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…

my hips, and drove the heel of my boot viciously backward into his kneecap.

He roared in agony, his leg buckling. The chokehold broke.

I dove forward, hitting the floor and scrambling away.

Marcus didn’t waste the opening. In a blur of motion, he crossed the room, grabbed Vance by the lapels of his expensive suit, and hurled him face-first into the bedroom continue reading …