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I reached up, slid my hand underneath the pillow and curled my fingers around the gun. I located the trigger and kept my index finger on it. Almost.
Thrust.
I rested my free hand on his ass and pulled him deeper. ‘Harder,’ I murmured.
He liked that. His head fell forward as he used every ounce of energy on making sure he’d bedded himself as deep and as hard as possible with every single thrust. I was mostly numb to it now, too distracted by more devious things.
Thrust.
Wait.
Thrust.
Almost.
Thrust.
Now.
I pulled the gun from its spot under the pillow and pressed the end of the barrel to Murphy’s pale forehead. His eyes flew open, ice-blue and full of What-the-Fuck? He stopped everything. Stopped moving, stopped breathing. The only thing that was happening was in his bright eyes.
They were afraid.
‘Pull out,’ I demanded. He didn’t move. ‘Now!’ I cried, pushing the gun harder against his pale skin. He jerked his hips back, pulling himself out of me, and I almost cried at the immense relief from knowing he wasn’t inside me any more.
It was like I’d floated away and was looking on from above. It didn’t feel real; none of it did. I was on the bed underneath Murphy, and his eyes started to become wet and glossy. Tears?
‘Afraid?’ I asked, unable to wipe the grin from my lips. Something had changed inside me through nine years of hate and pain, and that something that lurked in the deepest recesses of my dark soul enjoyed Murphy’s discomfort entirely too much. Craved it. Wanted more of it.
‘Did you kill my family?’ I whispered, and the smile I was wearing faded away. Grim realisation spiked in his eyes, and his entire body tensed. A wave of nausea rolled through me. It’s true. He fucking did it.
He didn’t answer, but the answer was clear as day in his eyes; in the way he looked away for a split second before meeting my gaze again, in the stunned look on his face, in the heavy exhale that came from his chest.
I saw the questions in his eyes.
‘How?’ he asked, his words tumbling out quickly, with urgency. ‘You were tracked. You were fucking watched day and night. You don’t take a piss without me knowing, so how?’ Beads of sweat were starting to gather above his eyebrows, and his anxiety made my heart beat faster in excitement.
‘Tell me what happened to them,’ I demanded. ‘Tell me, and I’ll let you walk out of here.’
His eyes dipped to the side. I responded by cocking the hammer on the gun, a loud metallic click.
‘You really think I didn’t check on my family in nine years?’ I whispered. ‘How stupid are you? How stupid do you think I am? Tell me.’ My lips quivered as a single tear escaped from my left eye. Damn it. I didn’t want him to see what he’d done to me. The pain he’d caused. I didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing how I’d suffered thanks to him.
‘Your father killed a school kid in a hit-and-run. He was drunk, and when they arrested him, he turned on Emilio,’ Murphy spoke slowly, his words careful, measured. ‘The feds realised what an opportunity they’d been given and granted your father immunity in exchange for his testimony against the cartel.’
‘The feds? Be more specific.’
Murphy scowled. ‘The FBI.’
I made a small sound of annoyance in the back of my throat. ‘I want a name, asshole. Give me a name. The FBI’s a big fucking agency.’
‘Why?’
I applied pressure to the trigger and Murphy blanched. ‘Lindsay Price. He’s investigating Emilio. You tell anybody I told you that and we’ll both be dead.’
‘And?’ I pressed.
Murphy shrugged, his arms beginning to shake as he held himself above the treacherous nozzle of my gun. ‘Nobody testifies against Il Sangue, Mariana. Your father was a fool to think he’d even make it to the FBI’s safe house.’
