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Ten minutes later, he strolled into the bedroom with a bottle of Jack Daniel's in one hand and leaned on the dresser beside her. "What are you doing now?"
Jolie kept shoving the pile of clothes she had placed on the bed into the suitcase, eyeing the bottle. Since he had started working with Timothy, his choice of alcohol had gotten much stronger. Had he been drinking when he had botched the disposal of Norman Rakes' body? "I'm doing what I should've done the first day I met you. I'm getting as far away from you as is humanly possible."
"God forbids such language. And you're not going anywhere. You're my wife. Who's making you talk to me like this? Your mother? She's finally turning you against me."
"In case you didn't notice, I haven't even been allowed to talk to my mother. And you don't own me."
"I knew it!" He slammed the bottle down on the dresser, and she flinched. Liquid spilled into the open drawer onto her underclothes.
"I never gave you a reason to leave. I never beat you."
"You never beat me? You beat me everyday. You beat me down with your silence and with your words and with your fists."
Richard thumped the dresser, but she didn't flinch. She had anticipated the reaction. The veins on his forehead bulged. The divot that had only been a faint expression line between his eyebrows before they had moved to Redemption had become a gully splitting his forehead in half. For a moment, she imagined his brain might come popping out, and she fought the mad laughter prickling her insides. "What is with you lately? Why are you always challenging me? You're the reason I hit Emma." He faced the window that overlooked Gena's house andflexed his hands. His arms dropped to his sides, and he let out a heavy sigh. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Did you kill that man on the news? That Rakes guy? Did you screw up his burial? Is the reverend angry with you?"
Something flickered in the corner of his eyes.
"What was that? A yes or a no?"