Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
I sit there a good ten minutes, rethinking what happened. Could I have shot him and not killed him? And I get the same answer I always come up with: no. He was a skilled man with a gun in his hand, intent to kill in his mind and body, and a will to survive, not die. He would have killed the princess if I had left him alive. He would have killed me.
Either way, no matter what my answer, there’s no putting off what has to happen right now. Ana deserves to know Kasey is gone.
I open the truck door, my weapon under my leather jacket. I hesitate a moment, thinking about this weapon being the weapon that killed Kasey. I consider removing it, but me without my gun would feel off to Ana. I walk toward the door, dread clawing at me, a wild animal ripping me apart from the inside out.
I reach for the doorknob to the kitchen and draw a breath, forcing myself to open it and just go inside. Ana isn’t in the kitchen but when I walk into the living room, I find her standing in the middle of the room, tears streaking her cheeks. Shit. She knows. How the hell does she know?
“You killed him?” she demands. “You killed Kasey?”
I close the space between me and her and when I’m standing in front of her, my hands come down on her shoulders. “He’s dead. I’m so sorry, Ana.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Ana—”
“Did you kill him?” she grinds out between her teeth.
“He killed three of our men. He had the princess I was guarding at gunpoint. It was me and her, or him.”
“So, you killed him.” This time it’s not a question.
“Ana—”
“I never understood how love could turn to hate. Now I do.” She moves her hand from behind her back and her gun presses to my belly. “Why? Why would you do this to me? He was my brother.”
“Sweetheart—”
“Don’t call me that. Don’t. I’m not your anything anymore.”
“I love you. I would never—”
“Liar!” she shouts, her voice and body quaking. “Liar! He’s dead and you did it.”
“Jake was there. He’ll tell you—”
“Tell me about the package,” she demands, a teardrop sliding down her cheek. “What package?”
“I don’t know what it was or where it is. It disappeared at the same time as Trevor. He was working with Kasey. Put the gun down. You don’t want to shoot me.”
“What if I do?”
“We both know you don’t.”
Her shoulders tremble, as does her hand. She’s barely holding onto the gun. I could take it from her, but I’ve already taken so much. “I love you,” I repeat. “Can I have the gun and we’ll get through this together?”
“Now I know why they call you Lucifer. It’s not about your piloting skills. It’s about killing. You’re the devil.”
I flinch with those words that hit a little too close to home. I have killed. In fact, I’ve killed more than my share of men. And I never thought twice about it either, not until I met Ana. My job, and the enemies I faced most of my career, made me callous and cold. She made me human. I’m not sure I’d ever explain that to her and make her understand.
There’s a sound to my right and suddenly Trevor is there, holding a gun on me. “Time to die, you little prick.”
I pull my weapon and turn away from Ana to face Trevor, that piece of shit that turned on us all. But I’ve barely turned when I feel the bullet rip through me. I can feel myself falling and I shoot toward Trevor, but I don’t know if I hit him. Everything goes black. Then Ana’s over me, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Luke. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
I blink back to the present and find Adam standing next to me. “You heard?”
“I heard.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
I pick up the vodka, take a slug and hand him the bottle before I step around him. In a few long strides, I’m charging up the stairs toward Ana’s bedroom.
Chapter Thirty-Five
ANA
Once I’m inside my bedroom, I strip away my holster and weapon and then I pace back and forth, counting every step, trying to control my thoughts. I have no phone. I have no music. Counting is the only way to keep myself from thinking of things I cannot change. Like the fact that Luke is in another room right now and I don’t even know which one. I should go to him and say what? I accidentally shot him? He’ll send me back to my room.
I’m pacing again when there’s a knock on the door.
I suck in a breath, not sure what to expect. God, was someone else found dead? With dread, I walk to the door and open it, stunned to find Luke standing there. He’s still in the clothes he wore when we arrived—jeans and a T-shirt, both of which hug his muscular, perfect body. A body that has known my body in every possible way. His gun and jacket have gone. His longish hair is mussed up, as if he’s been running his fingers through it. As if he fretted about his decision to come here to my door.