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He isn't worried for Amalie’s sake. He only wants her alive so he can save his skin and his fucking company.
I’m about to double back and check on Amalie when cold metal presses against the back of my head.
“Don’t fucking move, or your brains will decorate these walls,” a deep voice commands.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Drop the gun.”
I do as he says, holding one hand in the air while slowly bending to lower my weapon to the floor.
He kicks it away before calling out, “Sir, I’ve got him, but not the girl.”
A man emerges from the kitchen. Amalie’s father is smaller than I expected and overweight. His gray hair is thinning, and his blue eyes hold none of the warmth of his daughter’s.
“Well, well, I’m guessing you’re the husband,” he sneers, making the word sound like an insult. “I’ve come to reclaim my property.”
My jaw tightens at his words. Fear grips my heart at the thought of anything happening to Amalie, but I refuse to let it consume me.
Every fiber of my being recoils at the audacity of the man standing before me. Arrogance and entitlement oozes from him like rancid sweat. How the hell did Amalie turn out the way she did, with her pure soul and loving nature? I can only assume she inherited her mother’s temperament because the man standing before me has ice in his veins.
He gestures to his henchmen—I count four, including the one holding a gun to my head—who move closer, their movements calculated and predatory. My mind races, assessing the situation and searching for any possible advantage. My odds are looking grim.
I meet his gaze with a steely resolve, my mind racing for a way out of this nightmare. "You've made a grave mistake coming here," I state, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my bloodstream. "Amalie is not your property. She's a person, and she'll never be yours again."
Her father's sneer deepens, his expression twisted into a mask of contempt. "You think you can stand up to me, boy? You think your little police force is any match for me and my men? You're nothing but a small-town deputy, playing hero in your little fiefdom. But you don't know who you're dealing with."
“Oh, I know exactly who I’m dealing with, asshole. A desperate man clawing onto wealth and power he lost a long time ago. The real issue here is that you don’t know who you’re dealing with,” I snarl. “I'll do whatever it takes to protect my wife from you and anyone else who dares to threaten her."
“Doesn’t matter because you’re already dead,” he hisses, his sneer faltering for a split second to reveal a flash of fear.
He begged, stole, and borrowed until he’d exhausted all his options.
Amalie’s words come back to me. He doesn’t just want the money Amalie will secure for him, he needs it, or his life is forfeit. A man like him doesn’t become this desperate unless he’s made enemies. He’s crossed too many people, closed off too many avenues of escape unless he delivers his daughter and gets the money—not to save his company, but to repay his debtors.
His icy gaze flickers to the man holding the gun at my head. “Kill him.”
“No!”
I hear the tortured scream as a gunshot rings out, almost deafening me. At first, I think I’m dead, but I’m still on my feet. I glance to my left to see a bullet lodged in the wall above Amalie’s father’s head.
“What the—Amalie, put the gun down,” I hear her father bark. He holds up a hand, telling his men to hold their fire.
My head whips to the right, and my heart almost stops.
Amalie stands there, the gun in her outstretched hand, which shakes almost uncontrollably. She steadies herself with a concerted effort and aims again—this time at her father.
“That was a warning shot,” she hisses. “If you try to kill my husband again, I will end you.”
Despite the danger we’re in, my chest swells with pride. There’s my Amalie, my fighter. My little runaway isn’t running anymore.
Her father tips his head back and laughs. “Oh, Amalie, there you go again, thinking you have any kind of power.” The laughter leaves his face abruptly. We both know you’ll never pull that trigger. I’m your father. I raised you, clothed you. You wanted for nothing. Even after your bitch of a mother betrayed me, I still took care of you.”
Amalie’s face pales. “What do you mean, betrayed you?”
Pain flashes briefly in her father’s eyes. “But she was unfaithful.”
The gun wavers in Amalie’s hand. “So let me guess. Her death was no accident. You killed her.”
