Then I hear it. A door opening. Front door. The lock clicking. Hinges creaking. Footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate. Coming closer.
Fuck. Okay. Okay. You have a gun. Use it.
I push myself up. Legs trembling. Back pressed against the counter. Both hands on the Glock because one isn't steady enough.
The footsteps get louder. Closer. A shadow fills the kitchen doorway. Huge. Broad-shouldered. Blocking out the light from the hallway.
I don't think. Just squeeze the trigger.
The gunshot cracks through the kitchen—deafening, world-ending loud. The recoil slams through my wrists. Ibarely keep hold. Fire again. And again. Eyes half-closed because I'm too terrified to aim properly, too panicked to do anything except keep pulling the trigger until—
"JESUS!" The shadow drops. Hits the floor hard.
"Thank god your aim is shit, woman! You almost shot me!"
That voice. That voice. "Drogo?!"
My legs give out. I slide down the cabinet, gun clattering from my hands. The shots—I almost—oh my god—
"Drogo!" I'm shaking so hard my teeth chatter. "I almost killed—I didn't know—"
He's already moving. Pushing himself up from where he dropped, coming toward me. No blood. No wounds. I missed. Thank fuck I missed.
Relief crashes through me so hard it hurts. He's here. He's real. He's the only safe thing in this nightmare.
I scramble toward him on hands and knees. Throw myself into his arms. "Drogo, there are men here! Outside! They won't let me leave! They have guns and they—"
"I know." He cuts me off. Voice calm. Too calm. I pull back. Stare at him. "What?"
"They're mine," he says simply. "My men. They're here to protect you."
The words don't make sense. Can't make sense. "Protect me? They're trapping me! I can't leave! I tried and they—"
"I know. I told them to."
Silence. Just the sound of my breathing. His heartbeat under my palm where I'm pressed against his chest.
"You—" My brain struggles to catch up. "You told them to trap me in my house?"
"Yes."
"Why?!"
"Because you're not safe out there yet." His hands come up to my shoulders. Steady. Grounding. "Until things settle. Until I know you won't do something stupid—"
"Stupid?!" I shove him. Hard. He barely moves. "You disappear for two years! TWO YEARS! And then you break into my house, fuck me while I'm blindfolded for another man, leave me unconscious on the couch, and now you've imprisoned me with armed guards?!"
I hit his chest. Once. Twice. Fists pounding against muscle that doesn't give. "And you think I'm the one who'll do something stupid?!"
He takes it. Every hit. Just stands there watching me unravel.
"Are you done?"
"NO!" I hit him again. "Fuck you! FUCK YOU!"
He grabs my wrists. Gently but firmly. Stops me mid-swing. "You need a shower," he says. "Now."
"I don't need—"
