“Goddammit.” I tried it again, as if there was any chance I just didn’t do it right. “Motherfucker.” I studied the door for a while before I decided to break it down. From what I gathered, there were no bedrooms downstairs. Everyone was on the second floor, so if I did this quietly, they might not hear me.
I used one of the crutches to hit the lock. Over and over, I hit it, hard but silent, trying to chip away at the metal until it started to dent. I quickly worked up a sweat, gritting my teeth because it was taking so long, and then I stopped to make sure no one had heard me. When there was no activity, I kept going, breaking the door handle twenty minutes later.
Finally, I had the door open and hopped inside.
The most obvious place to look was his desk, so I hopped around the edge and dropped into his leather chair. I started at his top drawers, pushing aside folders and paperwork until I could see the back of the drawer. My hand felt around the top, wondering if it was taped to the underside of the desk.
Nothing.
I checked the next set of drawers. More often than not, Cauldron carried a shotgun, but I wasn’t sure how that would fit in any of these drawers.
“Check under the desk.”
I gave a quiet hiss as I jerked my eyes up.
In his signature sweatpants, he stood in the doorway, his hair slightly ruffled like he’d rolled out of bed just to come down here. But his eyes were wide awake, furious. Dark and hot like freshly brewed espresso, his look could kill.
My hands moved underneath the desk until I felt it, the cold sting of metal. I yanked it loose from the Velcro that kept it hidden out of sight.
He moved to the desk, empty-handed but just as much of a threat.
It was a handgun, so I clicked off the safety and pointed it at his chest.
He stopped at the desk, both hands planted on the wood as he leaned forward, powerful eyes burning me all the way through. Without hesitation, without an ounce of fear, he looked at me head on, like a bullet to his chest would simply bounce off. “What are you waiting for?”
My hand shook as I held it, like I was the one being held at gunpoint.
“Camille.”
Once I shot him through the chest, I could hobble on outta there without being stopped. I could take one of his cars and drive away, never looking back. But then Grave would track me down eventually, and I’d be right back where I started. Plus, if I shot Cauldron, he would be dead…and I didn’t want him to be dead.
I should after what he did to me, but I didn’t.
“This is your brilliant plan?” he asked coldly. “Break in to my office and steal my gun, just to give up? Come on, shoot me.”
I lowered the gun.
“I said, shoot me.” He grabbed my wrist and forced the gun at his chest.
I gave a scream and yanked it back, sick to my stomach that the cold metal of the barrel touched his warm skin, skin I had kissed and touched.
“Shoot. Me.”
“No.” I tossed the gun across the desk, where it slid over the surface and fell to the floor. My eyes stung because I was on the verge of tears, my heart traumatized by what I’d almost done. When I pictured the bloody wound in his chest and his dead body on the floor, I nearly had a panic attack.
He stared me down for another moment before he retrieved the gun from the floor and set it back on the desk. “Don’t touch my guns unless you’re going to use them. Otherwise, you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?” He’d looked at that gun head on, with no regard for his own life. Where did he get that courage? That bravery?
“I didn’t.”
A long silence ensued. I stared at him, my eyebrows slowly rising up my face.
He stared back, devoid of all emotion.
“What are you saying? That you—you wanted me to kill you?”
He held my stare for a while before he came around the desk and pulled my chair back. He kneeled and secured the gun back in place with the black Velcro. “I guess I wouldn’t have minded it.”
FOUR
CAULDRON
She didn’t join me during mealtimes. Didn’t come out of her room. A week came and went, and the only evidence she was still in the house were Hugo’s reports. There were no more notes in the wastebin, so I had no idea how she felt.
She would have taken that shot if she really hated me.
Roger came by to check on her ankle, and he said it was healing nicely but would require more time.