The Billionaire's Housekeeper (Betsy Jones Book 1) - Unedited

The Billionaire's Housekeeper - Chapter 36

Betsy was paralysed, her body unwilling to move as her eyes followed the crazed and angry pacing of her attacker. Fear. It was like an invisible prison guard, one that held her tight within its grasp and refused to let her go. Every part of her was screaming to fight. To run. To escape. To do something other than lay there sprawled on the floor waiting for this woman to make her next move. And yet her body would not co-operate.

"I tried to warn you away. Over and over again I gave you chances to leave." The woman stated, flicking her lifeless brown-dyed hair over her shoulder as her hands jabbed accusingly in Betsy's direction. "This is all you fault."

Betsy shook her head in denial, her face throbbing in protest. "I only met you for the first time last week."

She rolled her eyes, the movement dislodging her contact lenses out of place. It only made her look more crazed. "Stupid woman. You don't know anything, do you?" Her screeching voice cut through the air, sending a shiver down Betsy's spine. "Your car. Your photos in the paper. You don't seriously believe all of that was an accident. Not that it took much effort. A whisper in the right ear and a bit of cash and people will do anything you ask of them."

Betsy frowned. Her car? What was she even talking about? Nick had sold her car.

"But you. You just don't seem to take a hint, do you? I gave you all of the breadcrumbs, to give you the easy out, but you're still here trying to take everything that rightfully belongs to me."

The woman reached into her pocket then swiftly launched a balled up piece of paper through the air. It smacked Betsy on her bloodied and bruised face before dropping down into her lap. With trembling hands, she unravelled the creased paper. She swallowed as she noted the image printed onto the sheet. It was the picture from the paper – the one of her, Nick, and the children at the park.

"I knew when I saw this that you were not going to walk away. You should have left. You had no right to be here. He's mine!" She trailed off muttering to herself and nodding her head intermittently as if she was having some kind of internal dialogue.

Abruptly a loud scream filled the room. Betsy gasped, startling backwards. But the woman's focus wasn't on her. Instead the stranger stomped across the hallway with rage written on her features and yanked a photo of the children off of its hanging. She paused for a moment, her eyes staring blankly at the image, her fingers curled painfully tight around the frame. Then, with a loud banshee's cry, she launched it at Betsy's prone form.

Betsy's body froze for a moment too long. Then, like the spell had been broken she spurred into action, her arms dragging her backwards in an attempt to get out of the line of fire. She wasn't fast enough. The photo smashed against her feet, shards of glass embedding themselves into her flesh. Fresh pain bloomed like an angry fire, growing as each second passed.

Wincing, Betsy glanced between her feet and the enraged woman. She was stuck somewhere between the pain in her body and fear of what the woman would do next. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure the other woman could hear it.

"This was meant to be mine. All mine." The woman waved her hands around her before setting her crazed eyes upon Betsy. "You should have left when I warned you to. Now I'll have to make you leave."

Betsy shook her head even as her feet throbbed with pain. In the face of the deranged woman she found herself strangely mute. There were so many questions that she wanted to ask, but the fear of more pain kept the words buried deep within her. The woman before her was standing on a precipice and Betsy knew it may only take one wrong word to tip her over the edge.

"Not to worry, you're not the only one I'm here to see." The woman cackled, the sound causing a shiver of dread to run down Betsy's spine. She dipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a pocket knife, flipping it open with practiced ease. "Let's go and find that bitch Mrs Reed. We need to have a few words."