I’m glad I did. I also hope Mrs. Crafton heard the shot and called the police for me. If not…
I don’t want to think about that.
“W-what do you want?”
“To send your father a message to leave us the fuck alone.”
“If you kill me, he’ll only come after you harder.” And I suspect Rush will be every bit as relentless in hunting this animal down until he’s nothing but a carcass and a stain.
And Rush would only do that if he loves me.
Horrible time to realize that he probably does and I lost my temper unnecessarily.
Damn it, I wish I had a do-over on the last hour of my life.
“I’ll take that chance,” the man growls.
Then I feel something cold, hard, and cylindrical pressed to my temple. Oh, god. I gasp aloud. Every part of me shakes. This can’t be how my life ends.
I can’t let it.
Thank goodness Daddy made me take self-defense classes.
Saying a silent prayer, I let go of all my weight and fall into him. While he’s stumbling back, I ram my elbow into his stomach with all my might.
He bellows and releases my hair, doubling over. Though he’s still positioned between me and the door, I have a chance to get past him.
But when I try, he catches me with a steely arm around my waist and scoops me up like a butterfly in a net. Then he stands and slams me back to my bed. As my back hits the mattress, my robe creeps up my thighs and gapes open to reveal the inner swells of my breasts and the cleavage in between.
His pale eyes turn hot as they rake over my skin. He’s old enough to be my father—and vaguely familiar. The creepy guy staring at me in the lobby yesterday?
“Don’t touch me,” I demand.
“You’re not calling the shots. I want a piece of your fine, young ass before I blow out your brains.” He reaches for the hem of the robe. “Show me that pussy. If you make it good, I might let you live an extra five minutes.”
“No!” I fight, but he’s ten times stronger and has gravity working in his favor.
Then my robe is around my waist and he spreads my legs with his thick thighs. Even though I thrash and struggle, he still contains my wrists in one of his hands and pins me to the bed. I feel the cold press of his gun, crushing the bones of my fingers with the butt. Then a feral smile stretches across his blunt face as he starts working at his fly.
“I saw that guy you work with finally leave. Did he stay last night to fuck you?” The way he leers at me tells me the idea excites him. “Is your little hole sore?”
“You’re disgusting.”
He laughs. “I’ll make it even sorer. I’m going to tear you up. Douglas Hartley’s little princess’s last thought will be of her aching, violated pussy.”
Suddenly, he’s yanked off of me and tossed across the room with a growl so low and guttural I’m not sure it’s even human.
Rush!
He looks murderous as my assailant crashes against my dresser with a thud, then hits his head on the wall. But that doesn’t stop the intruder from whipping his weapon up at Rush, pointing it right at his face.
But Rush is faster, and his barrel is already pressed to the man’s forehead. “I dare you to try it, Dunne.”
The thug pales. “You’re not a security guard. You work for Hartley, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah. He taught me most of what I know. And since he isn’t here to kill you for touching Vanessa, I will.”
I don’t know what I’m expecting. Maybe something more like the movies where Rush extracts a confession from the bad guy about how they’re conducting their nefarious activities and why before the villain pleads for his life. Then the hero relents because he’s the bigger man and the police take my attacker away once and for all. But that’s not what happens.
Rush just pulls the trigger.
Blood and brains splatter all over my bedroom wall.
I scream. I’m shaking. Did that really just happen? Yes, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.
Then Rush takes my chin in his hand and forces my gaze to his, pinning me with his stare. “Are you okay?”
I give him a shaky nod. “I-I think.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“N-no.”
“Good. Stay here. Don’t look at him.”
I’ve barely registered the words when he releases me, then yanks the bent curtain rod from the slider’s door frame and charges out to my back patio, weapon drawn. I see a puddle of blood on the cement and hear cursing, followed by what sounds like Rush dragging the man whose foot I shot across the patio.
Then he’s back inside my bedroom. “There were no others, right?”
“Not that I-I know of.”