His hand was rough over her clothes, pawing at her breasts, groping lower. “Come on, baby,” he said inching her toward the bed. The back of her knees hit the mattress. “Let’s see what you can do. I remember you gave the best head I’ve ever had.”
She moaned though her insides curdled and they tumbled on the bed together. In that moment, she flung one arm out and arched against him. He kissed her hard on the lips and she flipped on the control of the intercom, then held him tight, as if she couldn’t get enough of him. Never releasing the gun, he ripped open her shirt with his free hand and rubbed her breasts, pinching her nipples through her bra. She pretended a fever she didn’t feel and stripped him of his parka and sweatshirt, running her hands up his ribs to tangle in the springing hairs guarding a thin chest.
“Oh, yeah, baby,” he murmured, his eyelids lowering to half-mast, his fingers still tight on the pistol, its nose digging into her throat.
She moved lower and her fingers slid his zipper down over a hard, anxious erection.
I can’t do this, she thought wildly, but touched him with her fingers, stroking gently then harder as she heard him groan deep in his throat. Dear God, help me. With her free hand she reached over the edge of the mattress, her fingers searching between mattress and box springs, stretching to find the cold metal.
“That’s it baby, now suck me,” he said and she thought she’d puke all over him.
“Take off your pants,” she ordered though her voice shook.
“You do it.”
Forcing herself she complied, using both hands. The muzzle of his gun slipped a little. She wiggled, as if really getting into stripping him and as she lowered his jeans, let her fingers trail over the inside of his thigh.
“That’s it, that’s it,” he growled. She slid one hand to the edge of the bed again, found the gun, and, sweating, certain he would figure out what she was doing, worked hard, inching it toward the edge of the mattress until she was able to pry it free. His fingers loosened over his own pistol, though he still held it. But no longer was it pressed to her throat. She said something dirty against his thigh. “You know I want it,” she rasped. “No one was ever as good as you, Monty. I just didn’t want to believe it.”
“Prove it. Suck me.”
Help me, she silently prayed, adjusting herself and using all the energy she could muster, drew her knee up swiftly. Hard. Connected with his testicles.
He bellowed in pain and curled into a ball. His gun fell off the bed. “You fucking bitch!” he gasped, scrabbling for his weapon.
Kylie yanked Alex’s pistol free and clicked off the safety.
“You bitch! You’re gonna pay!” he cried as he reached over the edge of the bed and his fingers curled over his gun.
Kylie didn’t wait. At point blank range, she pulled the trigger.
Crack!
The gun went off. Monty’s arm exploded. He shrieked in pain. Blood and bits of bone sprayed over the bed, over Kylie, onto the wall and on the lacy canopy. Monty rolled away from her, blood pouring from the wound in his arm.
Somewhere nearby the baby screamed and there were footsteps racing, thundering through the house. Finally, help was on the way.
Sobbing, gasping, forcing herself from the horrid bed, Kylie trained her weapon on Monty. Naked, he managed to get to his feet, then as he took a step, the jeans bunching at his ankles, acting like shackles, held him fast. “Don’t even think about it,” she ordered, ready to fire again though the gun wobbled in her hand. He sank to the floor, dragging in breaths and moaning in pain.
“Don’t move.”
With a groan he passed out.
Her feet landed on the carpet as the door burst open.
Then all her bravado fled.
She was standing, half naked, face to face with her half sister, the woman she’d envied all her life. And Marla wasn’t alone. In her arms, blinking and crying, was Kylie’s son, James.
“Wha—what are you doing here?” she asked.
“This is my house.”
“But—”
“I came for my son, Kylie.”
“Don’t take him away from me,” she begged as Alex slipped through the door.