told her earlier was the truth. If she made a mistake, broke the rules, they would all pay for it.
And Mitch Guiness knew just how dear that price could be.
Chapter 3
S he jerked awake with the scream still ripe in her throat. She lay there for a long, tortured moment, her fingers dug into the mattress, her eyes wide with terror. Then slowly, with more control than any one person really should possess, she forced herself to exhale.
It was all right now. Les was locked up and could never hurt her again.
His fists couldn’t pummel her face. His legs couldn’t kick her ribs.
It was all over.
But as she pulled herself out of bed, she felt sick. For a moment she pressed her hand to her stomach and willed the images to pass.
She really did just want to believe it was over. But sometimes, in the twisted workings of her unconscious, Les was no longer Les, but Harry. And even as she fought to escape the raining blows, she could hear the sound of her mother crying in the kitchen.
Wrapping the quilted comforter around herself for warmth, she began pacing the room.
The nightmares were a fairly new phenomena, she forced herself to acknowledge. Before, her body had simply slept when she told it to sleep. Indeed, it had been one of her greatest strengths as a model. She could keep the erratic hours and exhausting schedules simply by dictating her body’s performance.
But in the last year, that kind of absolute control had begun to slip away from her. She hadn’t functioned well anymore at work. The black smudges under her eyes had taken more makeup to conceal, an unwilling testimony to just how her life was catching up with her.
And sometimes the nightmare returned, and she would bolt awake at 3:00 a.m., her body shivering with a light sheen of sweat while the image hovered just beyond the reaches of her mind.
Luckily, Les was a heavy sleeper. The few times she’d awakened him, he’d merely grunted with impatience and rolled back over to oblivion. He wasn’t a man who liked to be disturbed by other people’s problems.
It was never a coincidence that those nights followed the times he gave in to his own ugliness and hit her.
In the darkness of the night, Jess allowed herself a bitter smile. Funny how life seemed to go in circles. And the very act of trying to escape the loop sent you back into it, curving around another spiraling cycle.
She started walking again, holding the comforter closer as if it could actually warm the chill that resonated so deeply inside of her. The cycle was over, she reminded herself. This time she’d broken it for good. And in a matter of days, she would be by herself again. A new name, a new person.
A stronger person.
And she would live alone forever, build a sweet, isolated life where no one could hurt her, and she could hurt no one. The violence would at long last end, and maybe, with enough time, the blood on her hands would fade.
It would work out. She swore it. She’d come too far, borne too much, risked too much, to fail now.
Still, it would not be easy.
Unbidden, another picture rose to her mind, but it wasn’t of the grasping Les Capruccio. It was the dark, powerfully muscled Mitchell Guiness.
She found herself shivering, and tightened her grip on the blanket once more.
He was such a large man, large and powerful and magnetic. He filled the room with his presence, and it made her at once nervous and angry. If he’d been petty or bullish or stupid, he would have simply been a source of uneasiness. But his brown eyes reflected sharp intelligence, and his face a slow, easy smile.
That made him terrifying.
She knew what he was trying to do, she thought abruptly, drawing on the anger. That little display of his to let her know he slept in the room right next to hers. He wanted her to understand that he was in charge, that he was watching her.
Well, she’d just have to show him, she decided resolutely, walking now with quick steps back and forth at the foot of the bed. Les
And Mitch Guiness knew just how dear that price could be.
Chapter 3
S he jerked awake with the scream still ripe in her throat. She lay there for a long, tortured moment, her fingers dug into the mattress, her eyes wide with terror. Then slowly, with more control than any one person really should possess, she forced herself to exhale.
It was all right now. Les was locked up and could never hurt her again.
His fists couldn’t pummel her face. His legs couldn’t kick her ribs.
It was all over.
But as she pulled herself out of bed, she felt sick. For a moment she pressed her hand to her stomach and willed the images to pass.
She really did just want to believe it was over. But sometimes, in the twisted workings of her unconscious, Les was no longer Les, but Harry. And even as she fought to escape the raining blows, she could hear the sound of her mother crying in the kitchen.
Wrapping the quilted comforter around herself for warmth, she began pacing the room.
The nightmares were a fairly new phenomena, she forced herself to acknowledge. Before, her body had simply slept when she told it to sleep. Indeed, it had been one of her greatest strengths as a model. She could keep the erratic hours and exhausting schedules simply by dictating her body’s performance.
But in the last year, that kind of absolute control had begun to slip away from her. She hadn’t functioned well anymore at work. The black smudges under her eyes had taken more makeup to conceal, an unwilling testimony to just how her life was catching up with her.
And sometimes the nightmare returned, and she would bolt awake at 3:00 a.m., her body shivering with a light sheen of sweat while the image hovered just beyond the reaches of her mind.
Luckily, Les was a heavy sleeper. The few times she’d awakened him, he’d merely grunted with impatience and rolled back over to oblivion. He wasn’t a man who liked to be disturbed by other people’s problems.
It was never a coincidence that those nights followed the times he gave in to his own ugliness and hit her.
In the darkness of the night, Jess allowed herself a bitter smile. Funny how life seemed to go in circles. And the very act of trying to escape the loop sent you back into it, curving around another spiraling cycle.
She started walking again, holding the comforter closer as if it could actually warm the chill that resonated so deeply inside of her. The cycle was over, she reminded herself. This time she’d broken it for good. And in a matter of days, she would be by herself again. A new name, a new person.
A stronger person.
And she would live alone forever, build a sweet, isolated life where no one could hurt her, and she could hurt no one. The violence would at long last end, and maybe, with enough time, the blood on her hands would fade.
It would work out. She swore it. She’d come too far, borne too much, risked too much, to fail now.
Still, it would not be easy.
Unbidden, another picture rose to her mind, but it wasn’t of the grasping Les Capruccio. It was the dark, powerfully muscled Mitchell Guiness.
She found herself shivering, and tightened her grip on the blanket once more.
He was such a large man, large and powerful and magnetic. He filled the room with his presence, and it made her at once nervous and angry. If he’d been petty or bullish or stupid, he would have simply been a source of uneasiness. But his brown eyes reflected sharp intelligence, and his face a slow, easy smile.
That made him terrifying.
She knew what he was trying to do, she thought abruptly, drawing on the anger. That little display of his to let her know he slept in the room right next to hers. He wanted her to understand that he was in charge, that he was watching her.
Well, she’d just have to show him, she decided resolutely, walking now with quick steps back and forth at the foot of the bed. Les
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