“Jemma…” It was a warning, a plea, a prayer.
He tried to pull back, afraid of losing himself too quickly—but she wouldn’t let him.Her grip tightened, her tongue teasing, her determination fierce.
The world narrowed to her mouth, her hands, her beautiful, relentless devotion.When he came, it was with a raw, grateful cry, his body wracked with tremors.
Afterward, she rested her head on his stomach, her cheeks flushed, her hair wild around her shoulders.
He didn’t say anything.He just pulled her up, kissed her forehead, and held her close again.
When it was all over, he looked down at her and all he could say was, “Marry me!”
She laughed and snuggled against him.“I need to shower and get dressed.”She lifted his handto check his watch and gasped.She leapt up and racedfor the bathroom.“How in the world did we spend a whole day in bed?”
Her voice was muffled by the running shower, but Saif enjoyed watching her in the bathroom mirror as she stepped under the warm spray.He followed at a more leisurely pace, knowing that his bodyguards were guarding the babysitter’s home.He grabbed his phone and sent his guards instructions tocollect Jayla and Jasper and bring them home, thinking that Jasper’s enthusiasm for the bigger house could help encourageJemma to marry him.
Chapter 34
Mark pushed through the door of the gun shop like he owned the place, jaw tight, eyes narrowed with purpose.The walls were lined with weapons—polished black metal, matte gray, burnished wood.All of them gleamed like promises.
His hands twitched.He wanted to grab the first pistol he saw, tear it off the wall and shove it down the front of his pants.The fantasy of walking out fully armed, powerful again, surged through him.His pulse throbbed in his ears with the idea of turning the tables.
But security cameras were everywhere.Always watching.Always judging.So instead, he stuffed his hands into his pockets—only to remember one of them had a hole.His fingers brushed against himself and he chuckled darkly.The thought of fondling his own balls while shopping for a murder weapon?That kind of irony made him giddy.Almost giddy enough to laugh out loud.But again—cameras.
Discretion.
He’d play nice.For now.
A clerk approached.Clean-cut, polite, the kind of guy who probably went to church every Sunday.
“What can I help you with, sir?”the man asked, hands braced on the glass counter.
Mark straightened, puffing out his chest.“I need a pistol.”
The clerk nodded slowly, just enough hesitation in his expression to suggest he’d heard those words from the wrong kind of men before.“A man needs to protect his home and family.”
Mark snorted under his breath.Family?His wife was a cold, frigid drain on his resources who hadn’t spread her legs in months.Not without conditions, anyway.And always with complaints.Her nagging, her judgment, herdisgustingsuperiority—he was sick of it.She was dead weight.
Jemmahad been the same way in the end.Cold.Disrespectful.She’d pretended to be sweet, attentive, loyal.But she’d been taking notes.Plotting.Stealing his life out from under him.
He didn’t need a family.He neededcontrol.
“I don’t know much about pistols,” Mark admitted.Lie.“I’m taking a class next week with a guy out in the country.”Another lie.“Didn’t tell me what size to get.”
The salesman’s gaze flicked over him again.Suspicious.Evaluating.
But then he nodded and turned to the wall of weapons behind him, lifting a sleek black model from its mount.“This one has a good grip.Light recoil.Holds fifteen rounds.Good for someone just starting out.”
Mark barely listened.His gaze was fixed on the weapon.Sleek.Deadly.So much potential in such a small thing.
He asked a few questions—just enough to sound like a man thinking about safety, not revenge.
The clerk answered, demonstrating the slide, talking about magazines and cleaning kits.Mark smiled, but behind the smile was fire.Rage.This one,he thought.This one will do just fine.
“I’ll take that one,” he said, tapping the glass.Fifteen bullets.Fifteen chances to rewrite the narrative.Not that he needed that many.One would do.Right between the eyes.
He was practically trembling with anticipation when the clerk set the gun aside—and then slid a form across the counter.
“That’s great, sir.If you could fill this out, we’ll get the background check going.”
