The Man I Need Page 2

  He sits on the edge of the bed near me, and I flinch as he lifts a hand. His hand pauses midair when he realizes my defenses are up, but as if he doesn’t care, he continues, leaning forward and stroking my hair back with a sigh.

  “I can’t believe our lives have gotten so out of hand.”

  I work hard to swallow and clear the dryness in my throat while avoiding his eyes.

  “Anyway, I have to go to lunch with a few colleagues who are in the area.” He stands and looks me over, mostly at my face. I almost expect him to apologize. I want him to beg for my forgiveness like he did the first time, tell me he won’t do it again.

  But he doesn’t.

  Instead, his forehead creases and he takes a step away. “Don’t leave the house until your face heals. I’ve been icing it, and you should probably continue doing the same. I’ve decided to work here for the rest of this week, so if you need something, tell me and I’ll get it for you.”

  I work hard to swallow again, but my throat is so dry that it’s painful. I simply shake my head and draw my lips in to smash them together.

  “Okay, then.” He kisses my forehead. I focus on my lap, hiding my shaky hands. I’m tempted to grab the knife that’s on the tray and stab him with it, but that’s not who I am. I’m not evil like he is. There are other ways to get out of this.

  Kyle finally walks out of the bedroom, and I close my eyes when I hear the garage gate opening. When it closes, I know he’s gone. Or at least, I hope he is.

  I study the meal in front of me again, hating everything about it. Is this supposed to be his form of an apology?

  Fuck that!

  I get up and take the tray to the dresser, slamming it down on top of it and causing some of the orange juice to slosh over the rim of the cup.

  I go to the bathroom and turn the faucet on, but then I catch myself in the mirror again. I swear I look worse than I did a few minutes ago.

  “Oh, God,” I cry, and my eyes are on fire. The tears stream rapidly, but I avoid looking at myself any more than necessary, rinsing my face and letting the cool water soothe me. It doesn’t help much.

  I shower quickly, unsure what Kyle may have done to me while I was unconscious, and then toss on a robe.

  I hear yelping as I slide into slippers.

  My heart drops.

  “Callie?” I call. She sounds sad—hurt, even. I rush to the room down the hall where she sleeps. The door is closed. I try opening it but it’s locked.

  “Callie!” I scream, yanking on the doorknob. She whines even louder. “That motherfucker!” I run to my bathroom, snatching one of the drawers open and digging through it for a bobby pin. When I come across one, I go back to the door and pick at the lock. It clicks and pops open and I rush inside, thankful that Ricky taught me how to pick a lock when I was ten.

  Callie is in a black cage that I didn’t buy. I hurry toward it but there’s a silver padlock on it as well. I yank on it. She whines again, scratching at the cage.

  “It’s okay, girl. It’s okay.” I feel like I’m telling myself that more than anything. I yank on it another time, but it’s no use.

  Why is he doing this? It’s one thing to punish me, but to mess with an innocent puppy is cruel.

  Anger brews in my veins.

  I hate him.

  I hate him so much!

  My anger always morphs into tears, so I drop to my knees with a hand on the cage, and sob while Callie whines, telling her that I’m so sorry.

  Honestly, I’m apologizing to myself. I never should have forgiven him that day at Teagan’s. Maybe if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I wouldn’t have this bruise on my face, or an innocent puppy locked in a cage.

  Has she even eaten? She probably has to pee too. It’s been over fourteen hours. There’s no telling how long she’s been in this cage.

  Fuck this. I need to help her.

  I swipe my tears away and get up, shoving my frustrations aside and trundling downstairs to the garage where Kyle’s toolbox is. I find the wire cutters and rush back in, taking the stairs by twos.

  “Don’t worry, girl. I’m going to get you out.” I cut the first piece of metal, and then move to the next, until I’ve created a hole large enough to take Callie out. When she’s free, I hug her to my chest. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this, sweet girl!” She’s shaking and whimpering. When she licks my cheek, I say, “I’m going to get us out of here, I promise.”

  I have no idea where I’m going to go, but I move quickly, going to my room to pack a light bag and then going downstairs to pack up some things for Callie.

  But as I head toward the garage door and check the key hook, I swear my heart almost stops.

  My keys aren’t there. That bastard took my keys! I rush out to the garage to see if my wallet is inside the car, but my car isn’t even here. What in the hell did he do to my car?

  I jog inside and open the front door to check the driveway. The car isn’t there either.

  “No!” I scream, slamming the door behind me, and Callie yelps, running away from me.

  I break down in the living room, my knees on the floor once again. I drop my face in my palms, and the sob that cracks through my chest hurts so damn much that it’s almost unbearable.

  How the hell am I supposed to get anywhere now? I can’t walk. I don’t even know where the nearest bus station is, and even if I did, I can’t pay for it without my wallet, which is in my damn car.

  I pull myself together enough to sit on the sofa. I could always call Marcel, have him pick me up. He would take me and Callie in, I know it. I could explain to him what happened, and he wouldn’t think twice about it…but it’s then I realize I have no idea where my cell phone is, either.

  Pushing off the couch, I go upstairs to check the bedroom. It’s not there. I check my studio, not there either, and neither is my laptop. Is he serious? He’s taken everything from me—any means of communication or running away, he took it or locked it away. He knew I’d reach out to Marcel, or even my family. He was one step ahead—has been several steps ahead for who knows how long now.

  I could always go to Meredith’s house, but she seems like the kind of person who would report what’s happened to me, and I can’t allow that right now. Not with so much on the line.

  Kyle has a hold on me.

  My mother.

  And if my father sold his company to Kyle, then he has a hold on him too. Is that what he meant when he said I would regret it? That my family would regret it, too?

  Defeated, I trudge upstairs with Callie in my arms. I cuddle with her on the guest bed after locking the door. I don’t know what to do. I could always run away, take my chances and figure out a way to get to Marcel, but a part of me is too afraid to.

  I can’t drag anybody else into my mess. I created it and now I have to find a way out that won’t ruin everyone else’s lives.

  The saddest part of all this is the only person I can blame for the mess I’m in is myself. I decided to put myself through this again the moment I took Kyle back, even going so low as to believe the promises he made that he’d never hurt me again.

  What was I thinking?

  Once a monster, always a monster.

  Chapter Two

  Gabby

  Past

  “I’m so glad you two are finally married!” Mrs. Moore chimes over her glass of red wine.

  She’s smiling wide at me, with almond shaped eyes that are thick with black mascara and round, brown irises, similar to Kyle’s.

  We’re seated in a restaurant that I never would have chosen to dine at, our legs beneath tables that are swathed with white tablecloths. Soft classical music trickles out of the speakers, and waiters and waitresses walk around with gloved fingers and black suits, almost like trained soldiers.

  It’s honestly a bit creepy, but they all must be on their toes, because it seems the only people who dine here are the rich.

  I personally don’t feel like I belong, but I play it cool. This
is my life now, having fancy dinners and sipping champagne and wine. Faking smiles and pretending to be a charming young lady.

  I don’t mind doing it. It’s for Kyle.

  I return a smile to Mrs. Moore and say, “I’m glad too!”

  “So, how was the honeymoon?” she asks, and I glance over at Kyle, who is chatting away with Mr. Moore.

  Mr. Moore has chestnut hair, but is slowly balding at the crown of his head. He has a long, bird-like nose, and his skin is pale, unlike Mrs. Moore’s, whose skin is a shade darker than Kyle’s. I don’t see much of Mr. Moore in Kyle at all, but Kyle does carry some of his father’s habits.

  “Oh, the honeymoon was amazing,” I sigh. “I never thought I would be able to take a trip to Thailand—let alone any place outside of the country—but we did! It was lovely, and I got a great tan, too.”

  “Yes, the honeymoon was incredible,” Kyle declares. “Thank you for that recommendation, Mum.”

  “I am glad to hear that.” Mrs. Moore smiles appreciatively and then sips her wine. “So, Gabrielle, what are your plans now that you two have tied the knot?”

  I laugh a little, unsure by what she means. “Um…well, we plan on moving to the house Kyle bought in Hilton Head Island and growing from there.”

  “Yes, yes, but I mean, with yourself?”

  “Myself?”

  “Yes. Do you plan on having children anytime soon?”

  My eyebrows shift up to my forehead, and I look at Kyle, who is studying his mother. “I do want children one day, yes.”

  “And when do you think that day will be?”

  I avoid a frown and as if my silence confuses her, her thinly arched brows dip. “You two haven’t discussed this?” she asks when Kyle and I look at each other.

  I study Kyle warily, and notice he grips his fork a little tighter. “We have talked about wanting them, which we both do, but I’d like to wait and spend time with Kyle as my husband first, before bringing kids into the picture.”

  I force a smile, and his mother locks eyes on Mr. Moore before removing her elbows from the table and placing her wine glass down. She clears her throat before saying, “I see.”

  She says nothing more, and I pick my fork up to move the ingredients of my salad around, avoiding her face.

  Mr. Moore changes the subject to talk about some new building that’s being built in New York City, and I run a hand over Kyle’s thigh beneath the table, making sure he’s okay.

  He reaches down, and I think he’s going to hold my hand and squeeze it to silently reassure me that what I said was fine, but he doesn’t. Instead, he shoves it away, but carries on the conversation with his father with a nod and a smile, as if everything is perfectly fine.

  My heart drops as I look down at my hand and then his. When I swing my gaze up, I notice Mrs. Moore is looking right at me with narrowed eyes as she sips her wine again.

  * * *

  I’m beyond relieved when dinner is over. The valet brings Kyle’s BMW after we say our goodbyes to his parents, and when we’re in the car, I finally take a moment to collect my composure and breathe.

  Dinner with his parents was intense—then again, it’s always tense around them. They’re such serious people. His mother can be intimidating at times, but I’ve learned not to let Mrs. Moore’s stares get to me.

  “That could have gone better,” Kyle mutters.

  “Really? I thought it was fine,” I say back.

  “Why would you tell her that?” Kyle demands when we pull away from the restaurant. He looks at the rearview mirror as if his parents will hear him, then glances sideways at me.

  “Tell her what? That I’m not ready to have kids yet?”

  “You can’t say things like that to my mother, Gabs. She’s very old school. She expects us to be thinking about kids right away.”

  I frown. “Well, this isn’t her time anymore, Kyle, and I’m not old school. If I’m not ready to have kids yet, then she should respect that.”

  “But what if I am?” he snips.

  “Then…that is something we can discuss privately, not in front of your parents.”

  “You know what? There has been something bothering me awhile. You shouldn’t even be on birth control. You are my wife now, so if you end up pregnant, then it is meant to happen, is it not?”

  I scoff, so shocked by this attitude of his. “Wow? Are you serious right now?”

  He stops at a stoplight, giving me a solid stare. He’s dead serious.

  “Kyle, this is my body, okay? If I don’t want a baby to stretch me out right now, then that means I’m not ready yet. If I want to take birth control, then it’s my right to take it unless we decide down the road that we are both ready for that responsibility.”

  His nostrils flare, and he grips the steering wheel tighter. I expect him to retort, but he pulls off when the light flashes green. He’s quiet the rest of the way home. I honestly don’t give a shit.

  When we pull up to his condo, I shove my way out of the car, trotting inside in my too-high heels. I hate these heels, and I’ll most likely return them sometime this week.

  Heat envelopes me when I enter the building, and I shake off the cold. I jam my finger on the elevator button.

  Kyle is beside me when the doors draw apart, and we step inside it, riding up to floor four. He’s stewing and I’m pissed all the way off.

  When we make it into the condo, Kyle tosses his keys on the counter, and I go to the room to kick my heels off and strip out of my skirt and blouse to put on something more comfortable, a silky green gown I bought from Victoria’s Secret.

  Ice rattles in a glass a short distance away, and I’m certain he’s making himself a drink.

  I don’t want to see him right now, so I grab the book I was reading and climb into bed. I believe an hour passes before I hear something crash.

  “What the hell?” I jump out of bed and leave the room barefoot. Kyle is in the living room, in front of the teal vase I’d painted for him when we first met. It’s in shards on the marble floor, and he’s staring down at it.

  “Kyle? What did you do?”

  He looks up then steps around the mess to get to me. “What if I want a baby now, Gabs?”

  I frown up at him as he comes closer to me. “What is wrong with you? How much have you had to drink?”

  He grabs my wrist and squeezes it tight. I cry out as he drags me to the bedroom and tosses me on the bed.

  “Kyle! What the hell is wrong with you! Stop!”

  He ignores me, climbing on top of me and pushing his way between my legs.

  “Kyle!” I yell again. He’s kissing my neck now, reeking of alcohol. He’s never been this way with me before, and I don’t know how to take it, so of course I panic. I try to relax my body and voice, even though my heart is pounding dangerously hard in my chest.

  “Kyle, I’m really not in the mood tonight, babe. Please,” I plead.

  He sits up, and I expect him to understand and move away, recognize his mistake, but instead he shoves the hem of my gown up and then snatches my panties down.

  “Kyle! Get off of me!” I start to sit up, but he forces me back down with a solid hand on my chest. The pulse of my rapidly beating heart is in my ears now as he unbuckles his belt and drops his pants and briefs with his other hand.

  He roughly thrusts his way inside me, curling a hand under the back of my neck and gripping it tight. I cry out again.

  “You are mine, Gabby. All mine. Do you understand that?”

  A feeble noise catches in my throat, a tear sliding down the side of my face as he thrusts again, so roughly it hurts.

  “If I want my wife to have my fucking baby, then she will have my fucking baby.” There’s venom in his voice—I’ve never heard it until now.

  More tears roll from the corners of my eyes when he squeezes the back of my neck even harder.

  “Kyle! Stop it!” I wail, but he ignores it and moves faster, grunting and huffing. His weight crushes me as he sucks on the croo
k of my neck, making sure to leave marks. He brings his head up and uses his other hand to grip my face between his fingers, kissing my mouth roughly.

  This is all wrong. I should be fighting it but…he’s my husband. Shouldn’t I want to give him everything? Shouldn’t I do whatever he wants, whenever he wants?

  He’s drunk…he doesn’t know what he’s doing. That’s what I tell myself, but it doesn’t stop the tears from falling.

  Kyle gives one final thrust and then groans loudly, coming hard. He pants raggedly as he sucks on my neck again, and then he pulls away, walking around the bed and collapsing with his head on the pillow.

  I swallow hard and swipe at my face as I sit up, then scoot toward the edge of the mattress, yanking my gown down in the process. It’s now that I notice my hands are shaking uncontrollably.

  I step out of the panties he didn’t even have the decency to take off completely and walk to the closet to grab new clothes—yoga pants and my baggiest T-shirt.

  Sobbing, I go to the shower, and once inside, I scrub so hard it hurts. I cry as I wash away the horrors of tonight, and when I’m finished, I get dressed quickly.

  When I leave the bathroom, Kyle’s back is to me as he rests on the bed, and I assume he’s asleep, so I walk back to the closet to pack a bag.

  I have to get out of here. I don’t know what to think right now, but I can’t be around him.

  When I’ve packed enough clothes to last me at least a week and leave the closet, my heart plummets when I realize Kyle is no longer on the bed.

  With a booming heart, I tip-toe out of the bedroom and look around the corner. Kyle is standing right in front of the door, my only way out.

  “Where are you going, Gabs?” he asks, and his voice is one I’ve never heard before. His British accent is thicker. There’s twice the venom there was before.

  “I—I don’t know, I just need to go,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady. Fortunately, I do.

  Kyle frowns and walks toward me. He looks me over when he’s closer, and I hold my breath, like I’m being preyed on by a vicious beast.

  Why is he doing this? I have never been scared of him until now.