Page 61

“Fuck you, Dean.” Growling, my fists balled at my sides, ready to take the risk and charge him. I wanted to tear his fucking head off, make him regret ever stepping foot in this house. “I'm going to fucking kill you.”

The last hitman that Marcos sent out for me didn't make it back alive, neither did Frankie at the club. But I was prepared for them, I wasn't prepared for this and I should have been.

This took me by surprise. In the back of my mind I knew no place was really safe, that eventually the wrong person would see me and it would get back to Marcos. But my guard had been down, my head had been in the clouds. And the one person I would die to protect had a fucking gun to her head.

This wasn't suppose to happen!

I'm suppose to protect her!

I'm suppose to keep her safe!

Baring my teeth, my nails dug into the center of my palms, feet trembling, ready to take off in his direction. “You're a fucking dead man.”

I didn't even have the chance to step forward. A hard crack ricocheted through my skull and the room around me went black.

Time had stopped. There were no dreams, no thoughts, no pain.

There was only silence.

I had lost.

Chapter Fifteen

Emery

With my hands tiedin front of my waist, I leaned against the wall and dropped to my haunches. The room was small, but it didn't look much different from any other room I had ever been in. It looked normal.

There weren't any torture devices hanging from the ceiling, or weird chairs that looked like they would split you apart if someone kept turning the wheel.

I didn't know why I expected to find such things in this place, maybe I had just seen too many movies.

There was a mahogany colored leather couch against the far wall, and a coffee table littered with magazines and crossword puzzles. A large oval rug was on the floor under the table, its spiral cords a mixture of sapphire blue and opal white.

The walls were bare, but the tan paint had a texture to it. Long swooping swirls cascaded down behind the couch, fanning out on the lower half of the walls. If I wasn't here by force, I'd probably want to know who helped design the room.

Hanging my head between my legs, I clutched the back of my skull. So far, no one had actually hurt me. The man with the gun had been a little rough when he dragged me from the house, but nothing I couldn't handle.