Chapter 2

"Who exactly are you messaging?" David blocked the narrow hallway in the dark.

"I already said it was my mom."

"Bullshit." He tilted his head. "You're talking to Mark, aren't you? Or Sarah?"

He took a step closer, pushing me backward toward our bedroom.

The faint glow from the window caught the side of his neck.

Three deep, jagged scratches ran down his collarbone. The skin was torn raw. Thick beads of fresh blood oozed from the cuts.

"You're bleeding," I pointed at his throat.

David casually swiped a hand over the open wounds.

"Scraped myself on the pool ladder," he said flatly.

Would a ladder leave scratches like that?

Those were clearly fingernail marks from wrestling around with some woman.

He grabbed the hem of his soaked shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it into the open laundry hamper.

The collar wasn't just damp—it was marked with red stains.

"Take a shower," I told him. "You reek of chemicals."

"Power's dead. The water heater won't work."

He grabbed a clean grey t-shirt from the closet.

The dry cotton immediately clung to his wet, foul-smelling skin. Dark, damp patches instantly bloomed across his chest.

The sharp stink of copper and harsh chlorine did not fade. It filled every corner of the room.

I backed up until my calves hit the edge of the mattress.

David closed the distance instantly.

He grabbed my hips.

"Get off me." I shoved his chest hard.

His grip tightened immensely, his fingers digging into my sides with bruising force.

He dragged my body flush against his soaked clothes.

"Come on, Claire. You've been waiting up for me." His breath was bone-chillingly cold against my cheek.

"I said back off!" I slapped his freezing hands away. "You dump me on Halloween to go party with girls, come back smelling like a butcher shop, and expect me to sleep with you?"

David stood completely still. His face was entirely hidden in the shadows.

He slowly reached over and slammed the switch on the battery-powered jack-o'-lantern on my dresser.

He lunged forward and grabbed my shoulders.

"I'm done with the hilltop mansion parties," he said rapidly. His words bled together. "I'm cutting Mark out of my life completely. I swear it. Let's just have a baby, Claire. Right now. We can fix this."

The desperation in his voice made my skin crawl. He wasn't asking. He was demanding.

"We'll talk when the sun comes up."

He ignored me. He leaned in, trapping me against the nightstand.

The metallic stench off his body hit the back of my throat.

I gagged, coughing violently into my arm to keep him away.

A gurgling vibration erupted from the floorboards.

His waterlogged smartphone was ringing inside his discarded wet jeans.

David froze. He stared at the glowing pocket for three long seconds. Finally, he bent down and pulled out the phone.

He hit accept.

I slipped my hand behind my back. I grabbed the handle of the nightstand drawer and pulled it open silently.

My fingers brushed a cold metal object. The manual backup key for the front door.

Just one distraction, and I could sprint for the entryway.

Then a woman’s hysterical sobbing echoed from his phone speaker.

It was Sarah.

"David! You have to come down to the overpass!" she screamed over the line.

David shot me a warning look. He pressed the phone tighter to his ear.

"I can't. The whole block has no power. Claire's phone has zero signal. What's going on?"

"It's Mark!" Sarah wailed. "He drove drunk! He went right through the guardrail into the ravine!"

My breath hitched.

"The paramedics just pulled him out of the windshield," Sarah gasped for air. "He's dead, David! Mark is dead!"

That's impossible.

Sarah claimed Mark died in a car wreck hours ago.

But Mark had texted me ten minutes ago.

He told me he watched my husband drown.

What was going on?