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…

“Vance Sterling,” Marcus’s voice was frighteningly calm, chilling the air in the room. “Let her go. Right now. You have nowhere to run.”

Vance backed up another step, his grip tightening around my windpipe, cutting off my air. “Back off, Marcus! Back the hell off! This is my house, this is my wife!”

I couldn’t breathe. Black spots danced at the edge continue reading …