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I grip her bicep the moment I’m within reach and yank her forward, guiding her back to the window because maybe a gun isn’t final enough for her.
It’s too quick if you ask me.
If I were able to kill her, I would like to see hersuffer.
Falling on her head from a two-story house probably wouldn’t feel that good, and it’d leave her crippled and in agony.
Two things I’d definitely wish for her now that she’s playing games.
Pocketing my gun, I use my heel to break the lock (because I forgot the key) and shove them open.
Then I’m dragging Haven into the newly open space and placing her spine there so that it’s the perfect opportunity just to push her when she doesn’t give me what I want.
“Do you think this is a game?” I solicit calmly. “I can still have you paralyzed and still remaining under this roof. Then I’ll take your full range of movement away.”
“You can’t kill me,” she spits out. Her cheeks flushed with adrenaline and fear. “You need me to—”
“I don’t need you foranything,” I retort sharply. “It’d be nice to have you, sure. But, if you haven’t noticed, I don’t mind blood. And I can have you with me during every second of it as I slaughter everyone you’ve ever known.”
“You’re only one man.”
I perk a brow because, obviously, I haven’t made my point clear yet.
My fingers promptly seize the front of her dress as I push her backward. Haven screams and grapples for my shirt, but my arms are longer, and I have the upper hand here.
“Who is the man?” I repeat because I won’t stand here and argue with her all day. “I’m running out of patience.”
“Go to hell.”
Using my free arm, I lift her by her ass and settle her along the edge of the window panel. Now she can see down and how serious her predicament really is.
“Don’ttouchme,” she leers. “I’m not telling you anything, so you might as well kill me now.”
I release the material of her dress, which makes her unstable with the angle I currently have her in when she begins to descend back.
Then she finds a hold of my hand before I yank it away, only giving her the briefest of sturdiness that she has before she falls back again.
Decision, decisions.
Without a second thought, I grip her dress and haul her forward again, getting into her face when I do.
“I don’t care if you live or die,” I promise. “I want to know what the man is doing in my house and why.”
“It’s just Collins,” she sputters. “He’s not going to hurt—”
“You must be reallystupidif you think that a Kincaid isn’t going to put a bullet into one of my men. Why is he here? What does he have planned with you?”
“N-n-nothing.” I glare at her because, again, she’s doing it again. “He’s…he’s going to help me.”
Escape.
We both know the answer to that question.
However, I want to hear it out of those mauve lips that it’s exactly what she was planning to do when I told her that she was mine.
“For?”
Haven averts her eyes, and it takes everything in me not to grab her jaw and squeeze.
