Beneath These Scars (Beneath #4)(76)

It was the first time I’d ever referred to Lucas as . . . anything, really. But in that moment, thinking of him gave me strength.

It was the wrong move.

“Boyfriend? You’re still my goddamned wife. I don’t care what the goddamned papers say. You belong to me.” His hand swung out and caught me high on the cheekbone.

Shock—at being hit again for the first time in so long—radiated through me before the pain registered.

“What the hell?” Jennifer’s screeched words pierced my ears. “I’m going to be your wife. She means nothing!”

Jay swung around to face her, and I couldn’t help but watch. She was gesturing with the knife.

Oh hell.

“What do you think you’re going to do with that, Jenny? What did you think you were going to do with that?”

“I’m just doing what I had to do.”

Jay’s lungs heaved and he lost it. He charged the skinny little blonde and ripped the knife from her hand. It clattered to the floor and skidded within inches of my feet as his hand wrapped around her neck and he lifted her off the floor.

Oh shit. I was not here to die, and I certainly wasn’t here to witness a murder. Jay had caused enough damage.

I reached with the tip of my purple pump and slid the knife closer. How the hell do I get it off the floor? Then I slid my feet together and tried to lift, but the knife dropped to the floor again with another thump. This shit looks so much easier in the movies.

My ridiculous thought was interrupted by someone banging on the door.

Jay tossed Jenny onto the couch. “Don’t you dare move, Jen.”

The blonde looked shell-shocked, her face pale, her hair mussed, and her tears leaving mascara-blackened trails down her cheeks.

He really hadn’t hit her before. The first time was always the most shocking.

I eyed the knife on the floor again. The man was never going to hit anyone again.





GRAVEL FLEW, PINGING OFF THE panels of my car, but I didn’t give a f*ck. I’d called and called, and Yve never answered. I’d tried to tell myself that it was a lack of reception out here, but my phone worked perfectly, so that excuse fell flat.

I roared up the driveway and pulled the car to a jerky stop, then jumped out and leaped up the front steps. I turned the door handle, but it was locked, so I hammered on the solid wood with my fist.

Footsteps thudded inside, and the door was ripped open.

A younger version of Johnson Haines stood before me. I didn’t think—I didn’t have to—I just swung, the moves from my boxing lesson coming into play, along with a few dirty ones of my own. Right hook to the jaw, uppercut, knee to the gut. He hit the hallway floor and instantly rolled onto his side in a protective ball.

I was on him again in seconds. Flipping him over, I dropped to my knees and wrapped my hands around his throat.

He would die.

A scream ripped my attention away from the man beneath me.

“If he dies, she dies.”

I glanced to my left to see a tiny blonde holding a knife to Yve’s throat where she sat taped to a chair in the middle of the parlor. Haines groaned below me, but I didn’t take my eyes off Yve. She opened her mouth to speak, but the blonde pressed the blade harder until a rivulet of blood ran down Yve’s neck.

I released my grip and Haines jumped up, landing a blow to my cheek before I could react. All I could see as I swung at him was the blood dripping down Yve’s throat.

Rage, helplessness, and disbelief like I hadn’t felt since I was on the side of that mountain at eighteen slammed into me. The rope had been fraying, and I’d had seconds to grab it, but if I did I’d likely fall to my own death.

It had been an impossible choice—risk my own life, or my father would die. The man who’d verbally abused me all my life; the man I was never good enough for. I hesitated a second too long, and when I’d lunged for the rope, it had been too late.

I’d had to live with the regret of that moment haunting me for years. If I had to live with regret over Yve, I . . . Well, it wasn’t an option. I’d choose her life over mine every time.

Because I loved her.

I shoved Haines away from me and stood, holding my arms out. “I’m done. Don’t hurt her.”

He jumped to his feet. “You’re gonna die.”

Except if I was dead, I’d be leaving her at their mercy, and that would be a fate worse than death for Yve. So, Titan, what the f*ck are you going to do? my brain taunted me.

So I did what came naturally to me—I went for the cheap shot.

Haines lunged at me, and I rammed my knee into his balls a dozen times harder than I had with Con Leahy. Fighting over the loss of Vanessa, trying to save face, was nothing compared to this.

Yve was worth more than my pride. She was worth everything.

Haines hit the ground again, and I landed a solid kick to his face. His nose crunched and his head lolled to the side.

Yve screamed.

I charged the woman, but it was too late. She’d sliced the knife across Yve’s throat and lifted the blood-coated blade, as if to stab it straight into Yve’s chest.

I dove at the woman, tackling her. Her head whacked the floor, and she didn’t move. Scrambling to my knees, I slid in front of Yve. Her eyes were still open and tears spilled down her cheeks. Terrified at the blood seeping from the cut on her neck, I ripped my shirt off and pressed it to her throat.