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I smirk. There's my girl. Sarcastic though she is, I like hearing her fight come back. Beneath the porch lights, I take in her dark brown hair and form. She is the best kind of slow backroad, all curves and hollows that need time to appreciate. "Just until you're inside and that door's locked," I counter.

It's all too easy to imagine her eyeroll from where I sit, though it's too dark to actually see it take place. "Goodnight, sunshine. Sweet dreams."

Once the door closes behind her, I tuck her helmet into the saddlebag and start the bike. I swing it around slowly, taking my time as the light comes on inside the house. Her bedroom?

I wonder what it looks like. Girlish from her teen years? Updated? What's her style? I rarely see her in anything but jeans, shorts and tees. Island attire. Working clothes. But that gives me little insight into who she is behind the quiet-but-tough image she always has at the ready.

I ride out of the short driveway, turning right to head home. My thoughts are on Violet, though. The image of her after receiving that phone call hits me once again, and I change course to head back to the bar.

I need answers. And the first step is getting hold of the number of whoever called…

Chapter 5

Violet

* * *

I wake with a jolt, my heart pounding against my ribs, body soaked in sweat. There's a vise around my lungs, like a boa constrictor tightening for the slow kill.

I moan and roll onto my side before shoving up and to my feet. There's no going back to sleep after that. It's only an hour before my alarm will go off to get up anyway, so I head into the attached bath and flip on the shower.

I wish I could wash away the memories as easily as I can the sweat coating my skin. If only. Instead, I remember every comment. Every derisive look. Every subtle threat that came before the night things took a dangerous turn and got even worse.

I grab the loofa and scrub until my skin reddens, willing away the images that reappear at the most inconvenient times. I tackle my long hair next and wonder if I'll wind up losing it like I had before due to stress. It's thick and soft now. Healthy and pretty. Something I struggle to acknowledge about myself after years of having everything about me being torn down in one way or another.

No man will ever want you.

I decide. Not you. Me!

Everything we have is because of me. It's my money. You've got nothing. You're nothing.

When I think about it now, I hear the abuse. I see it for exactly what it is. But back then? I didn't see a way out. People told me how lucky I was to have someone who wanted to take care of me. How blessed. Who was I to feel upset and angry about the things he said to me when I benefited from the arrangement? He worked hard. He was tired. People say things they don't mean when they're tired.

I'm embarrassed now that I made so many excuses for him. To myself. To others. I didn't want my family and friends to think badly of him. And then…I was embarrassed that it was happening at all.

Was Thad right? Was I to blame? If I did better, maybe he wouldn't say the things that he did?

That version of me was so confused by his behavior. The way he'd go from being sweet and loving and tender to…that. Slamming doors and cabinets, hitting the walls by my head. Then, back to tender and sweet once again, taking me out to dinner and treating me like a queen.

Hindsight is always better. I realize now there are plenty of tired people in the world who don't lash out with put-downs and nasty comments. Who don't drive so recklessly you fear for your life, all the while yelling at you because you're begging them to slow down, which means you don't trust them.

I groan and force myself to count in an effort to distract myself from my thoughts. Going over and over the past doesn't help anyone, especially me. But to learn Thad is out of jail? No longer held responsible for what he did?

I start over. Trying again. One.

Two.

Three.

Where is he? Am I being paranoid? I groan softly.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.