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I didn’t move, and then he was so close to me, I could smell the whiskey on his breath.
‘Had to get liquored up before you came over here, huh?’
My mama always said it was my mouth that got me into trouble, and she was right. Even after all this time, I just couldn’t help myself when it came to Christopher Fucking Murphy.
He narrowed his ice-blue gaze at me, pushing his black fringe out of his eyes. And then, before I could react, before I could even step back, his hand was wrapped around my face, and I was slammed back into the wall. I saw stars for a second, blinked as I heard something smash against the wall beside me, and then drew in a sharp intake of breath as the jagged teeth of a broken whiskey bottle taunted me. Inches away from my eyes, its sharp edges were still dripping with whiskey.
‘Murphy,’ I cautioned, ‘think about this. You need me. You need me if you want to get your money.’
Fuck!
I struggled to keep my breathing even as I watched his eyes slide from mine, down to my lips, over my chest. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
‘I’m pretty sure there’s a way around it, little lady.’ The whiskey on his breath burned my nostrils. My mind was whirling. This motherfucker had killed my entire family – or at least been directly responsible for it – and it looked like he was about to kill me, too. I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t.
You know what he wants, the rational part of my brain screamed. Give it to him.
No!
Save yourself.
Jesus.
I reached my hand out, moving slowly in case he thought I was on the attack and he decided to stab me with the broken bottle. I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and pulled his face closer to mine, pulling even though I wanted to push him away, fighting back the rising panic inside me.
‘What do you want, Murphy?’ I asked softly. ‘Because I’m pretty sure it’s not just my cooperation with your little scheme.’
He licked his lips, breathing heavily. He lowered the bottle to his side and seemed to calm down a little, his blue eyes still cold and fucking crazy, but his breathing slower, his urge to stab me apparently in check once again.
‘You know what I want,’ he breathed. ‘I could make your life so fucking sweet,’ he brushed a thumb across my bottom lip, ‘if you just gave it to me.’
Something violent and dark unleashed itself within me.
‘You want to fuck me,’ I breathed. ‘Fuck me already. I’d be so much better than that little bitch you’ve been screwing.’
My words were like a green light to someone who’s been stuck in a traffic jam for almost a decade. I saw the shift in Murphy’s gaze, from predatory but controlled, to completely animalistic. A low growl came from his throat as he fisted a handful of my hair and began dragging me towards my bedroom.
There was a gun in my bedroom. In my purse.
I followed him without fighting. Part of me was screaming inside, trying to convince myself to run, to try and get away, but another part was swiftly concocting a plan.
He threw me towards the bed, where I landed on my side, hard. I rolled onto my back, looking to the left and seeing my purse sitting below the pillow.
I turned my attention back to Murphy, who’d discarded the broken bottle somewhere along the way. His pants were around his ankles and his dick out before I could even blink. I sat up, swallowing back nervous bile that rushed up my throat. I was going to have to fuck him, I realised, my heart sinking at the prospect of him touching any part of me. He palmed his erection, pumping it as he looked down at me.
‘You on birth control?’ he asked, staring at the space between my legs that was still hidden by my dress.
‘No,’ I said, almost too quickly. I was, but he didn’t need to know that. ‘There are condoms in the bathroom. Top drawer.’
He looked pissed, but he pulled his pants back up and held onto the waistband, hurrying into the bathroom. The second he was out of my line of sight, I reached back and into my purse, rummaging around until my fingers touched cold metal. I slid my gun out as inconspicuously as I could, shoving it underneath my pillow with the handle facing me.
The slam of the bathroom drawer made me jump, and then Murphy was in front of me, a foil packet in his hand.
‘Put it on,’ he demanded.
I looked up at him without taking the packet. ‘I think you’ve got me all wrong,’ I deadpanned. ‘I don’t have a dick.’
His fist slammed into my cheek and I tasted blood. I fell back onto the bed, fighting as he grabbed my wrists.
