I chose to post the Prologue excerpt here because it's a bit -- okay a lot -- graphic and it's too long for a regular excerpt. So, here it is. The rough draft prologue of NICK OF TIME. I don't have a release date at this time, but I can tell you I'm working on getting it ready for editing.
PROLOGUE
Houston,
Texas.
Sarah
Jane Jones slowly peeled the blouse off her shoulders with trembling
hands. She could feel the blood trickling down her back from the
worst of the wounds that had re-opened when her husband, Seth, had
thrown her on the ground. She knew they were infected—could feel
the throbbing heat of fevered skin stretched taught—but even if
they could afford it she didn't dare go to a hospital, or her doctor.
One look and a medical professional would have little doubt how she'd
received her injuries; they'd be required by law to report their
suspicions.
Sarah
couldn't let that happen. She knew that if anyone questioned Seth
he'd find a way to make good on his promise. He'd have her committed,
or she'd wind up dead, the whole speculation of abuse cleanly swept
under the rug. With his connections, she had no doubt he could do it,
too. And other than the two helpless children she'd leave behind, she
doubted anyone would notice, or care if she permanently disappeared.
Feeling
the material sticking to her raw skin, Sarah looked over her
shoulder, eying her reflection in the mirror. Though she'd chosen a
dark colored blouse, she could clearly see where the blood had seeped
through, then dried, holding fast where the wounds were trying to
scab over. After a moment's debate, she turned on the shower. The
water would burn, but surely it would hurt less than tearing open
those wounds. She removed the rest of her clothing, what little there
was left. He'd torn her skirt shoving it up her body, before he
pulled his boot-knife, using it to slice her underwear off, all the
while threatening to do vile things to her body with it as he did so.
God,
she'd been so careless when she answered the phone earlier. She'd
thought Seth had already left for work, so when she'd heard
Enoch's—Nick, Seth hated
when she called him Enoch—friendly voice she'd responded to
his ever warm greeting in kind, and answered his questions about how
she and the children were doing even laughing over his attempt at
humor; none of which she'd dare do when Seth was around.
Seth
hadn't left for work, as she thought, and when she looked up from her
perch on the bedside and saw the mask of fury fall into place, the
rage burning clearly in his eyes, her moment of happiness quickly
faded. She'd known what was coming. He'd taken the phone from her
and spoken to his ex-patrol-partner. Pretending the whole while that
everything was okay, even as he laid his duffel bag full of duty-gear
down and slipped the belt from the loops around his waist. His gaze
never left Sarah's, and as he said goodbye and hung up, she fought
not to show any reaction to what was coming because if she did he'd
only make it worse.
“How
many times have I told you, you stupid slut, not to seduce my
friends?”
Sarah
stared at his feet, she didn't make eye contact, didn't dare answer.
If she claimed she hadn't been trying to seduce Enoch he'd beat her
until she recanted, then he'd punish her for the seduction. No, it
was best to stay quiet through it all. Especially with her children,
Malachi and Olivia sleeping in their cribs just down the hall.
“I
fucking asked you a question, you whore!” Her head snapped back and
pain exploded in her cheek and behind her right eye from the force of
the backhanded blow. It was only when he was truly angry that he
touched her places that would be visible. The rest of the time he
kept his punishment hidden from the world, literally and
figuratively.
“I'm
sorry,” she managed to choke out past the mouthful of blood. Not
that he cared about her answer, but she hadn't seen him this angry in
a long long time. Not since that first time...
“Do
you bring men into this house the moment I'm gone, you filthy bitch?”
This
time he didn't wait for an answer. He dragged her off the bed and
onto the floor. And when he was done beating her, after he'd used
that knife to threaten the baby
that he'd planted inside her the last time she'd been so
thoughtlessly careless, he forcefully reminded her that she
belonged to him, and only him. That her body belonged to him.
After he'd pulled out of her, cleaned himself off, and righted his
clothing, he'd pulled her up from the floor.
“I
don't understand why you make me do that, Sarah.” He shook his
head, his tone bewildered, all the anger gone. “You just can't seem
to learn. I expect better of you. I expect more from you.”
There
was nothing to say, so she merely looked at the ground as she fought
back the waves of nausea. The thought of what he'd make her do if she
vomited in front of him made her stomach roil harder.
“I'm
sorry, it won't happen again,” she whispered, her voice trembling
as violently as her body. She didn't dare make eye contact; she could
not afford to let him see the hatred that she knew he'd see shining
in her eyes at that moment. They both knew the statement was a lie,
it would happen again, it always did, but it was what he wanted to
hear, and it was the only means of self-preservation she had at the
moment.
He
leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead, and she fought
desperately not to flinch. “I'll see you in the morning, baby.”
He turned and walked out the door without another word. This time she
followed behind, at a safe distance, and locked the door once the
tail lights disappeared down the road.
She
had no idea how long she's been standing there staring at her bruised
and swollen face in the mirror when the glass finally fogged up
making her all but disappear. Sometimes she wished it were that
simple, but it wasn't. Her children depended on her.
Sarah tested the water, making sure it was comfortably warm, but not hot. She climbed into the tub and pulled the curtain shut before stepping under the shower-flow. As cool as the water was it still burned upon contact with the open, throbbing wounds on her back, making her gasp. She fought back tears of pain and sorrow, and refused to let herself imagine a different life. A life where she was a better wife who knew how to make her husband happy instead of constantly angering him at every turn. One where she and her children were safe and happy. Loved.
But it was useless. No matter how hard she fought it, the images still came. Memories of dreams she had deep in the night. The hope would not die a quite death. Sarah slowly slid to the floor, wrapped her arms around her up-drawn knees and finally let the tears flow.
Sarah tested the water, making sure it was comfortably warm, but not hot. She climbed into the tub and pulled the curtain shut before stepping under the shower-flow. As cool as the water was it still burned upon contact with the open, throbbing wounds on her back, making her gasp. She fought back tears of pain and sorrow, and refused to let herself imagine a different life. A life where she was a better wife who knew how to make her husband happy instead of constantly angering him at every turn. One where she and her children were safe and happy. Loved.
But it was useless. No matter how hard she fought it, the images still came. Memories of dreams she had deep in the night. The hope would not die a quite death. Sarah slowly slid to the floor, wrapped her arms around her up-drawn knees and finally let the tears flow.
