Chapter 5

I ended up with three broken ribs, a fractured collarbone, and a collection of deep bruises. But I was alive. No thanks to Dallas or his psycho girlfriend.

After that, I avoided them. I made myself small and invisible in the vast penthouse, counting the days until I could finally escape this nightmare.

My plan was already in motion. I had an appointment at the embassy. My application for a new passport and immigration to a country far, far away was being processed. One more month, the official had told me. Just one more month and I would be free.

I was walking out of the embassy, a sliver of hope in my chest, when a hand clamped over my mouth from behind. A black town car screeched to a halt beside me. I was shoved inside, the door slamming shut before I could even scream.

The car sped off. I was thrown onto the floor, my head hitting the seat with a sickening thud. They pulled me out in a deserted alley, dragging me from the car and forcing me to my knees.

A bag was ripped from my head. Alanna stood before me, a triumphant, cruel smile on her face. She was flanked by two large, thuggish men.

She wasn't wearing her usual serene, white linen dresses. She was in black, tight-fitting clothes, looking like a vulture ready to pick at a corpse.

"Hello, Autumn," she said, her voice dripping with malice. She idly fiddled with a bracelet on her wrist. It was made of small, polished white beads.

"Do you like my new bracelet?" she asked, holding it up for me to see. "Dallas had it custom-made for me. From your son's bones. They make for a very powerful spiritual tool, you know. Especially the skull."

My blood ran cold. I stared at the bracelet, at the small, milky-white beads. My son. My baby.

"The cremation certificate was a perfect forgery," she continued, enjoying the look of horror on my face. "No one would ever know."

My mind went blank. A roaring sound filled my ears. I couldn't breathe. The man who pretended to pray for our child's soul had taken his bones and turned them into a fashion accessory for his mistress.

"Dallas spends so much time in the temple, chanting," Alanna mused, her eyes gleaming with a sick pleasure. "Did you ever wonder what he was really praying for? He wasn't blessing your child, Autumn. He was cursing it. Cursing it to never find peace, to wander as a hungry ghost forever."

I remembered all the times he had touched my belly when I was pregnant, his expression so tender. I remembered him reading stories to my bump, his voice a low, soothing murmur. It was all an act. A twisted, sadistic performance. He never loved our child. He never loved me. His vows in the church, his promises, his entire existence in my life was a lie.

A guttural scream ripped from my throat. I lunged at her, a blind fury propelling me forward. One of her goons kicked me hard in the stomach, and I crumpled to the ground, gasping.

Another blow came from behind, a heavy, blunt object hitting the back of my head. The world exploded in a flash of white, then darkness.

My phone must have had an automatic emergency alert. The next thing I knew, I was being loaded into an ambulance. Dallas was there, his face a mask of concern. He was holding Alanna, who was crying hysterically, pretending to be the victim.

"She just attacked me out of nowhere!" Alanna sobbed into his chest. "I'm so scared, Dallas."

Dallas looked from her to my bleeding head. He frowned. "Alanna, let me go. I need to check on Autumn."

"But I need you!" she wailed, clinging to him. "Take me to the hospital, please! I think my arm is broken!"

He hesitated for a moment, then scooped her up into his arms. "Don't worry, baby, I've got you," he cooed, carrying her to his own car.

They left me there, bleeding on the pavement, for the paramedics to handle. I was an inconvenience, a problem to be dealt with by others. As they drove away, I could hear her fake sobs turn into giggles.

In the hospital, they stitched up my head. Dallas and Alanna eventually showed up, playing their parts to perfection. He was the worried husband, she was the forgiving friend.

She brought me a container of soup. "I made this for you myself, Autumn," she said, her eyes shining with false sincerity. "I hope you like it."

"Eat it," Dallas commanded, his voice low. "Don't be rude."

I picked up the spoon. The soup was full of ginger. Thick, pungent slices of it. She knew I hated ginger. I was allergic to it.

I looked at her, then at Dallas. I stood up, walked to the trash can, and dumped the entire container of soup into it.

Alanna' s face tightened. Dallas fished a piece of ginger out of the trash.

"Alanna went to a lot of trouble to make this for you," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Don't disrespect her kindness."

My eyes were dark. "I don't like ginger," I said, my voice flat and dead. "And I don't like things that are dirty." I looked directly at him. "Or people."

Alanna quickly interjected, feigning a headache. "Dallas, I'm not feeling well. Can we go?"

He looked at me, a flicker of something-unease? guilt?-in his eyes. But as always, he chose her. He put his arm around her and led her out of the room, leaving me alone once again.