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“FUCK,” Carver spits, falling away from me and spinning around to take care of business.
With my gun raised, I open fire, desperate to help neutralize the threat, but the room is far too small for us all to be moving around so rapidly. A guard jumps at Grayson, a knife gripped tightly in his hand, but Grayson doesn’t have time for this shit.
His arms swing in a low arch, bringing his gun up against the guard as he comes down over Grayson, and without hesitation, Grayson pulls the trigger and takes the guard down before the guy has even finished falling.
Carver shoots straight at the guard that stands in front of the shattered window. As the bullet pierces his skull, the momentum sends him falling backward, his ass hitting the full-length window, right where the glass used to be. The guy falls straight out, plummeting to the pavement thirty-four floors down.
A flash of brunette hair cuts across my vision, and I watch as Paris slips through the smoke, darting out of the home office as though the world wasn’t imploding around her. “FUCK, THERE SHE IS,” I call to the boys over the noise of the rapid-fire bullets.
I dart after her and the boys curse as I fly out of the room, but with the guards still bearing down on them, they have no choice but to let me go, having to trust that I’ll be okay.
CHAPTER 37
Paris sprints down that hallway and my feet slam against the hardwood floors, racing after her. She catches the railing of the stairs and swings herself around, flying down them two at a time. She cries out, clutching onto her shoulder as she runs, and I can’t help the grin that stretches across my face, the unbelievable satisfaction coursing through my veins nearly enough to send me into euphoria.
“Where are you going?” I call behind her, barreling down the stairs. “Stay and play. We have so much to catch up on.”
Paris hits the last step and as she races through the living room, she whips around and points a gun directly at me. I don’t dare stop as the shot rings out through the house and I dart away, screaming as the bullet catches my upper arm. “FUCK,” I cry, crushing my teeth together and trying to channel the pain.
Tears sting my eyes, but knowing this could be my only chance, I push through the pain and keep putting one foot in front of another. As she creeps closer and closer to the back door that we’d broken our way through to get in, I raise my gun and take one clean shot, determined to keep her in the apartment.
The bullet shoots straight through her waist, and as she drops like a sack of shit, her hand clutches her side, blood spilling out onto the floor. Her gun skids along the ground, sliding straight under the cabinets and making this game all that more interesting.
I let out a breath, knowing that I have her right where I want her. She rolls on to her back, her eyes clenched as the pain rocks through her. “Fuck,” she spits, “you’re a little whore just like your mother.”
“You’re awfully obsessed with my mother,” I laugh as I reach her, and not giving her the chance to get away, I grip her wrist and give a hard yank, practically dislocating her shoulder—the same shoulder that I’d stabbed a knife through only a few short days ago.
Her tormented scream echoes through the big living room as I drag her across the floor. I can’t help but love every second of it. Maybe I’m twisted and sick myself. Maybe I need therapy or need to be locked up like Sara. At least, she will be until the boys can find a spare moment to release her after she held up her end of the bargain.
I give an extra hard pull as we reach the heavy dining table and laugh as her body skids to a stop, her ribs slamming into the leg of the table. Not wasting a precious moment, I pull cable ties from my pocket and get to work tying her down.
She thrashes against me. “You better fucking hope that you kill me,” she hisses, “because if you don’t, I’m going to hunt you down and skin you alive for this.”
Fuck, she’s funny. I really should have taken the time to get to know her because damn, this bitch really knows how to make me laugh.
I don’t stop tying her up until her back is flat on the cold floor, her arms above her head and her legs strapped to the other end of the table, leaving her body wide open for anything that I might have in mind.
I get to my feet and survey my handiwork as I holster my gun, preferring a different tool. After all, a bullet to the head would be too easy. This woman has stalked me for years, sent assassin after assassin, she orchestrated my parents’ murder and then had the audacity to move into their home. My life has been a living hell, and it’s all because of this woman.
