Claimed by the Betrayed Mercenary

Chapter Three

Connor’s POV

I can no longer hold it back, everything that has happened, every emotion that i've so desperately tried to hold in, crashes down upon my shoulders, and tears start to fall. I cry out, great shuddering, pain filled howls of grief, my fists slamming into the mattress beneath me, as I try to expel some of the agony, that is tearing me apart from the inside. I scream and scream, but it doesn't help, nothing helps! My grief is so deep that I'm not sure that I will ever be able to dig it out now.

After a while, the tears run dry, I’m now on the floor, my back against the bed, staring at the organised hangers, that mock me from our closet. I wonder where she’s gone, where she’s taken Grace while I’m here. She’s probably with him, with Duke, the f.ucker who f.ucked my wife and got her pregnant.

I shake my head, fingers digging into my scalp, somehow hoping that if I cause enough pain outside, the pain inside might subside. Why? Why did she do it? I was a good boyfriend, I thought I was a good husband too, I gave her everything I had, so why would she go looking for something in the arms of someone else? In Duke’s arms?

I snort derisively, what kind of f.ucking name is Duke anyway? He sounds like a wannabee cowboy, which would be great if we lived in Texas rather than Michigan.

My chest squeezes again, that now familiar pain cutting through me as I stare at the small space that only hours ago I classed as proof of my perfect life. Unable to stay any longer, I shove myself to my feet, grabbing a suitcase and opening it before grabbing any clothes I can find and throwing them inside. In the adjoined bathroom, I take shampoo, deodorant, my toothbrush, anything and everything I can see that is mine, I want it all.

Once the rooms are bare of my belongings, I slam the case shut, my fingers on the zip as my gaze roams once more around the bedroom, landing on the frame beside my bed. The smiling face of Grace looks back at me, I know it was really wind, but I caught her just at the perfect moment that she looked like she was smiling brightly at me. I grip the zip, staring at it before lunging over the covers, grabbing the frame and shoving it deep inside the case before zipping it up and carrying it from the room.

Reaching the front door, I find the officer waiting, her expression impassive as she steps aside so I can leave.

Grabbing the keys to my truck, I shut the door behind us, lock it, and head toward my vehicle, placing the suitcase on the back seat.

Thanking the woman for her time, I slide behind the wheel, gun the engine and back onto the street before heading down the road without a backward glance.

Reaching my motel, I park, heading up to my room where I drop the case on the floor just inside the door.

I slump down into the battered chair beside the small two seater table, looking around at my dreary reality. I don’t know what to do with myself, I’m stuck in a vortex of despair and grief with no way to dig myself out.

I used my one phone call at the jail to ring my boss, he told me to take all the time I need, which I appreciated, but it’s left me with nothing to do, no way to occupy my mind.

I glance at my watch, noting that it’s past midday and I realise that I haven’t eaten in nearly two days now. I’m not hungry, I’m not anything really, I’m just existing.

Grabbing my phone, I pull up the delivery app, picking something random from the list of options and pressing the top three items in the most popular list. I don’t want it, but I know I need to eat, just to fuel my body which I can’t afford to let slide. I spent years honing my body into what it is, it’s what makes me money, you don’t do what I do without having the muscle to back it up.

As I go to turn off my phone screen, my banking app catches my eye, and I open it up, scanning my account, noting that Eva has been using my card. Even now, after everything, she’s using my damn money to finance herself.

In a fit of rage, I cancel her card, blocking her from any further financial support. She can take me to court, but she won’t see another dime out of me until a judge forces me too. I also block the additional credit card on my account, let Duke pay for her s.hit. She has my house, the one I f.ucking pay for, that I owned long before I met her, she’s not getting anything else out of me.

Chucking my phone back onto the table, I slump back into the chair, my anger draining as fast as it arrived. I don’t move, not until a knock at the door forces me to.

Pulling open the flimsy door, I thrust some bills into the delivery driver’s hand before slamming it shut again without a word. It’s pizza that I’ve ordered, the smell rolls my stomach, but I still carry it to the table, opening it up along with the smaller boxes that contain fries and garlic dough balls.

Taking a seat, I grab a slice of pizza, lifting it to my lips, and taking a bite, chewing mechanically and swallowing. Over and over, the same movement until the slice is finished and I start again. I don’t even taste the mixture of toppings, couldn’t tell you what was on there if I tried, I just eat, because I have to.

I get halfway through the pizza, a few dough balls and a handful of fries before I shove everything aside and fall back on the bed. The full stomach and fatigue of no sleep for forty eight hours finally takes its toll on me and I pass out.