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Finley had been pushing her luck for a while now. Until very recently she hadn’t really cared. Somehow, she did now. Mostly for Jack and Matt. And her dad, of course.
“I want you to stay away from him,” the woman snarled.
Finley frowned, confused. “Stay away from who?”
“Tark,” she snapped. “He’s mine now. He doesn’t want you. Not the way he wants me. He told me he was just playing with you, but I don’t like it.”
Finley laughed. Couldn’t help herself. The woman had no freaking idea. “You think I have a thing for him?”
“I saw you watching him. And I also saw the way he looked at you. I don’t like it—whatever it is. I want you to stay away from him.”
Finley held up her hands and shook her head. “This is a joke. Have a nice day.”
As Finley turned to head for the door, the woman drew a weapon.
Well, hell. Finley’s pulse stumbled, and her breath stalled in her lungs. Apparently, her luck had chosen today to run out.
“Don’t you walk away from me, bitch.”
Finley held stone still. “Trust me,” she reiterated, “you’ve got this all wrong. I don’t want—”
The door behind Finley suddenly burst open.
“What the hell are you doing, Whitney?”
Finley didn’t have to look. She recognized the voice. Adrenaline rushed through her veins.Tark Brant.
Shit.
“I’m having a chat with this whore you been watching,” the girlfriend—Whitney, apparently—sneered.
“Are you fucking crazy?” he roared, moving closer.
Finley stiffened. He was beside her now. If she turned her head to the right and tilted her face upward, she would be looking directly into his profile.
“You know what,” Finley announced. The two glared at her. “This sounds like a personal issue. I’m just going to go now.”
Finley started to turn away once more, and Whitney charged forward two steps, jamming the gun at Finley.
“You ain’t going nowhere until I say so.”
Something clicked deep inside Finley at that moment. White-hot rage rushed through her before she could hope to slow it. “What’re you going to do?” she demanded. “Kill me?” She took a step closer to the woman. “You won’t be the first piece of shit to try.”
Whitney’s eyes widened, flared with outrage of her own. This close Finley saw the fading bruises on the woman’s throat. The too-large, cuffed sleeves of the hoodie had fallen away from her wrists, revealing rings of dim bruises there as well.
Why did any woman put up with that crap from a partner?
“Gimme that gun, you stupid bitch,” Brant snarled.
Whitney lifted the muzzle higher, aiming directly into Finley’s face. “This here’s the bitch.” Her lips curled back with hatred. “Maybe I will kill you.”
Before Finley could open her mouth to suggest she just do it, a crushing hand gripped her forearm.
“You are fucking crazy,” Brant bellowed. He glared at Finley. “You think you’re bulletproof? Well, you’re not. The only reason you’re still alive is because someone wants you that way.” He shoved her against the wall on her left. “Now get the hell out of here before I give you more of what you got last time.”
Finley gasped to regain the breath that had been knocked out of her. His words whirled inside her, making her simultaneously want to vomit and want to lunge at him and tear out his jugular.
“Gimme that damned gun,” he growled, turning back to his girlfriend, “or I’m going to shove it up your ass and blow your brains through the top of your head.”
