Page 116 of The Agreement


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I take another step in his direction.

“That is tempting,” he admits slowly. “Every single game, huh?”

I nod. “I’ll throw in tickets to every single Arsenal game, as well.”

He straightens. “Not a footie fan, but Arsenal’s different.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” I slide my foot forward. “If I weren’t the captain of the English cricket team, Arsenal would be my team of choice to play for.”

“That last match when they defeated Man-U?” He shakes his head. “That penalty shot—"

“—My fucking favorite.” I’m within three feet of them, when he seems to realize how close I am.

“Stop,” he cries out.

I do.

“If you think you can distract me by talking about sports, you—"

I snatch up the pan from the stovetop and leap forward.

46

Abby

“Oh, my god!” I scream as Cade swings the heavy skillet toward me. I squeeze my eyes shut. I swear, I feel the breeze as it passes me, then hear the thunk of it hitting flesh. The man cries out, and the knife leaves my throat. He releases his hold on me, and I pitch forward. The scent of cardamom and mint fills my nostrils, and I cry out, this time in relief. His arms come around me, then I’m pushed back and behind him. I snap my eyes open and turn to find Cade gripping the man’s wrist, that’s still holding the knife. He raises the skillet again, but the man—now bleeding from his temple—head butts him in the stomach. He crashes into me, and I lose my footing and hit the floor. Cade must hear me fall for he turns. “Abby!”

“Cade, watch out!” I yell, but I’m too late, for the man manages to pull free of Cade. He brings the knife down and across Cade’s chest. I scream. Cade grunts, then turns and swings the skillet, this time, catching the other guy under his chin. He stumbles back, and Cade swings again. This time, the vessel connects with the man’s chest with such force, I hear his ribs crack. The impact is so powerful, he’s thrown back. He hits the backdoor of the kitchen, which shatters. He falls over on his back, over the remnants of the door, and doesn’t move.

I stay on the floor, panting, sweat sliding down my temples. My chest hurts, my lungs burn, and my heart is still racing so fast, spots of black flicker at the corners of my vision. The room sways, then straightens. I fix my gaze on where Cade stands over the man.

He raises that heavy skillet again, and I scream. “Cade, stop, you’ll kill him.”

The planes of his back flex, and his shoulders heave. He stays motionless for a second, then slowly lowers his arm. The skillet hits the floor with a crash, and I shudder. I stumble toward him, and he turns. I throw my arms about his waist, and he grunts.

“Oh, sorry, you’re hurt.” I try to pull back, but he settles his heavy hands on my hips and holds me in place. “I’m fine,” he growls.

“You’re not. He hurt you, he—"

“It’s my fault. I’m sorry I said those nasty things to you tonight. I didn’t mean any of them.”

“It’s okay.” A tear squeezes out of the corner of my eye. “I understand. I know you don’t love me.”

“That’s not true.”

“No, it’s fine, you don’t have to pretend otherwise. I never should have told you I love you, I—"

“I love you.”

“Eh?” I look up at him. “What did you say?”

“I love you, Abby. I should have told you so earlier, but I didn’t. I’m sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to do this. I know emotions are running high now, but really, you don’t have to feel obliged to—"

“Knight never asked me to take care of you, not until I spoke to him yesterday.”

“What?”

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