Prelude

Rainair’s worst day was not the one she woke up blind, but the moment she’d realized she had married a monster.

Machines hummed and clicked, their cadence echoing off the walls in time with her heartbeat. Her face felt swollen, and every one of her limbs was numb. The pain that radiated up her spine was like a familiar old friend that frequently called, only its presence was not as comforting.

The sharp scent of alcohol and bleach confirmed she had landed back in the hospital for the fifth time in as many months. Each time earned her more severe injuries. Cliff would kill her eventually. She had to leave him for good, but her every attempt left a wake of destruction.

Good people who had tried to help her had suddenly disappeared or had their lives destroyed beyond repair. Never again, she had promised herself, yet she couldn’t do this on her own.

People entered her room. Hard-soled shoes indicated they were not hospital staff. The sickening scent of Axe cologne permeated the air. It reminded her of a crowded room after a rowdy party involving far too much alcohol.

“Rainair Bishop?” a young man asked.

“Yes,” she struggled to say. Her throat felt as if she had swallowed glass shards. The raspy sound it emitted rivaled that of a cat stuck in the maw of a hungry coyote.

“I’m officer Hadley, and this is my partner, Officer Adams. We are here to take your report.”

Adams hadn’t spoken, but her scent was female, and the vinegar-like aroma she emitted betrayed her nervousness. Why would she be nervous?

“Can you tell us what happened?” asked Adams, concern and compassion softening her question. Someone had abused her.

“My husband had me beaten,” said Rainair.

The young officer cleared his throat. “Those are harsh accusations, Mrs. Bishop. Are you certain he was involved?”

It was always the same. No one believed her and the reports they filed made her look like a promiscuous chippy who always seemed to be at the wrong place with the wrong crowd. It was getting rather old. “Yes, Mr. Hadley, I’m sure. I recognized his cologne. He was with two other men.”

“Do you know who they were?”

“No, but I would recognize their voices. One of them was approximately six-foot-two and rather portly. The other was more athletic and slightly shorter. My husband stood by as they pounded my body like a sack of flour.”

“Your husband claims to have been in court that day during the time you called 911.”

Of course he did. Cliff always had his script in order before he acted. He was a strategist which made him one of the most influential lawyers in New York. “He was there, with me,” Rainair seethed.

“Why would he do this?” asked Adams.

“I tried to leave him. He got angry, just like the last four times he put me in here. I filed the reports.”

“We read them,” said Hadley. “None of them were conclusive.”

“Of course they weren’t,” she scoffed. It was Cliff ’s word against hers—a blind woman. “I want to press charges,” she said, knowing it would do no good.

“You want to press charges on the founder of the most prestigious law firms in New York, based on the scent of his cologne and a description of two blokes that could be any one of a million people?”

“Yes, I do.”

Hadley laughed. “There was nothing on your clothes or person that carried any proof of your allegations, Mrs. Bishop. The scent of cigarette smoke and gin coincide with the story your husband told. Someone saw you at the Blue Ox, leaving drunk with three men. Someone found you on the street and brought you here.”

“Did you run a blood test on me?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t drink last night!”

“Your blood test proved otherwise.”

Rainair thought about her throat and how it felt raw and sore. A tinge of juniper lingered. Had they forced gin down her throat? She remembered little of that night and wondered now if they had drugged her.

When she detected the scent of Timber Spice Cologne, her heart raced as if adrenaline pumped through her IV.

“Am I interrupting?” said the smooth and confident voice of her husband.

“No, sir. We were just leaving. I think we have what we need.”

“I hope you find the bastards who did this,” said Cliff, his voice thick with honey that reeked of poison.

“Yes, sir. We will.” Officer Hadley and Adams turned and left the room.

Plastic rustled as Cliff laid something down on the table beside her. “I brought you red roses— your favorite.” He leaned down and kissed her swollen cheek.

Then, in a whisper that was barely detectable, he added, “I married you, Rainair, because of your beauty and skill as a lawyer. Your blindness offers another convenience—a dependence of sorts. I have all the perks without the complications— something I don’t have time for. Behave yourself, and I won’t have to hurt you anymore. There is no place you can hide where I can’t find you. The sooner you learn that, the better life will be—for both of us. You are mine, Rainair. You hear me?”

“I’d rather be dead.”

“That’s my girl,” he laughed. “Always the fighter; another thing I love about you.”

His lips crushed down on hers so hard. It elicited a shot of pain and a whimper.

“Mine!” he repeated.