Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2)

I wish I could call Blake, tell him how sorry I am, and explain why I had to kick him out the way I did. Stewart isn’t just an everyday creep, he’s a ruin-your-name, destroy-your-life, and poison-your-dog-for-good-measure creep. I can’t stand the thought of him setting his sights on Blake.

Hopefully somewhere down the road, once I’m finally rid of Stewart for good, I can find him. If I could get him to hear me out, maybe he’d forgive the way I treated him. I keep my head focused on that, but I know that Blake’s not the kind of man who opens himself up once, and asking for him to trust me again is a leap.

“Pack a bag. We’re going to a hotel.” Stewart’s finally off his phone.

“You said tomorrow.” Axelle’s head is in my lap, and her neck tenses against my thigh. I run my hands through her hair a little more firmly. I don’t want her to think I’m the weak woman I was before. This time, I’ll stand up for us.

He narrows his eyes at me. “Pack. A. Bag.”

I return his glare. “No.”

“When did you become so defiant? You’ve been in Vegas for what? Three months? And now you’re little Miss Independent?” A glint of something sinister sparks in his eyes. “Seems I got here just in time.”

I whisper in Axelle’s ear for her to go to her room. She grips my waist.

“Please, babe.” My voice is steady and calm, the complete opposite of how I feel. “It’ll be okay.”

She holds on for a few more seconds then releases me and walks to her room, her eyes to the floor. I listen to the sound of her steps until I hear her door close and then nail him with a glare. “What are you doing here, Stewart? And why didn’t you sign the divorce papers? You said you understood. You let us go.”

He mocks me with a fake pout. “My poor stupid wife. Did you really think I’d let you go? I gave you space, but I knew you’d fuck up your life here just like you fuck up everything else. I expected a call two weeks ago when those slutty pictures of you and that kid at the pool were all over the Internet.”

My stomach bottoms out, but surprisingly not from the disgusting way he’s speaking to me. Has he been stalking us? “How did you know about that?”

“Shit. Everyone knew,” he says with confidence, but drops his gaze.

“You’ve been spying on me?”

“You’re my wife.”

The weight of my jaw hangs heavy on its hinges. “How long?”

“It doesn’t matter ho—”

“How long?” I demand.

“You’re hanging around with a guy who’s closer to Elle’s age than your own.”

I can’t believe this. Common sense tells me I should’ve known he let us go too easily. Why didn’t I see this coming?

“You’ve been stalking me and Blake.” My voice is barely audible as I process this new information.

“You’re married. You’ve embarrassed our daughter, me, and yourself.” He steps up close, the red coloring his face accentuating his blond eyebrows. “Now walk your ass into your room and pack a fucking bag. I’m not staying the night in this shit hole.”

My heart jumps in panic, but his insulting our home forces it to slow. I worked my ass off to get where I am. We’ve made this place our home and built a life for ourselves. He can do whatever he wants—call me names, belittle me, take my body. I’ve lived through his hell. But I won’t give up the life we have here. When I left Seattle, I vowed I’d never take another order from him again. It’s time I made good on that promise.

I think about the story Blake told me about the morning he decided he was finished living under the heavy hand of his father. His tattoo flashes in my mind’s eye.

Si vis pacem, para bellum.

If you want peace, prepare for war.

With that, an idea forms. If I piss him off enough, anger him beyond his control, I’ll stir up the war. I’ll drive him to the point of violence. The police will come, restraining orders will be filed, and ultimately divorce papers will be signed. I can do this. It sounds crazy, but I’m thinking crazy might be our only way out.

I see the guys at the training center take punches all the time. Sure, it’ll hurt, but I’ve got purpose on my side. Fight for the life I made here. For the life that Axelle’s made. And piling hope upon hope, for any future I have with Blake.

This is going to work. It has to.

I suck in a deep breath and square my shoulders. “Fuck you, Stew.”

His eyes widen, the brown piercing me and not letting go. “What did you say?” His nostrils flare with every breath, and his chest swells.

“You heard me. I want you to leave.” Excitement shakes my voice, but I’m hoping he thinks it’s fear.

“Have you lost your mind, talking to me like that?”

A loud knock sounds at the door just a couple yards from where we’re standing.

“Layla? It’s me, Raven.”

Stewart’s eyes dart from me to the door.

“I wanted to see how the outfit worked out,” she says through the door.

More knocking.

“I know you’re in there, girl.” Her voice is light and cheery. Like she really is here to simply stop by and chat.

I know better.

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