Substitute Marriage: My Lethal Comatose Husband

ved mahogany closet wa

ack panel, her small hands clamped over her own mouth. Her lungs

rdwood floor of the second-floor hallway. The

antique porcelain vase in the corridor expl

ront of her white silk blouse, sticking the fabric to her skin. She was gasping, h

ck, slick with her own blood, but she m

Bronson Burnett's roar bled t

The doorframe groaned, the wo

yanked the door open just enough to shove her blood-soaked hand ove

ed, her voice a wet, ragged wheeze. "N

hogany door gave way, the hin

letter opener in his right hand. The sharp me

at Bronson, her fingernails clawing at hi

ng his arm. The brass letter opene

icate woven patterns. Her eyes rolled toward the crack in the closet door, locking

d walked to the wall safe. He tore through the files, his hands mo

licked open with a sharp snap. He grabbed a decorative bottle of high-proof liquor from the bedside table, shattering it over the rug around her. He held the flame to the soaked fibers. The alcohol caught instantl

for three seconds, then turned and walked o

throat closed up. She couldn't pull air into her lungs. The heat

lass of the bedroom w

into the room. He was draped in a soaking wet wool b

d, his voice cracking ov

h the last ounce of strength in her arms.

, wrapping the heavy, wet blanke

shattered window and threw them both out,

like concrete. The worl

n year

or oil and rust replac

a Hicks, stood in front of a cracked mirror ins

licone was dyed a deep, angry red. She carefully aligned the edges with the

ed girl in the mirror. Her pulse