“Who else is in here?” Beau demanded, the fear in his voice making me think he’d recognized his wife’s voice but couldn’t believe it was her.
I didn’t answer him, focused on the gun instead. Beau might have been half a foot shorter than me, but he was no slouch, muscular from working out, his stocky build almost a match for mine. I dropped the paperweight and used both hands to yank the barrel sideways, pulling him off-balance. He fell to the floor, taking me with him, and we fought for control of the weapon, kneeing, elbowing, and kicking at each other.
A third round went off, so loud it almost blew out my eardrums. Relief swept through me because it was fired in the direction of his office,andhe was out of ammo. I knew, because this model of shotgun only held three cartridges.
We released the weapon at the same time, and our fight became a full-on brawl as we rolled across the floor. I didn’t know what was fueling his hits, but mine were backed with rage. Fury over what he had done to his wife. Blinding hatred for everything he’d almost gotten away with. I punched every part of him I could reach, putting as much force as I could behind the blows. The bastard hit me back almost as hard, and I knew I’d be covered in bruises from it.
“Stop!” Emma screamed. The hall lit up to reveal her standing several feet away, her hand dropping from the light switch.
Beau made a choking noise. “Emma?”
She stared at him in disgust, her upper lip curling. “Beau.”
He released me immediately, pushing away to stagger to his feet. “You’re alive? Oh, thank god.”
He sounded relieved. He soundedhappy. My gaze snapped to Emma, hoping she wasn’t falling for it. I was relieved that she still looked furious.
“‘Thank god’?” she repeated. “Are you fucking kidding me? You tried tokill me, Beau.”
“No,” he said, stepping forward.
I rose to my feet behind him, ready to intervene, not trusting this act for a second.
“Emma, no,” he said. “You must be confused. God, you must be so scared, baby.”
The endearment made me want to puke.
“I’m only scared you’re going to try again!” she shouted.
“You have it all wrong,” he told her, moving closer. “I did everything in my power to save you.”
Her answering laugh was humorless. “Bullshit. Like I don’t remember our fight right before. Like I don’t remember you throwing me down these stairs,” she said, pointing. “Andyet you told the cops you came home to find me? Won’t that be interesting when I tell them my side of the story.”
He shook his head, raising his hands, his tone placating. “Emma, you’ve suffered a head wound. You must have had a nightmare when you were unconscious and dreamt all that.”
My mouth dropped open. The fuckinggaslightingthis man was capable of.
Emma snarled. “No. I didn’t. And I’m sure the cops will believe me once I get my bloodwork and hair tested and show them whatever else you’ve been doing to me. Half a year, Beau. I was sick for half a year. And the best I’ve felt in all that time is the day after Noah digs me out of the fucking grave you put me in.” She glared. “On Valentine’s Day, you son of a bitch. Oh, and let me guess, that was probably the same day you applied to cash in on whatever outrageous life insurance policy you took out on me to cover all your debts?”
He lunged.
It happened so fast, I didn’t have time to stop him. He grabbed Emma and slammed her against the wall so hard, her head smacked against the shiplap. I yelled as her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp in his hold. Red filled my vision as I grabbed him and hauled him off her. I had just enough time to watch her collapse to the floor before his fist came into view and clocked me, snapping my head to the side.
“You motherfucker,” I growled, spitting out a glob of blood before aiming a punch to his gut.
He leaped backward, falling to the ground and scrabbling away like the fucking coward he was. One of his hands landed on the gun, and I saw victory in his gaze. Quick as a flash, he had it in his lap, split open. And then he was pulling a fresh round from his pocket.
Panic cut through me. I had no doubt that if he managed to reload, the first thing he’d do was aim for Emma.
Lunging, I took him all the way to the ground, managing to pin the hand clenched around the cartridge. I used my weight to hold him down while I forced his fingers open and shoved the round away. It went spinning toward the stairwell and disappeared over the edge just as Beau got his feet beneath him and bucked me off.
I landed on my back but managed to stagger to my feet. Beau yelled, the butt of the gun swinging into view out of nowhere, too fast for me to dodge. It cracked me on the side of the head, sending stars shooting across my vision. I stumbled and half fell, my stomach heaving with nausea. Fighting the urge to retch, I dove sideways to avoid the next blow and kicked out at his knees. My heel caught one, and he loosed a bellow and crumpled forward. My next kick caught him in the chest. He fell backward onto his ass. I sprang forward, tackling him as he tried to stand, no finesse, all brute instinct at this point.
The problem was, Beau had been in varsity wrestling in high school and was better on the ground than I was, immediately trying to get me in an arm bar. I aimed a punch at his side with my free hand, hitting him in the ribs hard enough that it felt like I’d cracked a finger. Swallowing down the pain, I swung again and again, fast, vicious hits that split my knuckles and knocked the air from his lungs.
With a wrench, he rolled us, flipping me over his body. And then his arm was around my neck, squeezing. I thrashed, trying to slip free, but he was hooked on tight, and struggling only seemed to make it worse. Fuck, ithurt. That was something the books and movies didn’t tell you. All they talked about was the panic of not being able to breathe when someone strangled you, not how painful it was. It felt like he was collapsing my throat.
I shot my elbow back into the same ribs I’d just abused. Beau wheezed in pain, and his arm loosened enough for me to drag in a breath.
