Page 11 of Betraying Family Vows

She freezes. "What?"

"Your gun. The way you keep touching it," I say, "it might go off."

Her eyes widen. Nice to know I'm right.

"There's no?—"

"You've adjusted it four times now."

She swallows hard.

She's rattled.

I flex my arms against my restraints. I'm feeling stronger now. I feel the drugs burning away from my blood. Control returning inch by inch.

And the three guards behind me? I'm calling bullshit.

I can't hear them. She hasn't signaled anyone. No footsteps but hers. No shift of air behind me. No breath but hers. Maybe one, if they're good. But definitely not three.

I test what's binding my hands again, feeling the rope give slightly. One good yank and I'll be loose. Bleeding, probably. But free.

I need to get her close to me.

"I'm getting bored, Alepoudítsa," I say, deliberately using the nickname she hates. "Untie me so we can have some fun."

She walks toward me, anger making her sloppy. Her dress clings to every perfect curve of her chest, but her demeanor is wrong. She doesn't believe in this anymore.

Time to end it.

"Stop talking."

I tense every muscle. One. Two. Three.

Now.

I twist and pull hard, throwing everything I've got at what's keeping me tied up. The chair leg snaps. Wood splinters. I wasn't expecting that, but I'll take it.

I yank my hands free, feeling skin tear as the rope burns away, but I don't care. Adrenaline surges.

Athena gasps, stumbling back.

I slam the chair legs down, shattering it completely. My hands and legs are free now, rope dangling from my wrists and ankles.

She raises the knife. Too slow.

My hands are on her in an instant. I slam her back against the wall, hard enough to jar her breath. My body cages hers, chest to chest, my hand gripping her throat. Not to choke. To hold.

"You're going to regret taking me," I growl.

My other hand grabs her wrist, twisting until the knife clatters to the floor. Then I reach down under her dress until I feel the cold metal of the pistol.

She screams, high and panicked. Behind me, heavy footsteps. One person, not three. I pull the gun free and spin her around, my arm crushing across her throat.

One man. Bald, mid-thirties, charges with a drawn pistol.

I aim over Athena's shoulder and fire twice. The first bullet finds his left eye. The second, his cheek. He drops instantly, his gun sliding away.

"Jesus!" Athena struggles against me.