Текст книги "Vulture a Stepbrother Romance"

Автор книги: Emilia Beaumont

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Vulture

a Stepbrother Romance

Emilia Beaumont

Copyright © 2015 by Emilia Beaumont

Published by Elwynn Cottage

Edited by Amanda at Stylus Ink

Cover by Elwynn Cottage

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

He’ll get under my skin, peck at my bones, and rip my heart to shreds.

My stepbrother, Harvey, preys on the innocent, the vulnerable, and weak. Discarding them without a second glance when he's had his fill. Businessman of the year, he thinks he’s hot stuff. And he’s the last person I need in my life right now. One abusive relationship was enough.

When I lost my husband, my whole fucked up world collapsed. I hate that he's dead, and I hate that I wasn't the one to kill him.

Can’t Harvey understand I need time to grieve? That after everything I’ve gone through I need to get back on my feet and process the emotional wreckage? I don’t want to revisit the dark places. Except my stepbrother refuses to take no for answer. He’ll lead me places I don’t want to go, force me to tell him things I do not want to admit to.

But whether I like it or not, he’s the only that will listen to me. I can’t get him out of my head and hate the effect he has on me. One look, and I long for his hard body against mine. Yet the pleasure might not be worth the pain, because once he has me trapped in his talons, he's going to drag me kicking and screaming back into the light.

No, it’s too soon. My trust levels are running on empty.

I barely survived one nightmare, I don’t know if I can outlive my wildest dreams.

Sneak Peek!

I gasped as his hand moved and was now skidding up between my thighs, his thumb gently exploring the thin material of my panties beneath. I moaned and closed my eyes; it’d been an age since I was touched there. “You’re going to make me late,” I whispered.

I shivered all over as he pulled the crotch of my panties to the side, his finger exploring my swelling pussy. “I don’t care.”

The tips of his other fingers, encouraged me to lean forward to kiss him, and with a sweep of his tongue my lips parted. A low growl sounded out in the back of his throat; our mouths moved, and his finger breached my entrance.

I moaned against his lips.

“Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me,” he said between kisses, asking for permission.

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For Humbug & Lily

You are forever in my heart, taken before your time, and I miss your fuzzy little faces every single day!

1

Harvey

“Take it off,” I demanded.

“What?”

Eugh, I hated it when they talked back, asked questions. Why couldn’t they just do as they were fucking told? Was it too much to ask that they didn’t open their mouths? Unless, of course, directed to.

“Take it all off,” I repeated slowly, enunciating each word.

The five foot six bottled blonde cocked her head to the side like a dumb, untrained puppy. And if it wasn’t for her manicured hand that was already down my pants, false nails wrapped around my cock, I would’ve given up and made my way back to the awards ceremony, but I needed the release—the swift, mind-numbing bliss that came from knocking one out as I planted myself balls-deep inside a nameless stranger.

I pulled impatiently at the straps of her dress, black and hugging her tight little figure. She was a nameless waitress who’d caught my eye and who I’d managed to lure into the deserted bathroom. Her dress was plain, a regulation uniform, something demure to fit with the occasion of the night, but all I cared about was getting it off her, eager to see her tits bounce free.

“There’s a zip,” she whispered as she fumbled, trying to stroke my trapped cock.

I shook my head, frustrated. I wasn’t getting anywhere with the tight material. Either way, she should be on her knees already, worshiping me with her mouth, and yet my fly was still intact, her plastic nails painfully grazing the skin. Teeth clenched, I hissed; enough was enough.

With both hands I took hold of her straps and forced them off her shoulders. The material gave way, ripping at the seams. Cheaply made, I thought. I grinned wickedly as I noticed that she was braless, and finally, with a second yank the shelf of her dress flopped down to her waist.

“Hey!” she protested as her small peach-like breasts made a uninspired appearance, but she let me carry on, no longer concerned with her ruined dress as my fingers found her nipples, making her gasp and moan. She knew only too well that it was in her best interest not to complain, especially if she wanted my dick in her. And anyway, I’d leave her a few notes for the damaged dress; I wasn’t that heartless.

But she and I both knew what the other was after; we had a silent, unspoken understanding. I wanted pussy, a quick no-strings fuck, whilst she thought this was her chance to get in good with one of the most eligible and prominent businessmen in town—it was most likely the reason why a girl like her had taken the job tonight in the first place. She was looking for a whale, and to be fair, there were plenty to choose from out in the main event hall. But she was shit out of luck, since I’d reeled her in first and was already onto her little scheme.

I knew her kind. She probably couldn’t wait until I breached her hole, hoping desperately that I would accidentally forget the condom and fill her full with hot cum. Well, this was one lottery ticket she didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning.

I pushed her against the tiled wall, heard her gasp as her bare back made contact with the cold surface. I slipped two fingers into her gaping hole, lips pulled wide, her lipstick smearing, and allowed her to suck on them. A little bit of practice for her, I thought.

“Unzip me and get on your knees,” I ordered and was surprised when she readily obeyed. My fingers popped out from her mouth, spittle running down her chin, and I watched her come face to face with my groin. Her fingers quickly pulled my cock free.

She glanced up at me as if waiting for permission, her eyelashes heavy with black mascara—she had pretty eyes if it weren’t for all the gunk, I thought. But the way she paused, wordlessly asking to suck my dick made me rock-hard. Maybe there was hope for her yet.

I nodded.

Her lips wrapped themselves around my head, her tongue lashing out at the tip. It’d been almost too good to be true, her obedience, but now she’d ruined it, trying to seduce me with her tongue, something she’d no doubt seen in some fake-ass porn video.

Enough of this tickling bullshit, I thought. I threaded my fingers through her hair and clamped my hands down on either side of her head as I slid the length of my shaft deep into her mouth. I groaned as I hit the back of her throat and heard her splutter. She controlled the reflex and braced herself against my thighs. I had to restrain myself from pushing in any farther; I wasn’t a total bastard.

I took my time fucking her mouth. Pulling back then gliding back in, enjoying watching the disappearing trick as her head bobbed back and forth.

Just as I was about to blow my load, my focus readjusted. I glanced down and spotted what looked to be a smudge on her shoulder blade.

“Is that a fucking tattoo?” I blurted angrily. If it was one thing I hated the most on women it was cheap looking ink. Especially those who didn’t even put any real thought into it and slapped on the first Chinese character they came across, ruining a perfectly good body. She was fucking tainted, and the moment was ruined.

She ignored me and kept sucking. I was about to pull out, ready to spray her face, when her hands kneaded into my firm ass and pulled me in deeper.

“Harvey Guyer! I knew I’d bloody find you in here!”

“Fuck,” I groaned drawing out the word as I came, my toes curling within the tight confinement of my dress shoes.

Sadie’s heels clicked across the polished floor as I pumped my load in the waitress’s wanting mouth, my cock spurting as I clenched my eyes shut.

After a moment of seeing sparks, my focused readjusted. Sadie stood with her hands upon her hips in front of me and the kneeling girl, who still had my dick in her mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Harvey. You couldn’t have taken her up to a room? It’s not like you don’t run the fucking hotel!”

Oh, right. Did I not mention that technically the waitress was also my employee?

I shrugged and tucked myself back in. The girl clasped an arm across her chest and wiped a mix of saliva and cum from her mouth.

“Who are you?” the waitress asked Sadie. Her eyes glared at the tall and incredibly hot woman who’d disturbed our little impromptu fuck session. It was funny watching the girl, her jealous hackles raised, as if she had claim over me just because I happened to stick my dick in her mouth.

“Oh, honey, don’t even think about taking that tone with me,” Sadie replied. She grabbed a paper towel, wet it and handed it to the woman still on her knees. “Get up, and here,” she sighed giving me a look that could kill—I’d pay for this later, I thought. “Take this.” Sadie slipped off her sequined blazer and handed it to the bare-chested creature who had managed to regain some semblance of dignity once she’d made it back onto her feet.

I moved to the basin and washed my hands. I watched in the mirror’s reflection as Sadie pulled out a wad of notes and handed them to frowning girl. Hush money. She tried to catch my eye, but Sadie sidestepped her, blocking her view, and made sure she had the girl’s full attention. I probably should’ve been polite and gotten her name, but by tomorrow it wouldn’t matter anyway. She’d be forgotten. She’d be fired.

“Did I ever tell you that you have spectacularly crappy timing?” I said as I dried my hands.

The girl was gone. It was a good job, too; I don’t think I could’ve stood looking at her pouty face for very much longer. Her features had crumpled, blood draining from her face, as Sadie firmly told her to get lost. The majority of her mascara had melted away, giving her the look of a very pathetic clown on an old fashioned black and white TV set.

“You should be happy I found you when I did. She was a nipple twist away from becoming your indentured sex slave.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Yeah, right, I forgot you love getting sued for sexual harassment in the workplace. Mind, she did have nice tits though,” Sadie said, grinning.

I shrugged. “They were OK, a little small. What did you want anyway? I know you’re not exactly into voyeurism, so…” We’d made our way out of the bathroom and were walking down the plush corridor towards the main ballroom when Sadie placed a hand lightly upon my arm.

“I would’ve told you sooner, but I’ve only just picked up your voicemails. It’s your stepsister, Sara. You’re needed at the hospital.”

2

Sara

Propping an arm on the windowsill, my knees tucked under me on the cushioned alcove, I indulged in the bright sunlight that streamed through the window. As I inclined my head to the side, letting a warm glow bathe my cheek, I lazily watched as early commuters passed by the kitchen window.

It was a perfect day.

Every day was a perfect day, on the outside at least.

Yet on the inside, I was always the same, numb and bored.

Perhaps today nothing would go wrong, a fresh start?

Why had I been so stupid to even think that? My mother always preached that you should never tempt the fates… but then my mother said a lot of things that I never really paid attention to.

Maybe I should’ve heeded her warnings. Listened to her more.

It’s too late now.

Turning my head around, my gaze lingered upon the mahogany table that took up the majority of space in the small but quaint kitchen and listened to the hurried shuffle above. A white lace tablecloth covered the table’s surface—one of my many attempts to showcase that I was the perfect little housewife—but underneath, myriad imperfections scarred the wood grain.

Reluctantly I rose and collected our breakfast bowls from the table. I’d rinse and wash them before the bits of cereal, those left at the bottom of the bowl, dried like cement and would need chiselling off.

It seemed like all I did was clean and organise the house around my husband’s schedule. Kept everything in order. It was like I’d been transported back into the 1940s. All I needed to complete the ensemble were a few curlers in my air and a pink ruffled apron.

Oh, and maybe a cigarette trapped between scarlet red lips… I could kill for a cigarette. But I wasn’t allowed, they were off-limits, as was any sort of alcohol. Well, except for the bottle of cooking sherry that I had to keep hidden away, just in case. At least he didn’t restrict my food indulgences, yet I had a nasty feeling that was on purpose.

At the sink, the bowls clean, I kept my hands in the warm water. I was mesmerised, watching as the clear stream coated the backs of my hands and trickled down my wrists.

It felt good.

The sound of Eric’s footsteps from upstairs echoed throughout the house. I closed my eyes and followed his path from the bedroom to the landing, and finally as he galloped down the stairs as if he couldn’t wait to get out of the house.

To get away from me…

His aftershave drifted into the kitchen before he did. Predictable, that’s what the scent should’ve been named.

I nearly gagged.

I waited for him to speak, but when he remained quiet I looked over my shoulder.

He was dressed in his usual attire: dark pants and a sky-blue shirt. The sleeves were rolled up his thick forearms. I could see a couple of strands of his brown hair sticking up at the wrong angle at the crown of his head. I didn’t let him know that he should comb it.

“I gotta go,” he said absent-mindedly, rushing as he slipped a tie around his neck. Our eyes met, and I turned away.

“Already?” I mumbled. A quick glance at the kitchen clock in the shape of a cat told me it was too early.

I wanted him to walk forward, to slip his arms around my waist. God, I needed him to do something out of the ordinary for a change.

Why couldn’t he lift my robe, slip his hand in between my panties and make love to me against the kitchen sink? My legs parted slightly just thinking about it.

After another argument the night before we’d gone to bed angry once again.

“Don’t ever go to bed angry,” I heard my mother’s voice chime in my head. Yeah, what would she know? She’s already on her third marriage. But maybe there was some truth to the saying.

One good love-making session was what we needed. I was sure of it.

But he would never do such a thing. Never in the morning.

That would be too improper.

But then again, it never happened in the evening, either.

“Can’t be helped,” he said from the kitchen doorway. “I have to pay for all these nice things you keep ordering.”

My teeth mashed together, and I kept my head faced forward, trying my best to ignore the snide comment. My temples pulsed as I bit my tongue. Why did he have to bring that up? He couldn’t just let it go.

He acted as if I maxed out our, sorry his, credit cards on a regular basis.

He grunted as if my silence meant he’d properly chastised me. I shook my head and sighed; we couldn’t go on like this.

“Wait,” I said as I turned, my back leaning against the edge of the counter. I was desperate to be touched, to be loved, but my legs were cast in cement, unwilling to move towards him. I wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move. He’d have to come to me if he wanted me, if he wanted to make it up to me for screaming into my ear last night about the clothes I’d ordered but would now have to send back, because he didn’t like the look of them—too revealing, too young. He preferred me in my old chunky sweaters and baggy sweatpants. It was a wonder he hadn’t taken away my satin robe and replaced it with a hideous terry towelling dressing gown.

Eric was in the process of grabbing for his briefcase as I let my dripping wet hands reach for the satin belt at my waist. The peach blush of the thin robe darkened to a dusky hue as droplets of water were quickly absorbed into the fabric.

I undid the loose knot, careful not to break eye contact with him, urging him to take notice, and then slowly I allowed the material fall away. The curtains of the robe caressed my bare sides and revealed my creamy, if not a bit pudgy, skin beneath.

I was all but naked, except for a clean pair of white lace panties.

My full breasts were on full display for him, my nipples beading into hard little nubs the longer they were exposed to frigid air surrounding us.

“Stay,” I whispered. I arched my back a fraction, the movement causing my chest to expand, my tits to swell.

For a fleeting moment I saw his indecision. The thick bob of his Adam’s apple and the rapid blinking of his eyelashes beating furiously in shock as if he’d never seen his own wife naked before. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been naked in my own kitchen before now. We’d never fucked on the kitchen counter like you’d see newlyweds do in the movies—going from room to room, christening every nook and cranny, not caring who heard them, just enjoying each other.

There shouldn’t have been any hesitation or contemplation of what he was to do next. It was simple: go to work or stay, it was “Caveman 101”—he should’ve strode forward, cast away his briefcase and the noose around his neck and claimed me.

I imagined him rock-hard in an instant, spinning me around against the sink cabinet while at the same time pulling my panties down and removing himself from his trousers.

His cock would spear me from behind. He’d be gentle but full of passion. My tits would bounce as he thrust into me. And he’d hold me like he used to.

We’d be OK again.

We’d come together, and we’d be OK.

But it was just a fantasy. He hardly ever looked at me, and even now his gaze barely registered the slight damp spot at my crotch.

Eric’s temples pulsed and he shook his head. “I gotta go,” he stuttered, then more forcefully, with a sneer, “Sara, cover yourself up.”

He retreated down the hallway without another glance.

I blew out a breath. The wind had truly been knocked out from my sails; my bosom deflated as I hastily wrapped myself back up. Shame. Disgust. Words such as those spun themselves around in my mind as tiny pinpricks at the corners of my eyes threatened to undo me.

My hands roamed over the dishes and utensils, my fingers scrubbed and washed as tiny rivulets of water droplets landed on the face of the plates. My mind wandered off as I continued to wash and dry. How had it all gone so wrong? Did I allow this to happen to us? When did we become so plain?

During my three years of marriage with Eric, I had done nothing but stay at home, looking after him, and with his reluctant permission I was able to volunteer at the animal shelter in the local town. With his job we could afford for me not to work, though I do wonder sometimes what would happen if money were tight or if I broached the subject about getting a paid part or full-time job. I couldn’t see Eric going for it. It would be nice to be able to buy things for myself without having to worry what he would think all the time. My own little stash of cash that I could do with what I pleased.

But he’d be livid if I went behind his back and sought out a paid position. My college degree was wasted on washing and ironing his shirts; I was worth so much more than this, I thought. But he preferred being the one to bring in the money, old-fashioned nonsense, being in control and the power that having all the purse strings gave him.

I frowned as the front door slammed.

“Eric? Is that you? Did you forget something?”

Footsteps echoed down the hall, coming closer.

“I thought I told you to cover yourself up! Why are you still in your dressing gown?” I turned to look at him over my shoulder. His face was a nasty shade of red, bull-like and angry.

“I… I thought to get the pots done before taking a shower.” I swallowed the fear that was rising in my throat. I knew better to talk back to him, but he had to see reason.

He was across the room in seconds, his fingers in my dirty blonde hair, entangling themselves and pulling me back. Pain shot through my skull as he yanked at the strands and spun me around, practically throwing me against the dining table. “You think it’s appropriate for you to be sauntering around half-naked like this?”

My jaw locked preventing me from responding. Don’t answer him back, it’ll only make him madder, I thought, knowing from previous experience that keeping quiet was the best way to handle these situations. He’d soon run out of steam. But today was different. He was different.

“Answer me!” he roared as he twisted my arm around my back, threatening to pop it out of its socket. He pressed me hard against the table, and I cried out in agony.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted, wanting him to let me go, for him to be anywhere but here and eager to say anything to stop the excruciating pain in my arm.

“Sorry? Is that all you have to say to me? Isn’t this what you wanted? Eh?” Eric let go of my arm, the ache in my shoulder gratefully subsiding. Believing it was all over, I braced my hand against the table, ready to get back up, but his fingers were still in my hair, not showing any sign of letting go.

His free hand quickly found its way beneath my robe, rough fingers skirting my tense thighs. Then all of sudden he ripped my panties away to the side, the cotton digging into my flesh.

“Eric, stop. Please, you’re hurting me.”

But he wouldn’t. He held my hair tight, and I was unable to move. He ignored my cries and my desperate attempts to squirm away. My screams grew louder as he yanked the tendrils of hair back and forth, as he kept me at his mercy.

“This what you want, you fucking slut? Think you can swan around here like a fucking cocktease for anyone to see?”

The bulk of his leather shoe dug into my ankle, forcing my legs apart or else suffer the pain of being stomped on.

“No, please.”

He yanked my head, his hot breath near my ear. “Shut up! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

I let my body do as he pleased, my bottom half limp but my upper torso rigid, with my head tilted backwards, hair wrapped around his fist, and my back painfully arched. It was no use to fight him, I’d only be worse off. Bruised and in more trouble.

Eric thrust his unwanted cock hard inside me. Unprepared, my pussy no longer wet from this morning’s little striptease, pain sliced through me as I gritted my teeth and held back what would be a deafening scream; I couldn’t let the neighbours hear.

I regretted teasing him this morning, leading him on, too bold for my own good. I’d been foolish to think we could make love like a normal married couple. This was not what I had in mind earlier, far from it. But at least this would tide him over for another few months.

It’d be over soon, I told myself. I just had to close my eyes and wait while he finished ripping me apart from the inside and out.

Early on in our marriage it had seemed like a blessing—stay at home, do whatever I wanted with my time—but slowly, little by little, he chipped away at my confidence. His requests had all seemed so innocent, but with each and every restriction he placed upon my decisions, I inadvertently let him take away my freedom, my voice. I became weak, my willpower sapped, wanting only an easy life… to keep him happy. Marriage was about compromise, I thought, and I was determined not to go the way of my mother and her countless unions.

After he left for the second time that morning, I wiped away the blood that trickled down my thighs and then hobbled straight back to finish the remainder of the dishes in the sink. I needed to keep busy, or I knew I’d crumble.

My hands trembled as I rinsed the last glass and dried it off. I threw the dishcloth at the oven-holder and carefully flopped down on the couch. I was raw and tender, my thighs bruised and aching.

Grabbing the remote control from the coffee table, I switched the TV on and tucked my feet under my, legs trying to make myself as small as possible. Secure in a little ball. I’d take my mind off what had just happened and catch up with the shows that Eric wouldn’t allow me to watch in the evenings. He would always commandeer the little plastic device, securing it in his hand as he watched sports or documentaries after a hard day’s work. Resting my head upon the plump armrest, I flicked through the recorded shows and chose the latest episode of a light-hearted medical drama.

Burrowing deeper into the couch, I crossed my arms beneath my generous breasts and tried to enjoy the show. As doctors battled to save a dwindling life on the table, I felt my eyelids droop. Exhausted. The feel of warm breeze hitting a patch of skin sent my green eyes fluttering. Sunlight streamed through the window, its heat enveloping me as I felt my body slacken in defeat.

The strong pull of sleep overwhelmed me. Its invisible hand reached out to grip my arms and threatened to drown me. The sounds that vibrated through the TV suddenly became distant; the words the actors uttered faded into nothingness.

Eric’s face appeared before my sleeping eyes. His face showed an expression I had never seen before: fear. He called out to me, his voice gravelly and in pain. Desperate. Suffering and distress flickered across his face; his hand stretched out, but I was too far away to reach it. I felt a pang of anxiety and urged my feet to move. But the more I tried, the more it felt like my ankles were coated in molasses. I was unable to catch up to him, the sticky substance holding me back. I called out his name as his face vanished.

My body jolted awake, and I looked around the room frantically, trying to get my bearings. My heart pounded within my chest, my skin clammy from the nightmare. I sucked in as much air as I could, needing to calm the panic.

It was just a dream, I told myself, a bad one.

Shaking my hazy mind, I pushed back from the couch and sat with my head bowed between my knees. My fingers shook from the aftershock of the nightmare.

My head whirled with unspoken thoughts. Upon shaky legs I walked cautiously to the kitchen sink, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it up with tap water and reached for some paracetamol in hopes of easing some of the pain, especially my throbbing scalp, where Eric had ripped out a whole chunk of hair. I held myself up against the basin, scared my legs were about to give out under me, and tenderly touched the bare section of skin on the back of my head.

After draining the last of the water, the liquid quenching the dryness of my throat, I felt I could breathe again.

The echoing chime of the doorbell startled me, and the glass slipped from my hand and shattered in the porcelain sink. Angry shards sliced open my palm as I foolishly reached for it.

“Shit,” I cursed. Feeling the sting, I watched as a mesmerising crimson line appeared upon my hand. The doorbell rang again, more urgently this time, and then there was the sound of fists against the door.

“Coming,” I yelled, my voice croaking, hoarse as if I’d been at a football match… or screaming as if I’d been raped, a bitter voice in my head said.

Quickly, I wrapped a tea towel around my hand and made my way to the door.

Through the mottled privacy glass of the front door I could see two shadows on the other side. Unsolicited salesmen, no doubt coming to sell me triple glazing, or what was the new thing nowadays? Solar panels for the roof.

I used my uninjured hand to open the door and greeted the two men with a polite smile.

“Mrs Sara Chambers?” one of them asked.

Confused, the forced smile slipping from my face as I took in their official uniforms. “Yes? Is everything OK?”

The young bearded police officer ignored my question and continued with the script he’d probably spent time rehearsing in the squad car on their way over here. “Is your husband Eric Chambers?”

I nodded as my hands began to shake. “Yes, he is.” My heartbeat picked up, and my stomach began to churn. “What’s happened?” I asked the young officer, trying to the keep the quaver of my voice steady as I urged him to stop stalling, to get to the point. The moment I opened the door I already knew why they were here. The neighbours had obviously overheard my muffled screams, put a call in. I silently cursed them. It was between Eric and me; it was our business, no one else’s. Looking back at the officers I wondered if they’d arrested Eric, detained him perhaps?

The silent officer stepped closer, his foot on top of the concrete stoop, his hand providing a comforting touch, as his partner delivered his final line. He was a little older than the one speaking, obviously giving the lead to the youngster so he could get some experience in, I thought.

“I regret to inform you that Mr Chambers was in a car accident, Mrs Chambers.”

I looked from one to the other, unbelieving, their eyes waiting for my reaction.

“What? You mean you haven’t arrested him?” I said in disbelief.

“Why would we arrest you husband, Ma’am?”

I shook my head trying to clear the confusion that was building. “He’s only just left for work, he can’t have been in an accident.” Surely I hadn’t been asleep that long? He’d barely be on the dual carriageway by now. “No, you must have the wrong house, got the names mixed up…”

The police officer with his hand upon my upper arm shook his head slightly as his grey eyes tried to convey the truth. “There’s no mistake, Ma’am. Your husband was taken to Ashton Hospital, and I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, but I’m afraid he died en route. I’m so very sorry for your loss.”