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Chapter Forty-Five
RORY
The brothers are still gone, and I find I’m lonely and missing them. I’m working from home again today, but once all the emails are answered and the meetings are checked, I get bored. Mischief is out on his walk, leaving me alone in the apartment. Frowning, I stand and stretch, staring out of the windows for a moment before deciding to go for a walk myself.
Hell, I may even sneak up totheirapartment while they’re gone and see what it’s like or at least test the locks and see if I can get in. If anything is lying around that Bronson might want, I may even take it. Slipping on some shoes, I leave my apartment, keeping the door unlocked since I know no one in the building will touch me. I’m pretty sure it’s empty except for me and the Dixens.
After all, they own it just like they own me.
I take the elevator up, and instead of heading to the gym, I choose the only other door. I give the handle a hard turn, but it’s locked. Sighing, I look around, and after wandering up and down, I find no other way in. Giving up, I get back in the elevator, but instead of pressing the button for my floor, I hesitate. With my teeth caught between my lip, I slide my finger down and hit the one for the level under mine, deciding to check out the apartment Maddox came from and the ones around it.
Does anyone else actually live here?
Why does my jealousy rear its head for a moment as I wonder if he was visiting a woman? No, he wasn’t. He couldn’t have been…right?
The ride is quick, and the doors open with a ding. I step off, but I feel nervous for some reason. Swallowing that fear, I push back my shoulders and lift my chin, acting as if I should be here as I turn right and head straight to that door I saw him come from. It’s closed, but I pull on the handle.
Locked.
Shit.
I knock, but I don’t hear anyone inside and it doesn’t open, so I give up and wander a bit farther down before freezing at what I see. My breath hitches, and my heart slams into overdrive as my palms turn sweaty. Looking around, I search for the source before gazing back down at the puddle of blood on the floor. I step over it nervously and keep walking, spotting a bloody handprint on the left wall with a smear mark. I keep going, anxiously following the blood trail, finding more and more on the walls and floor until it stops at an ajar door. There’s a bloody handprint right in the middle of it, and from inside, I hear movement.
Something crashes, and a snarling voice sounds. I step back, looking around. I shouldn’t be here. If they catch me, I’m in so much shit. Just as I’m about to turn away and rush back to my apartment, the door is ripped open and I freeze in shock. The man standing there does the same before he blinks, fear and something else flashing across his face.
Something worse enters his gaze.
“Who are you?” he rumbles, looking behind me and around as if searching for someone. His hair is in short braids, and black like the darkness in his eyes. His tan skin glistens with a sheen of sweat, and I follow it down his body. He wears a white wife beater and low jeans with a chain on it, but that’s not what has me stumbling back. There’s a pistol tucked in the waistband of his jeans, and his other hand is clutching his side, but through his fingers, I see the bloodstained shirt and the hole.
A bullet wound.
He’s been shot.
“I said, who are you?” he demands dangerously, reaching for the gun.
I panic and turn and run. I hear him swear and start to chase me. I reach the elevator, and luckily, it’s still open, so I slip inside and slam the buttons over and over. “Stop!” he yells, and the doors slide shut on his face. It vibrates as he smacks them from the other side, and just when I think he’s going to break through the doors, the elevator begins to rise. I grip my chest as terror flows through me.
He had a gun. Oh God.
I switch into fight or flight mode, barely thinking as the doors open. I stumble out and race to my apartment as I hear the door to the stairs open as he yells again. Holy shit, he chased me up the stairs. Terrified, I rush into my apartment, lock the door, and press my side against it.
A moment later, there’s a massive slam on the door. “Stop, bitch!” he shouts, “Open the fucking door!” He keeps hammering into it, and I stumble back. I look around, grab my phone with trembling hands, and start to dial the guys when a loud bang sounds. The door flies inwards, and the gun-wielding man rushes in.
Shit.
I scream and leap back, dropping the phone from my sweaty grip. “Who the fuck are you, bitch? You working for Marcos?” he roars and then lunges at me. We fall backwards, and he lands on top of me. I block the gun as we wrestle for it, rolling across the floor before we stop with him on top. It all goes so quickly as instinct takes over. I smash my head into his, and he jerks back as the gun flies across the floor. We both turn, eyes wide, chests heaving, and then, with a determined yell, I kick him off of me. I start to get up to reach for it, but he grabs my legs and I hit the ground hard. Kicking back and gritting my teeth, I start to crawl toward it. I feel my foot impact his face as he bellows.
“Fuck this! You’re dead, bitch!” he hollers, and drags me back with a scream. My hands scrabble along the floor as he flips me over. I hear my knife fall from my jeans pocket, clanking to the ground, and he grabs it before pinning my legs as I slap and punch him. I refuse to back down, to cry and give up. He wants to kill me? He’ll have to defeat me first.
He flicks it open, and I freeze, my heart pounding as he grins down at me. As the knife starts to arc downward, I go for the place that will cause the most damage—I stab my fingers into his wound. A pained bellow erupts from his mouth, and he drops the knife. I snatch it and stab, my eyes wide as it sinks into his throat, and then I still. The handle protrudes from his skin as he blinks and blood bubbles from his lips. He falls back and pulls the knife free, getting to his feet. His hands cover the wound as I watch, unable to speak or think as he stumbles forward, making me scoot back with a cry.
I gape as his blood pumps through his hands, and with a snarled wet gurgle, he falls onto me, pinning me to the floor as his blood gushes onto me. I bat at him, buck, and try to get him off me, screaming loudly.
Oh God.
Oh God
What did I do?
