Page 38 of Possessive Sinner
Pete's screaming? It won't change anything.
"Pete," my voice sounds calm. Almost gentle. "They're going to kill us." The room goes quiet. I wipe the blood from my mouth and look straight at the bald man. "Isn't that right?"
He studies me for a moment. Then he nods. "Ah, I like a smart woman."
I turn back to Pete. God, he looks so broken. "I love you."
I do love him. Just not like a wife is supposed to love her husband. But he doesn't need to know that. Especially not now.
His head shakes violently. "No—no, Audra?—"
I turn back to the bald man. "Look. My husband is telling you the truth." He narrows his eyes. "Where were you going to buy something?"
He blinks. "How do you know that?"
"Because my husband works for the bank you're trying to buythrough." For a moment, he just stares at me. I bite back the insult burning on my tongue.You ignorant bastard. And.If you want to do business in the States, you should learn the rules first. Instead, I chose my words with care. "He just got carried away with his research."
The bald man studies me. Long. Hard. Then he lifts the gun and presses it against my temple.
Pete screams. "No! Please! No! Audra! Please!"
I look at him one last time.
"Honey," his voice breaks, "I love you."
The bald man sighs. "Enough of that wailing."
He turns the gun. The shot explodes through the warehouse. I flinch. Pete's body jerks once. Then slumps forward. Still. The sound echoes through the room. For a moment, I feel like my heart has stopped beating entirely. Pain shoots through it. So much it can't take it. But the pain is followed by more resolve. Resolve to go out dignified. I won't let them see how much they just hurt me. I refuse to cry. The bald man looks back at me.
Pete. The thought of him lying there hits me like a knife. There is grief. Of course there is. A deep, tearing grief that threatens to swallow me whole. But beneath it, coils something darker. Something I never expected.
Hate.
It rises, slow and hot, in my chest, wraps around my ribs like a tightening fist. I hate him. I hate the men behind him. I hate the ones who dragged me here, the ones who cut Pete, the ones who stood around watching him bleed like it was entertainment.
For one wild second, I want to jump up and claw the man's face off. I want to knock him down. Pummel him. Rip his heart out and shove it down his throat.
The sheer violence of the thought shocks me. Where the hell did that come from? I've never been a violent person. Never been the type to fight or scream or throw punches… No, that's not entirely true. I've always had a very strong sense of right and wrong. Not the kind written in law books. The kind older than that. Biblical.An eye for an eye.I believe in that.
Always have. And right now, every part of me wishes I could rip the gun from his hand and shoot every single one of them for what they did to Pete. He was such a good man. He never hurtanyone in his life. He didn't deserve this. My fingers curl slowly into fists. The bald man raises the gun. Points it at my chest.
"I believe you, puta."
One of the other men suddenly steps forward. "Boss," he warns quickly. "She'll bring a lot of money. Look at her."
The bald man studies me again. Slowly.
"She would," he agrees. He shakes his head. "But she's not the type to break." His eyes grow colder. "She's a liability."
He lifts the gun. I stare straight at him. No tears. No begging. If I'm going to die, I'm not giving him the satisfaction of fear.
12
GABRIEL
The car hasn't even stopped yet.A man stands by the warehouse door watching our approach warily, raising his gun. I fire through the windshield. The shot detonates inside the car like a bomb. The man drops. Behind me, Damiano and Alessio erupt.
"Fuck!" Damiano shouts. "Couldn't you roll the window down first?"
