Fight (Fate Series Book 1) Read online

  Martha’s soft blue eyes land on me again. “Sweet Tea, there’s a catch. You need to get out of here today. The nurse said you aren’t going to be discharged for a few more days, but we can’t wait that long. If we wait until Mark wakes up, it will be too late.”

  Fear, mocking and all too familiar, grips my thoughts. Taking a moment to consider this, I know I’m ready. I’m ready because the fear didn’t consume my heart.

  “Ok then,” I attempt to sit up straighter as determination sets in. “What’s the plan?”

  Manny glances at the clock on the wall noting that its nearing midnight. He pops his head out into the hall, looking both ways before turning back to us. “Ok, looks like there are only two nurses and an aide on the floor right now. One just entered a room a few doors down.”

  Martha smiles cheekily, causing the skin around her eyes to wrinkle. “I can distract them, Manny, if you can help Teagan down the stairs.”

  She throws a bag I hadn’t previously noticed onto the bed. “Quick, put this on.”

  “Wait a second. Why are we sneaking me out of here rather than just signing myself out?” The two share a look before Manny turns my way. Fear flashes in his eyes as he lowers his thick eyebrows. Uncertainty forms a heavy stone in my gut.

  “Baby girl, it’s going to take time to do that. They will do everything they can to convince you that you need to stay. That’s time we don’t have to waste. You are the only one that can explain what happened tonight.”

  His words sink in and I take a moment to breathe, preparing myself for what lies ahead. With the help of Manny, my feet move from the bed to the floor, slowly gaining my balance. My ribs ache and nausea washes over me, threatening the contents of my stomach. He turns his back to allow me privacy to change but remains close, his protective side on high alert. I start to undress but quickly realize I am still attached to the IV. Grabbing a tissue from the table, I gently peel the tape back.

  “Here goes nothing.” I murmur to myself as I fill my lungs with air and yank the line out. Quickly pressing the tissue in the crook of my arm to stop the bleeding, I peel the tape from the IV line and use it as a makeshift band aid. I manage to dress myself without incident and fight the urge to laugh at how absurd I must look. Staring down at myself, I smile, noting the floral cotton moo moo and Crocs I am now sporting. Martha’s ability to offer comic relief in any situation never ceases to amaze me. Looking back up at her delicate features, I arch an eyebrow, failing to hide my smirk. She is the grandmother I never had.

  She looks at me in astonishment. “What? I was going for comfort and none of my pants would have stayed on your skinny arse.” She feigns offense but her smile sneaks through.

  I’m going to miss them so damn much.

  “Ok. I’m ready.” I nod to Manny who waves Martha over.

  “Martha, you’re on,” he announces as she saunters her frail body out to the nurse’s station. Manny takes my arm in his and we head for the door.

  My entire body aches but the pain serves as a reminder that I’m still alive. He didn’t break me. The realization sparks a newfound resilience I didn’t know I was capable of. Just before the door to the stairwell swings closed, I hear the male nurse ask Martha if he can assist her with anything. I nearly trip over my own feet when I hear her ask if he personally performs mammograms.

  We make it out to Manny’s boat-sized car without being noticed. Anxiousness fills the car with every passing second. A few minutes later Martha strolls, albeit slowly, out to the parking lot to join us.

  “Martha O’Connor, you dirty ol’ woman. Where have you been hiding?” I ask failing to stifle my laugh no matter how hard I tried. She has the nerve to look embarrassed when she responds.

  “What? I needed to get his attention. It worked, didn’t it?”

  Manny steers the car toward the freeway as he fills me in on the plan. “We are going to stop by your house to let you get whatever personal effects you need. But baby girl, your house is considered a crime scene. It’s unlikely that anyone will be there, but you need to figure out a way in that doesn’t go through the main doors. Especially near the kitchen.”

  The phrase ‘crime scene’ tightens the already taut strings on my sanity.

  “I think I can do that,” I reply with more strength than I feel. “There is a trellis on the side of the house that I can climb. I’ve always left the window in the guest room unlocked. Just in case.” I stare out the window taking in the scenery around me. The serenity of the night calms my racing thoughts.

  A few minutes later, we pull up several houses down from our destination. Manny speaks up again. “Just in case, Martha, you stay in the car. I will go with Teagan and serve as a sort of look out.” He turns to face me, apprehension laces the lines of his face. “Baby girl, this needs to be quick. Just the essentials. Few changes of clothes, toiletries. Only the items that are necessary.”

  As we approach the house, my pulse picks up speed. I have to fight back crippling fear that he might be inside waiting for me. No, I remind myself. He’s still in the hospital recovering from me this time. Its vindictive, but I feel a rush of bravery knowing that he’s the one in the hospital and I’m the one who put him there.

  After accepting Manny’s pre-offered flashlight, I climb the trellis as quickly as I can manage. It’s harder than I expected and the pain radiating from my ribcage is excruciating. My breathing is labored, and the inhale of each breath sends pain shooting down my side. Thankfully, the second-floor window was still unlocked. I climb through, visibly shaking. Once both feet are planted on the plush white carpet, I take a moment to listen and slow my racing heart. Flipping on the flashlight, I quickly creep down the hall toward the master bedroom. I stop outside a closed door on the opposite side of the hall, my stomach twisting in painful knots. I start to reach for the handle but hesitate. I stand there for a moment longer contemplating if I should go in, but it’s just too hard. I’m not ready to open that wound again. Instead, I turn on the balls of my feet and head toward my original destination. Looking around the room, I realize there isn’t much that is actually mine. As I take in the Egyptian cotton sheets, rich drapery and plush furnishings, I realize this house could never have been a home. Not with that monster.

  I snap back to the present, chastising myself for wasting time when I should be hurrying. I rush around the room grabbing a large black suitcase, stuffing in what clothing and toiletries I can fit. Pulling a sweater from the closet, I knock a couple of bags off the top shelf. When they hit the floor I instantly remember why they had been shoved up there.

  About a year ago, I was feeling defiant. Mark had demanded I go and purchase more suitable clothing. Complaining that he would not tolerate a wife who didn’t look her best at all times. My clothes barely saw the light of day, but if he wanted me to buy new clothes, then new clothes I would buy. I did purchase what he required but I also purchased clothing that suited who I was. The Teagan I was—before Mark. I hid them away just as I had my personality. Well screw this. I tossed all the Mark-approved clothing from the suitcase and quickly replaced it with the pre-Mark-approved apparel.

  I changed into my own clothing—a pair of jeans, vintage tee, chucks, and a light weight hoodie, before grabbing my bag and heading for the door. In the hall I hesitate once more outside the closed bedroom door. My chest constricts as I am reminded of the ultimate loss. But I refuse to let him take the remaining light from my life. With sweaty palms and more determination than before, I push the door open and try not to cry. Remembering the urgency of my situation, I rush for the framed sonogram photo on the dresser. I clutch it tightly to my heart and quietly close the door before I break down. Every emotion I am capable of flows freely down my face. Each stream is another vision of a life not lived. Gathering my courage, I head for the escape window. I need out of this house. Now.

  As we pull up to the bus station, sadness hangs in the air. This is it. I am likely saying good bye to the only people I care about, for the last time.
It’s as if my heart is physically breaking. I step out of the car and Manny meets me at the curb with my bag. Martha is right on his heels.

  “We are going to miss you so much mi hija.” He pulls me in for a hug and I can feel the wetness on his cheeks. An avalanche of emotion threatens to suffocate me. Life is so unfair sometimes. Why are the people I love always taken from me?

  “Take this money and buy a ticket to Miami on the next bus out of here.” I glance down at the wad of rolled bills he hands me. “I have an acquaintance there who is going to meet you at the bus station with a car. I know it isn’t much and Miami isn’t nearly far enough, but that’s the only place I could get you to this soon,” he expresses, trying to hide how emotional this is for him.

  I can barely get the words out over the lump in my throat. “It’s perfect, Emmanuel. No one has ever done something like this for me before. I’m a tough cookie and have had much less.”

  “When you love someone, you will do anything for them. You’re family, Sweet Tea. Don’t you ever forget it either.” Martha’s words bust the tight hold I had on my emotions and I break down. I cry for the years I’ve lost. I cry for the child I once was. I cry for the family I never had. But most importantly, I cry for the family I am now leaving behind. The tingling numbness creeping down my arms is becoming far too familiar.

  They both hug me as tightly as they can, and I in return. “Now, that’s enough of the tears,” Martha cuts in. “This is a happy day. Teagan baby, you’re finally free.”

  Her words allow a whole new wave of emotion to wash over me. When did I become such a crier? Pulling myself together, I gather my things and head for the door. I glance over my shoulder and shoot my family a wink and a smile as they watch my retreating back.

  I’ve experienced more pain than any one person should have to endure. I can say with absolute certainty, that leaving my family behind is one of the most painful things I have ever experienced.

  FUCK! What was I thinking? That’s really a loaded question now, isn’t it? With my head down and hood up, I look over my aviators at the outdated clock on the wall above the ticket booth. Two forty-five AM. I look at the worn ticket in my hand, again for the thousandth time. Departure time: five AM. Alone at a bus station in Tallahassee isn’t the most dangerous situation I have ever been in, but even I know it’s not safe at this hour. I decide on the safest location I can find and settle in.

  Sunglasses tint the scene around me and as much as I need to keep my vision clear and alert, I need the coverage even more. Women with busted lips and lovely shades of purple coloring their eyes tend to draw attention, and attention is exactly what I don’t need. I can’t cover the bruising around my neck, so I keep my hood pulled up high. Shifting in on the bench, I realize getting comfortable is a lost cause. A couple of my ribs are bruised. Repositioning once again to take the pressure off my left ribcage, I inhale as deep as the burning sensation will allow. I try to stay alert and on-guard, but my mind keeps playing the last ten years of my life on repeat like a goddamn Lifetime movie marathon.

  I first met Mark at a college party. I was nineteen, broke, uneducated, and hopping from one friend’s couch to another. That had been my life since my mom overdosed and the state stopped chasing me back to foster homes. I’d been on my own for a while and I knew that I could never amount to anything if I stayed in Oklahoma. I had no idea where to go or what to do but I knew staying wasn’t an option. I was forever branded the product of a meth addict. I managed to get my GED and hitched a ride from rural Oklahoma to the driver’s destination—Tallahassee. I don’t really know what I was looking for in Florida, but I sure as shit didn’t find it.

  Mark was probably the most charismatic person I had ever met. Everything about him from his hair to his shoes screamed social status. In retrospect, that probably should have been my first clue. He had just finished law school and was preparing to take the state bar exam. I don’t know if he didn’t realize my age or just didn’t care, but that should have been clue number two. He spoke so proudly about everything he planned to do. He had a plan to clean up the city, a fact that gave me a serious case of hero worship. In his eyes, he was a king and his father, Governor Langford put him on a pedestal. The Langford’s were Florida’s golden family. I was an orphan who worked part time as a receptionist at a tattoo and piercing studio, sported more ink than some rock stars, had no formal education, and cursed more than a Marine. Needless to say, when Mark directed his smile my direction, I was a goner. I was curious why he had picked me, but honestly, I was too afraid to question it. Now, I realize I was a challenge. He’d stayed because he knew he could manipulate me.

  We had what I imagine grandmothers referring to a whirlwind romance. Mark was everything a woman could ask for in a man. His career took off so fast I don’t think either of us were prepared for it. We had been seeing each other a couple of months when he asked me to move in with him. It had been the best two months of my life. I was, for all intents and purposes, homeless, and already staying with him several nights a week. It just seemed to make sense. I want to believe that I had done it to survive. A roof over my head, food to eat and such. But no. I was so in love that it didn’t matter that we had only been together two months. With him working so many hours, I wanted to be there to care for him. It was the least I could do.

  At that point, I had only seen one concerning part of Mark’s personality. He was incredibly jealous. The busboy at a restaurant couldn’t look my direction for too long. He hated when I read my favorite romance novels. He said I was his and he should be the only man in my mind. At the time I was naive enough to swoon at his overly controlling ways. I loved that he was so in love with me that the thought of another man touching me put him in a rage. I remind myself, I never had any kind of positive role model or loving parent to guide me through life decisions. Hindsight and all that.

  Mark proposed to me six months after I moved it with him. I was so deliriously in love. We were alone at home, nothing special going on. As we prepared for bed, he gently grabbed my arm to turn me in his direction. He knelt down on one knee and presented a small velvet box. Tears pricked my eyes at the sight before me. He opened the box to reveal the most beautiful diamond solitaire I had ever seen. The damn thing had to have cost more than a car. With a smile spread across his face he spoke the most precious words I thought I’d ever hear.

  “Teagan, you are the light of my life. Waking up next to you is the only thing that keeps me going. I could never picture my future without you and I hope I never have to. Will you marry me?”

  My hands shook so hard he could barely get the ring on my finger as I whispered “yes” over and over.

  That night, we celebrated our love with too much champagne. I could get into rough sex, but Mark acted in a way I had never seen him before. That night, something inside of him clawed to the surface. And over the next year, it would slowly consume the man I loved.

  It started sweet and sexy when he tossed me on our bed. He immediately covered my body with his, resting between my open thighs. He slid his hand up my thigh and under the dress I was wearing.

  “Whose pussy is this?” he growled close to my ear.

  “Yours!” I cried out as he ran a finger down my center and thrust it between my legs. I bucked my hips trying to get myself closer to the pleasure.

  “You like that, don’t you? You’re so wet for me.” Without warning, he tossed me onto my stomach. The force in which he did it caused the headboard to bounce off the wall. My brain scrambled to process this new behavior when suddenly, I was free of my panties and Mark’s cock was teasing my entrance. On my hands and knees ready for him, he pushed all the way in until he was fully seated. I moaned at the sudden intrusion. He drew his hand back and smacked me across my bare ass. It stung but there was a pleasure I couldn’t deny. It turned me on and I bucked into him, a rush of wetness coated his cock as he continued to tease me.

  “You liked that, didn’t you.”

  Once again with
out warning, he drew his hand back and slapped my ass, much harder than he had before. I screamed out in pain, my skin burned like a series of bee stings. That definitely crossed the line from pleasure to pain. I tried to crawl out from beneath him, but his hand on my shoulder held me in place. My pleas only seemed to feed his need as he pounded into me harder. He spanked me a few more times, eliciting tears as I buried my face into the pillow.

  I knew he wouldn’t stop now.

  He grabbed hold of my arm hard enough that I knew it was going to bruise and flipped me back over to face his front. My breathing was ragged as his mouth crashed down on me painfully. The wetness flowing from my eyes never once fazed him. It felt like he was getting off on hurting me. A small part of my soul died that day. I felt it chip off, falling into the abyss.

  Wrapping his hands around my neck, he squeezed tighter as he entered me again. Anger filled my senses and I started to push him off but the alcohol in my system made my stomach churn and my movements slow. He leaned over to my ear and whispered “Be still now. Women love this, I promise. I’ll take care of you.”

  His tone was tender, almost loving, yet something more sinister laced the edges. Nothing about this felt right. Resuming his actions, the vise around my neck constricted and I started to panic. Raw fear fueled my senses, but I could do nothing about it. At six-foot-tall and one hundred and ninety pounds, Mark was so much larger than my five foot five, one hundred and twenty-pound frame. I didn’t stand a chance.

  I couldn’t catch my breath. Slapping wildly against his arms to gain his attention was a useless endeavor. In that moment, he wasn’t capable of focusing on anything but himself.

  That was the first time my body lost consciousness at Mark’s hands.

  When I finally came to, the next morning, I ambled out of bed wishing the whole night had been nothing more than one of those fucked up vivid nightmares. But the way my body ached with every movement told me the nightmare had been in fact, reality.