Page 7 of Filthy Little Lies

He downs the last few gulps before taking it to the recycling bin. “It is now.”

“She couldn’t have been that much trouble. You had her locked in the room, right?”

“Of course.” He grabs his jacket from the back of a chair. “But the room isn’t soundproof, Gabriel. She’s been pounding and screaming since Bob dumped her on me.”

“That was five hours ago.”

He deadpans. “I know.”

“She should have exhausted herself by now.”

“You would think.” He blows out a breath.

“Did she tell you anything?”

He shoves his arms into his jacket. “Other than to go fuck myself. Several times. No.”

I clench my jaw. “She has no idea how much danger she’s in, does she?”

“I got the feeling she’s aware of how much trouble she’s in, but she thinks the trouble is from somewhere else.”

She had mentioned people were waiting for her. Maybe they were in trouble, and that’s why she was trying to sell the shitty diamonds for so much money.

A crashing thud came from over our heads, and we both instinctively looked at the ceiling.

“That was probably the bookcase.” Roman shakes his head. “Last I checked on her, she was trying to move it to block the door.”

That bookcase is made out of oak. If it fell on her, it could crush her.

“Fuck!” Her bellow of rage comes next.

Roman chuckles.

“Yeah. Good luck with that one.” He pats my shoulder on his way to the back door. Just before the door shuts, he yells back at me. “By the way, you owe me one!”

I drop my leather jacket onto the table. Another thud from upstairs. Is she actually trying to pick the shelves back up?

The woman has no sense of the danger surrounding her. Or she just doesn’t care.

Reckless, completely reckless.

Most women would be terrified to be locked in a room belonging to a man who’d thrown her in the trunk of a car. This one has insulted Roman, a man who has killed more men with his bare hands than anyone I know and is ripping apart my house.

I stalk up the stairs. It’s time she realizes the gravity of her situation and pays the price for her actions.

By the time I get to the bedroom next to mine, my blood is hot again.

I unlock the door and push it inward, only to find my way blocked by the bookcase. She managed to not only knock it down, but to shove it close enough to the door to stop it from opening.

It’s cute she thinks this will stop me from getting in.

“Move away from the door.”

“I’m not by the door.” The snark in her voice suggests she hasn’t been up here contemplating her bad behavior.

Well, that’s going to change.

With a thrust of the door, I’m able to shove the bookcase enough that I can get inside. I’d expected to find the place torn to pieces, but other than the bookcase, nothing’s been touched.