Reborn with a Cleaver

After my husband beat me to death, I woke up back when I was twenty.

Troy was riding his motorcycle, and we were on our way to a motel.

Instinctively, my body recoiled. I slid back as far as the seat would allow, my fingers clawing into the cold metal grab-bar at the back.

The boy turned his head slightly over his shoulder, the wind whipping his hair. "Hold on tight. Don't be scared, Erin. I'll take care of you."

In my first life, those words had been my undoing. I let them lull me. I let him take me to bed, got pregnant, had an abortion, dropped out of college, and eventually rushed into…