Page 49 of Sinful Hearts

That I’m all bark and no bite.

“Go inside.” I shove her forward.

I follow close behind, our strides matching, and we climb the steps.

She opens the door she stupidly left unlocked during her escape. All the lights are on as we enter the foyer.

I push her toward the stairs, and she walks up them with caution. When she stops at her bedroom, I tug her back, stopping her from going inside.

Digging my fingers into her shoulder with my free hand, I guide her away from the doorway and jam the gun harder against her skull, pushing her away from it.

“Keep walking,” I demand.

Her shoulders hunch as she tiptoes forward.

When we reach the last door on the left, I collect the key from my pocket and unlock it. I open the door, and she sucks in a gulp of air as I shove her inside the room.

I release her, flip on the light, and slam the door shut behind us.

She shakes her head, as if needing confirmation that the gun is gone before sweeping her gaze over the bedroom.

I take her in, seeing dirt on her white shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Two twigs are stuck between strands of her thick hair.

With my Glock, I motion toward the chair in the corner of the room. “Sit down.”

She glances from me to the door, to the chair, and then back at me. Just when I think she’s about to give me shit, she exhales a long breath and plops down on the chair.

I lower the gun and take a long stride so I’m standing over her. “Let’s play a game.”

She settles her hands in her lap. “Can I take a hard pass on that?”

I don’t know if I want to shoot her in the mouth or fuck it.

No one has ever spoken to me like this, apart from my father when I was younger. People don’t defy me, for fear I’ll strangle them with my bare hands.

I crack my neck, unsure of what to do with her.

“Who were you talking to on the phone?” I ask.

She doesn’t reply.

I retrieve her phone from my pocket. “What’s your passcode?”

“Tell me the code to the gate, and I’ll tell you.”

I narrow my eyes before kneeling in front of her and holding the phone up to her face. She attempts to swat it away so it doesn’t face unlock, so I grip her face tight in my hand to keep it in place.

As soon as it unlocks, I stand and start going through her phone log, seeing multiple calls from an unknown number.

“Who’s the unknown number?” I ask.

She half shrugs. “I told you, a solicitor.” The words leave her mouth as if she’s bored with this conversation.

I hold up the phone, showing her the screen. “A solicitor you’ve spoken with multiple times?”

If I were having this conversation with some Joe Schmoe, they’d have already had a few punches to the face or bullet holes inside them.

She opens her mouth, most likely to spew some bullshit response, so I exit the call log and go to her texts.