Chapter 144
What should she do?
It was already dusk, and the sky had turned dark. Not a soul was around.
Even if she screamed, no one would hear her.
Lyman wouldn’t be back so soon, either.
Clearly, she was on her own.
Effie kept her face cold and spoke in a steady voice. “Mr. Smith, I’m warning you to think carefully. I’m not lying to you-we really are married. You know what kind of man Lyman is. Unless you’re prepared to face his wrath, I suggest you walk away.”
She was stalling for time, silently praying-Lyman, please come back soon!
But Mr. Smith seemed completely unfazed. He smiled, then reached out, trying to pull Effie into his arms.
Effie had been ready for this. She struggled with all her strength, then lifted her foot and drove it mercilessly into his groin.
“Aaah!” Mr. Smith let out a piercing, almost inhuman scream, doubling over and clutching himself. All the color drained from his face.
Effie took the chance to stumble back a few steps, her eyes blazing. “Take one more step, Mr. Smith, and I swear I’ll make sure you’re never a man again!”
Sweat broke out on Mr. Smith’s brow as he glared at her, pain twisting his features. “You little witch! How dare you kick me?!”
He staggered upright, rage blazing in his eyes, and lunged to grab her hair.
Effie twisted away, but her heel caught on the pavement. She lost her balance and fell backward.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact—
—but instead, a pair of strong arms caught her, steady and sure.
Almost instantly, she was enveloped by a familiar scent.
Effie’s eyes flew open-and there he was. Lyman, his gaze dark as midnight, stared down at her.
“Lyman!” she gasped, her voice trembling with relief and something softer she didn’t even recognize herself.
Oh, thank God. He was really here.
A rush of gratitude flooded her chest.
Her prayers had been answered.
Lyman set her on her feet, then turned a glacial stare on Mr. Smith. His voice was dangerously low. “Mr. Smith, you must have a death wish.”
Damn it. How could he not have realized this snake was after his wife?
He’d practically let a wolf into his own house.
Disaster had been inches away.
The sight he’d just walked in on made Lyman want to kill someone.
Thank God he’d ended his meeting early. He couldn’t even imagine what might have happened otherwise.
As soon as Mr. Smith saw Lyman, all the bravado drained from his face, leaving him deathly pale. “Mr… Mr. Etheridge, this—it’s all a misunderstanding…”
“A misunderstanding?” Lyman’s laugh was cold and sharp. He released Effie and stalked toward Mr. Smith, step by deliberate step. “You put your hands on my wife, and you call that a misunderstanding?”
Mr. Smith backed away in a panic, sweat pouring down his face. “I’m sorry! I was drunk, I wasn’t thinking-please…”
How could this be happening? Wasn’t Lyman supposed to be unmarried? Why was he calling this woman his wife? Damn it, had Isabel set him up?
“Being drunk isn’t an excuse.” Lyman grabbed Mr. Smith by the collar, his eyes like knives. “If you can’t control yourself, maybe you don’t deserve to keep your hands at all.”
No sooner had he spoken than Lyman drove his fist into Mr. Smith’s face, sending him crashing to the ground.
Mr. Smith howled, clutching his nose as blood spilled between his fingers. “Please, Mr. Etheridge! I swear, I’ll never do it again!”
He was stone-cold sober now.
Lyman looked down at him, icy and unyielding. “Luther, take him to the police station. And while you’re at it, let’s make sure the authorities hear about all the other dirty things he’s been up to over the years.”
Know your enemy, win every battle.
Lyman had plenty of dirt on Mr. Smith. The man had a history-including keeping underage girls.
Luther stepped forward without a word, dragging Mr. Smith away as easily as hauling out the trash.