The Bride Wore Red At The Ladies Club: Arabella's Story (Cosmic Hot Shorts Book 4) by Susan Stephens

Author:Susan Stephens [Stephens, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: contemporary romance
Publisher: Susan Stephens
Published: 2015-07-16T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

The first few blows from Harold's fist hurt her enough to make her cry out. The next flurry of blows became a hum of pain in her head. It was behind her eyes and in her ears, and even her teeth were rattled. She had an all–over–body ache, but she told herself she could bear it and she wouldn't cry out, whatever they did to her.

"Don't mark her," Harold said when all his cronies joined in. "At least, don't hit her where anyone can see."

She was curled up tight in a ball on the floor, hugging her knees, thinking this was an odd thing to say, when Harold's boot had already caught her in the face.

The one thing she hadn't expected was that the girl Harold had come in with would produce a pair of scissors. At first she thought the girl was going to cut her hair off, and she started screaming and begging her not to, covering her head with her arms, but Harold wouldn't allow it—he said it was too obvious, and might lead to suspicion by the police. The girl looked disappointed, but then she had another idea, and start cutting up the dress. She tried to fight her off, but Harold sat on her while the girl snipped away.

"Eurgh!" the girl exclaimed when she got down to Arabella's underwear. "I didn't think people wore things like this. Aren't they meant to bag up grain or something?"

The men, who had all clustered around to spectate, burst out laughing.

"Leave them," Harold said, getting to his feet. "She'll need something to mop up the spills."

Arabella recoiled into a very small, dark part of herself. The smell. The sound. The sudden stream of wet, stinking effluent flowing over her, combined with the derision of the men, and the girl's screeching laugh, was like a soundtrack of a horror film in which she played no part, because she was outside herself, looking in. She reassured herself that she could take a bath—she could scrub herself clean. She could take anything and everything Harold had to throw at her.

Or so she thought.

His first kick into her ribs that were still bruised from his last punishing shove made her cry.

"Now you'll part with the house," he said, aiming a second kick. "You'll do anything I tell you to do—and you'll start by giving me a divorce."

Divorce. The word shimmered through the pain with all the promise of a healing salve. Freedom. That was her talisman. Thoughts of freedom allowed her to think beyond now, to then.

"I'll take the house as my divorce settlement," Harold informed her in a matter–of–fact tone. With every word he aimed a kick. "You'll sign it over to me. Do you understand what I've said?"

"I understand." She was one hundred percent in survival mode, and utterly determined that she would reach that promised land called freedom.

Satisfied with her humiliation, Harold assembled his troops and led them away. One hung back. Wondering why, Arabella looked up, which was the signal for the girl to clear her throat and spit in her face.

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