Chapter 1 - The Bat
The moment our honeymoon cruise pulled away from Florida, my husband locked the cabin door.
At first, I smiled.
We had been married for forty eight hours.
The champagne was chilling.
Sunlight poured through the balcony doors, turning the Atlantic into hammered silver.
Gregory Hartman stood with his back against the door.
“Well,” he said.
“Now we’re finally alone.”
Something in his voice made my smile disappear.
I was wearing a short patterned dress and heels because Gregory had insisted we start the honeymoon “properly.”
He said he loved seeing me feminine.
Soft.
Different from the woman I had been before him.
I had spent four years in the United States Marine Corps.
What Gregory knew was that I had worked in training operations.
What he never seemed interested enough to learn was exactly what kind.
I had been a Marine Corps Martial Arts instructor.
I had spent years teaching service members how to remain functional when fear, pain, and another human body occupied the same three feet of space.
I left the Marines because I wanted another life.
Combat boots became heels.
Morning formations became conference calls.
I joined Vantage Response Group, a disaster recovery technology company headquartered in Tampa, and eventually became its chief operating officer.
I told myself I had moved on.
Then Gregory crossed the cabin.
He knelt beside his leather suitcase.
Opened the polished brass latches.
And pulled out an aluminum baseball bat.
I stared.
“What is that?”
“My father gave it to me before the wedding.”
He smiled.
Not his charming smile.
Something thinner.
“My dad always said marriage is like breaking a wild horse.”
I did not move.
Gregory ran his hand along the bat.
“If you don’t establish control at the beginning, you spend the rest of your life chasing it.”
For one second, I thought this had to be some sick joke.
“Gregory.”
“You’ve always had a strong personality.”
His voice stayed calm.
“That’s one of the things I liked about you.”
“Put the bat down.”
“But now we’re married.”
He stepped closer.
“And there are certain things you need to understand.”
My body changed before my mind caught up.
Breathing slowed.
Shoulders loosened.
Distance.
Balance.
Exit.
Weapon.
Hands.
I stopped looking at him as my husband.
That hurt more than I expected.
“Unlock the door.”
“No.”
“Gregory.”
“You don’t give orders anymore.”
I almost laughed.
He had always hated when I made decisions quickly.
At restaurants.
At work calls.
During our wedding planning.
He called it:
Your command voice.
I thought he was teasing.
Now he lifted the bat.
“This is how my dad kept my mom in line.”
My stomach went cold.
His mother, Laura Hartman, had been dead for eleven years.
Gregory told me she died after a long illness.
He rarely discussed her.
I said:
“Your father hit your mother?”
Gregory’s jaw hardened.
“He knew how to handle her.”
Then he swung.
Hard.
Across my ribs.
I moved.
Not dramatically.
Not the way fights look in movies.
I stepped inside the arc before the bat reached full power.
My forearm collided with his.
My other hand drove against the space beneath his jaw.
His balance disappeared.
Gregory grunted.
His eyes widened.
For the first time, I saw genuine confusion.
He had expected screaming.
Not resistance.
I turned his arm until the bat came loose.
It hit my palm.
Cold aluminum.
Then I shoved him.
He stumbled backward into the bed.
His suitcase tipped.
The lid flew open.
Clothes spilled.
So did something else.
Black plastic zip ties.
A thick envelope of cash.
A second cell phone.
And a cream folder sealed with a red band.
Gregory saw them.
His face changed completely.
I leveled the bat toward his chest.
“You forgot to read one important line on my résumé.”
“Ashlynn.”
“Stay where you are.”
He moved.
I moved faster.
He lunged toward the suitcase.
I sidestepped, forced him face down across the mattress, and pinned one arm behind him.
Not enough to injure.
Enough to stop.
He started breathing hard.
“Get off me.”
“No.”
“You’re hurting me.”
I almost laughed.
“You tried to hit me with a baseball bat.”
“That wasn’t…”
“What?”
He stopped.
The burner phone lit up.
I saw the contact.
DAD.
Gregory went rigid beneath me.
The notification preview appeared.
DAD:
MAKE SURE SHE SIGNS BEFORE NASSAU. IF SHE REFUSES, USE THE RESTRAINT KIT. NO MARKS ABOVE THE NECKLINE.
For one second, even the ship seemed to stop moving.
I reached for the phone.
Gregory twisted violently.
“Ashlynn, wait.”
I tightened control.
“Stop.”
“Please.”
That word.
Please.
Ten minutes earlier he had been explaining where my place was.
Now his voice shook.
I picked up the burner.
Another message arrived.
DAD:
THE VANTAGE PROXY HAS TO BE CLEAN. WE ONLY GET ONE SHOT BEFORE FRIDAY.
Vantage.
My company.
The air left my lungs.
I had never told Malcolm Hartman, Gregory’s father, the details of my Vantage stock holdings.
I had never told Gregory the deadline connected to an upcoming board vote.
Then a third message.
DAD:
DO NOT LET HER CALL RACHEL.
Rachel Morgan.
My corporate attorney.
I looked down at my husband.
He knew what I had read.
His cheek pressed into the bedspread.
“Ashlynn.”
“What is the Vantage proxy?”
Silence.
I reached toward the cream folder.
Gregory exploded beneath me.
“DON’T!”
I shoved him back down.
The folder slipped open.
Inside was a document carrying my name.
ASHLYNN REED HARTMAN.
IRREVOCABLE VOTING PROXY AND STOCK PLEDGE AGREEMENT.
My signature appeared on the final page.
A signature I had never made.
Underneath was another document.
PERSONAL GUARANTY.
Amount:
$12,500,000.
Beneficiary:
Hartman Capital Partners.
My husband stopped struggling.
I looked at the zip ties.
The cash.
The forged documents.
Then the man I had married two days earlier.
“You weren’t trying to teach me how to be a wife.”
Gregory closed his eyes.
I picked up my own phone with my free hand.
He whispered:
“Please don’t call security.”
I dialed anyway.
May you like
Then I leaned closer.
“You really should have chosen a softer bride.”
