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“Yes, there’s that. And I’ve been living mine. It’s really not fair. Sure, I lost my house, my savings, all of that, but here I am.”
She spread her arms, stepped back again. Bring him to you, she thought. Away from them.
“Living that life in this beautiful house. I bought a new car. But you know that. You know everything about me. You know I’ve got a hot fiancé. A rich one.”
“Diddling the boss, Morgan.” His lip curled. “It’s so tired.”
“Not when it works.” She lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “And he has this amazing house. I’ve got a thing for houses—you know that. And look at this.”
She held up a hand, wiggled her fingers so the diamond glinted. “Honestly, Gavin, when it comes down to it, I owe you for all of it. There I was, slaving away at two jobs, pinching every penny, living in that little box. Then you came along.”
She moved back another step.
“Then I broke your streak. Sent your luck right down the toilet. Had the feds sniffing at your heels. You left me messages with the locket, with the bracelet. Message received.”
“They should’ve been you.”
“But they weren’t. You used your hands on them because that’s what you need. Not a gun, not a knife. It doesn’t work for you unless you use your hands. It has to be personal, especially with me. It has to be intimate. That gun’s beneath you, and it won’t give you what you need. We both know it.”
“I don’t need a fucking gun.” He set it on the mantel behind him. “I don’t need a fucking knife.” And stuck it in the sheath on his belt.
“I know, Gavin. I’ve dreamed of your hands around my throat. I’ve dreamed of begging you to let me live this life I’ve started, one you gave me. But you never do.”
Now he smiled, stepped slowly toward her.
“Beg me now. I want to hear you beg.”
“Please don’t hurt me. Take whatever you want, but please don’t hurt me.”
“I’m going to take what I want. Finally.”
She sucked in air as if to scream when his hands closed around her throat.
Then she did exactly as she’d been taught.
She brought her knee up hard as she dug her thumbs into his eyes.
And he’s the one who screamed.
When his grip loosened, just a little, she drove the heel of her hand to his nose, watched the blood spurt, felt it on her face.
Then she drew back with all she had, rammed her fist into his throat.
When he went down, she ran for the gun, but he grabbed her foot, sent her sprawling. Instinct as much as those lessons had her kicking back. They screamed together when her foot connected with his broken nose.
When the door crashed open, she thought it was him and scrambled up, grabbed the gun.
She’d never held one, never expected to, but whirled with it. Only to see Miles standing over Rozwell, fists clenched and ready.
“Miles. Miles, please take this. Please.”
“Point it down, Morgan. You’re okay. It’s okay now.”
The minute he had the gun, she dropped down to pull the tape off her mother’s mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’ll hurt.”
She pulled it off, did the same with her grandmother’s.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
