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CHAPTERTWENTY
MALCOLM
I pull up in the driveway and barely get the car in park before throwing my door open. I climb out and all but run into the house, preparing for whatever could be on the other side.
The entire way here, my fears clogged my throat, and now I’m here.
Slowly, I open the door and step inside. I’m met with silence, one that sickens my stomach. I stop at the table just inside, open the front of it enough to wrap my fingers around the handle of the gun I keep there. I didn’t take the time before rushing out of the house to place a gun in the back of my pants and I didn’t put my hoister on. I’d been focused on getting to Baton Rouge. This is why I keep guns throughout my house along with in my car. I could’ve grabbed my Remington nineteen-eleven forty-five caliber from inside the car, but I know where I keep each and every one of them. This is why I silently bring up my three-fifty-seven magnum Smith & Wesson revolver. I check the cylinder to make sure it’s fully loaded and slip it back in place. I like this one and have four of them since they don’t have an internal lock. I’ve just gotta point, aim, and pull the trigger.
I make my way further into the room and come to a halt, my gaze going from the body on the floor to the woman aiming a gun in my direction.
My woman.
Désirée.
Fuck.
“Mon tresor?” I mutter, putting the gun in my hand on the counter slowly and moving to her. “Hand me the gun, baby.”
I don’t even think she has fully registered it’s me. Gently, I take the gun from her trembling hands and set it on the counter as well. I squat down in front of her, reach out and grip her chin to make her look at me.
“I killed him,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say just as softly.
“He . . . he . . .” she tries to say something about the dead motherfucker, buts as if she can’t get the words out.
“Come on, baby, let’s get you away from him and cleaned up,” I state and move—scooping her in my arms. I stand, holding her bridal style. Nothing else matters but Désirée at the moment. I need to make sure she’s okay, both mind and body.
Upstairs, I carry her straight to the bathroom. I set her on her feet, keeping a hand around her waist, and reach into the shower switching the water on. The entire time I don’t take my eyes off my woman. While the water heats up, I strip Désirée of her clothes, tossing them in the sink. I’ll get rid of them later. There’s no way she’ll be wearing them again.
I make quick work of my own clothes and help Désirée into the shower. The water sprays over her body, washing the blood staining her beautiful skin red. I take my time getting her clean before finally speaking up. “Mon trésor, you gotta talk to me.”
“I killed him,” she whispers, tears welling in her eyes, her gaze coming to mine.
Right there in the shower, water spraying over the both of us, I cup either side of her face and wipe away the tears. “Tell me what happened?”
“He threatened me, told me he was bringing me here to pack, then he was taking me away. That he was going to make me love him,” Désirée murmurs. She then proceeds to tell me what happened from the time they got here, and all that followed until I walked in the door. “Am I going to be arrested?”
“No, Désirée, I told you no one will be taking you away from me, and I mean it. I’m not about to let anyone snatch you from my grasp again,” I mutter my anger at the mere thought pisses me off. “I’ll make sure no one has the chance. I promise you—you aren’t gonna be arrested, and I do know his body will disappear.”
“But . . .”
I shake my head, interrupting her, “Let me handle the rest of this.”
Désirée looks me straight in the eye, almost like she’s trying to decipher if I’m lying to her, though she knows I wouldn’t. Not about this shit. Hell, not ever.
Finally, she nods, “Okay.”
I tilt my head down and capture her lips in a beautiful kiss. A kiss that turns into something heated. The water from the shower grows cold against our skin as I make Désirée cry out in a completely different way.
Shutting off the water, I snatch up two towels. I help her climb out of the shower, keeping her close. Using one, I wrap it around my waist while helping Désirée dry with the other.
We finish in the bathroom, and I scoop her up in my arms once more. I carry her to our room, where I set her down in order to get dressed. I give her a small smile as she picks a pair of black capri leggings and one of my shirts. I tug on a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt.
I leave her long enough to go back into the bathroom to grab the clothes in the sink. With them in hand, I head back into the room and take note Désirée’s put her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head.
“I’m going to go downstairs and handle business,” I state, holding the clothes in my hand. “I want you down there with me, but you stay in the living room. Take care of the bunnies, something. I just want you to stay away from the kitchen.”
