My husband shoved me, shattering the bathroom mirror. His mother sneered, “Clean up this disgusting mess.” But as I fell, my husband roared, “What’s in your pocket?!” The red LED of my federal distress fob pulsed. Denied the third click, I threw myself onto the broken glass, and…

closed folding knife pressed painfully into my temple.

“Shut up, don’t move!” he spat directly into my ear, his heart hammering against my back like a jackhammer.

Heavy boots pounded up the carpeted staircase. The bedroom door, which Vance had locked, didn’t stand a chance. It burst open with a splintering crash.

Marcus came surging into the room, a dark,continue reading …