want cold bacon and eggs? And I’m guessing that if I go look, the next meal will be ruined.”
    “That’s my fault?” she cried.
    His face moved so close to hers that she felt herself begin to tremble. “Are you saying it’s my fault?” He growled the question.
    She took a few trembling breaths, trying to recall what had her standing up for herself with such determination.
    He’d been terrorizing her for so long that she’d conditioned herself to go on autopilot the second she felt threatened, and autopilot meant forgetting any ideas in her head that did not involve submitting to his brutal will.
    But she was not forgetting today. She’d found a new version of herself while he was away, or perhaps rediscovered an old one. Whatever the case, it was a stronger, better version. One not ruled by his heavy hand. And she refused to forget that, no matter what he did to her, that part of her was still there.
    “I didn’t say that,” said the self-preserving part of herself.
    “You know what?” he said, his mood suddenly changing. “I’m starved! Go salvage what you can of that meal, or make a new one, but do it fast.”
    She left the room without a word.
    Both of her daughters were absent as she entered the kitchen, and she was relieved. She just couldn’t read Hector’s mood. She had no idea if he was going to come after her again, or if he’d gotten it out of his system.
    She tossed out the food. The chicken was far too greasy. The biscuits weren’t warm from the oven anymore, and the gravy had begun to stiffen up. The corn was overcooked and mushy. Still, technically, everything was still good. Certainly, if it was up to her, she’d have eaten it as it was, but it was all unsalvageable by Hector’s exacting standards. He liked his food a very