Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
And then I met Phillip…
Within a year, I went from the captain of my own ship to a victim clinging to the wreckage of my dreams, terrified the ocean was about to devour me whole.
I was so busy trying to survive my violent, sociopath of an ex, I didn’t have much time for friends, but Destiny was often in my thoughts. I never called her, but I silently raged at her in the night, ripping her “shiny happy thoughts make a shiny happy life” philosophy to shreds in my mind.
I didn’t manifest Phillip.
No part of me asked for a man capable of going from charming to pure evil in the blink of an eye. Not one fiber of my being wanted to have a baby with a monster, and it wasn’t shiny happy thoughts that helped me start a new life. It was hard work, sacrifice, and the willingness to do whatever it took to put as much distance between my daughter and my ex as possible.
I didn’t ask for him to violate his parole or show up in my new city, either.
When Phillip popped up behind me as I stepped out of the subway car, he wasn’t anywhere on my radar. I was planning what to make for dinner, looking forward to sharing the meal with my baby and my amazing boyfriend, and anticipating how nice it would be to slip between the sheets with Cam later tonight for more of the best sex I’ve had in my entire life.
My head was full of hopeful, grateful thoughts, the kind Destiny insisted would summon more good fortune right to my door.
Instead, I got a knife pressed between my shoulders and a soft promise that I’d better do as I was told if I wanted to live to see Crissy’s next birthday.
And now, in a tiny, nearly empty apartment so far uptown I have no idea where I am, I know happy thoughts won’t save me.
But Cam might.
I’m already late to meet him at my place. He’ll be worried and on the lookout for a text or message from me in a way no one else will.
So, as soon as Phillip steps into the bathroom—taking Crissy with him and telling her to face the corner while he goes, correctly assuming I won’t risk running while he has my daughter—I hurry to snatch my purse from where Phillip tossed it onto the dingy carpet by the front door.
I have just enough time to see that Cam’s called and texted several times before the toilet flushes and the water starts to run in the sink. Heart in my throat, I quickly turn on location sharing and stuff the phone back in my bag.
Maybe I should have tried 911, instead, but the operator would want to talk to me, increasing the likelihood that I’ll get caught. And I have no doubt that Phillip meant every word of his threat. If I don’t play along with whatever he has planned, he’ll kill me. He nearly did it once before and would have that night in my old apartment if I hadn’t gotten lucky with my cast iron skillet.
I make it back to the moldy-smelling couch—the only furniture in the space aside from a folding table and two plastic chairs by the small window—just as Phillip steps out of the bathroom, his large hand curled around Crissy’s tiny shoulder.
I force a smile, trying like hell to keep up the pretense that this is a scheduled visitation with her dad. I don’t want to scare my daughter. She’s going to be traumatized enough by all this after the fact without seeing me losing my shit while Phillip is still in control of the situation.
“All good in there?” I ask.
Thank God Crissy doesn’t seem to realize that Phillip is the same man who broke into our apartment when she was a toddler. If she did, she might try to run. I don’t know what Phillip would do then, but it wouldn’t be good. Despite the fact that he left her alone the last time he tried to kidnap me, I don’t trust him not to hurt her.
“All good,” Crissy says with a giggle. “But it’s silly that Dad’s afraid to go potty by himself.”
“Even big guys have things that scare them, baby girl,” Phillip says in his “nice guy” voice, the one that fooled me for the first six months of our relationship, before his Mr. Hyde side started coming out to play. He narrows his eyes on me. “Everything good in here?”
“All good,” I say, hoping like hell that I don’t sound out of breath from my dash back and forth across the room and that he doesn’t think to go check my phone. “But what about dinner? Do we want to go grab something downstairs before it gets too late? I saw a cute Cuban place on the way in, and Crissy loves meat pies.”