Page 48 of Twilight Tides
Call it overreacting, but my Spidey senses tingled violently. I sent the call to voicemail and waited with mounting dread for him to leave one.
Because it had to be Nick.
I’d been married to Murray for two weeks and every day I’d been waiting for Nick to find out and then reach out to threaten me.
Instead of a voicemail, a message flashed on the screen. And another. And another. And another. And another.
All from a number I didn’t have saved on my phone.
You think you don’t belong to me because you married one of those morons from Bumfuck Island?
He thinks he can touch what’s mine?
He touches you again and you’re both dead.
Maybe I’ll come for his daughter first.
Don’t get comfortable. Someone will be investigating this sham of a fucking marriage very soon.
Trembling with the rush of adrenaline that soared through my blood, I stumbled back onto the bed, my fingers hovering over the screen.
The instant urge to call Nee was strangled by my pride.
I’d promised myself that I would deal with Nick.
Nee was pregnant and didn’t need this stress.
Murray had enough stress to last a lifetime.
No.
I had to handle this alone. I had to prove to myself that I could take care of this asshole.
I screenshot his text messages and then blocked him.
Pulling my knees up to my chest, I considered his threats. So he’d looked into Murray. It didn’t mean he had the authority to have our marriage investigated. And if it did … so what?! No one could prove that Murray and I weren’t married for real.
Right?
My fingers itched with the urge to google how people who married for visas were investigated, but I knew thatwould be utterly stupid, considering they’d probably search our computers.
Murray and I just needed to get to know each other better and we could do that. I’d bring it up the next time we had a second alone.
Nick wouldn’t win this.
No way.
I was done being afraid of him.
At least … I was trying to belessafraid of him.
One day I would succeed.
I would.
I had to.
That sorry excuse for a man did not get to win.
