After having him here several nights ago—touching him, holding him, kissing him, loving him—I now know without a shadow of a doubt where my place is in life: By his side. He offers me physical exhilaration, emotional security, and an overall happiness I never knew possible. And after all I’ve been through in the past few years, I deserve it and am willing to do whatever it takes to get it back.

With a loud sigh that’s for no one’s sake but my own, I toss the covers to the side and slip on a fleece hoodie over the tank top I slept in, along with one of my two pairs of sweatpants I alternate in between. Once I’m nice and warm and properly covered, I venture out into the main living area of the cabin only to stop dead in my tracks at the scene awaiting me.

Raze—who has been dressed in head-to-toe black since the day I first saw him—is wearing fitted Wranglers, a plaid flannel on top of a white thermal, and tattered brown work boots as he waits for the coffee maker to finish brewing the morning pot of joe. I’m not sure whether to gawk at him, never having realized how handsome he is when he doesn’t look like a trained assassin, or to crack up laughing at the Russian lumberjack.

Sensing my presence, he twists his neck to look over at where I’m frozen mid-step and pinches his eyebrows together. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s with the outfit? Are you going to chop down trees today?” I tease, resuming my stride to join him in the kitchen.

He glances down at his clothes, as if he doesn’t know they’re nothing like what he usually has on, then looks back up at me, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I won’t be chopping down any trees, kotyonok, but I’m happy you like the outfit. I have to go in town for some things this morning to prepare for our big day, which is rapidly approaching.” His tone grows more serious as the amusement rapidly disappears from his face, and my stomach tightens in a hard knot as I grab my own mug.

“I got the call last night after you were already asleep,” he continues after a short pause, holding my gaze with fierce intensity. “Three days. I’ve got a lot to do between now and then, but in three days, this will all be over . . . one way or another.”

It’s the news I’ve been waiting for. Finally. There’s an end date. Light at the end of the tunnel. But something feels off. Very off.

“This is a good thing, right?” I ask, hoping the unsettled churning in my gut is just a reaction to the realization that in just a few days, I will point a gun at a man and pull the trigger. And honestly, I doubt I’ll feel much remorse at all. “We can go back to our old lives and put this all behind us.”

He hesitates for only a split-second, but it’s a split-second I don’t miss. Forcing a tight-lipped smile, he nods and fills his thermos then steps to the side to allow me to do the same. “Yes, put this all behind us,” he repeats my words, but when he says them, the feel of dark foreboding hangs on each syllable.

I don’t respond as my mind goes into overdrive, suddenly fretting about every possible outcome that can occur at the end of three days. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve become way too comfortable in this fake sense of normalcy Raze and I have created here, and perhaps I’ve put too much trust in this man who I only think I know.

When he showed up late Saturday night after taking Madden back to wherever, it was obvious something was bothering him then, and then instead of answering my demands to tell me what had happened, he distracted me with a story about his late wife. He knew I’d take the bait, wanting to know more about her and forgetting about whatever had really gotten him riled up, yanking files out of the safe and punching the keyboard of his laptop. If something would’ve happened to remind him of her, it wouldn’t have warranted that kind of reaction. No papers or computers are going to bring her back, so he was obviously doing something else.

“Are you actually going to pour the coffee in your cup, or just drink straight from the pot?” Breaking through the onslaught of apprehensive thoughts flooding my mind, his deep voice startles me and I jump in response, sloshing the scalding hot liquid over the sides of the pot. My first reaction to the searing pain on my wrist and forearm is to release the handle, and as the glass shatters into a million tiny pieces on the floor, I fall to my knees and clutch my throat. I can’t breathe and the darkness is back.

“Father is coming for dinner tonight. I hope you made something he’ll like,” Ish announced as he walked in the door, home from a day of work. “He should be here in ten to fifteen minutes.”

I plastered a smile on my face as I swallowed back the acid that built in the back of my throat at every mention of my father-in-law then turned away from the sink to greet my husband. “Yes, of course. The pork loin will be ready in half an hour, and I’ve got garlic risotto and steamed zucchini to go with it. Do you want me to join you while you two eat, or do you prefer if I eat after he eats?”

Please say later. Please say later. “He’s asked that you join us tonight,” he said proudly as he walked over to me, kissing me with putrid cigarette breath. “I told you he’d come around and see what I see.” His hand slid inside my shirt and pinched my nipple so hard it brought tears to my eyes. “Now go fix your face and put on something decent. If he’s pleased with you tonight, I’ll be sure to reward you later.”

I scurried away from him to the sanctuary of the bathroom—the only place in our home that I felt some sort of solace. Though it wasn’t as if I was stupid enough to believe the flimsy wooden door would keep him out if he wanted to get to me in there, but usually he left me alone for at least a few minutes. Quickly, I brushed my teeth and hair then freshened up my makeup before venturing into my closet to find something appropriate.

Just as I secured the last button on my blouse, I heard the front door open and close, followed by the sound of my father-in-law’s voice. “It smells like something is burning. I thought you said the bitch could cook?”

Ish mumbled something in response that I couldn’t quite make out, but there was no misunderstanding his father’s next words. “I told you she was a worthless little American cunt, but you couldn’t see past that bloody virgin pussy. I should’ve had her snuffed out the first time you mentioned her to me, and insisted you marry someone I chose. Then maybe people would’ve forgotten you’re a bastard.”

And the fun began.

Pretending I didn’t hear him, I emerged from our bedroom and welcomed him as I was expected to. “Good evening, Vincent,” I forced out politely, kissing him on both cheeks. “I’m so happy you’re joining us for dinner.”

He didn’t bother acknowledging my greeting, other than staring at my breasts long enough to make me uncomfortable then barking out his drink request, which I hurried to fulfill.

The rest of dinner followed along the same lines. Vincent and Ish talked about ‘business’, while I waited on them hand and foot. I was basically ignored, which I honestly preferred to the alternative—being degraded and humiliated. And when they both cleaned their plates of all of the food I’d served them, I took it as a good sign that they enjoyed the meal, ‘cause Lord knew they sure wouldn’t give me a compliment.

Once I’d cleared the table of the dishes, I brought them dessert and coffee, but stupidly, I forgot that Vincent didn’t take his coffee the same way Ish did—no milk, two sugars. After taking the first sip of the sweetened drink, he spit it out all over the table and then threw the cup at me, burning my arms, chest, and neck with the scorching liquid.

“You stupid fucking whore! Are you trying to poison me with that shit?” he screamed, jumping up from his chair as he glared at me like I was the scum of the earth.