“No, I’m not fine,” I ground out.
His jolly blue gaze swept over me. “Sure seem fine.”
He smirked at the gun as if he thought I was cute. I should shoot him. See how cute I was then.
Huffing out a disgusted breath, I returned my focus to my father. “Release her.”
Papa seemed…confused. His grip must have loosened because my sister pulled away, rushing to our mother.
This was bad. This was oh, so fucking bad.
Carmela’s interruption guaranteed future abuse from our father. He wouldn’t bother hiding what he was, blaming her for revealing his ugly side. There was no turning back. No saving her. Unless….
I tightened my grip on the pistol. I could do it. One shot, and it would all be over. I just had to slide my finger down, from the safety position, and curl it around the finger. A quick squeeze, and it would all be over.
Connor moved faster than light itself. The flicker in the corner of my eye barely registered. He rushed me, snatching my wrist, and pointed the barrel at the ceiling.
“No!” I wailed. “Let me kill him!”
“He’s your father,” Connor snapped and tugged the gun free from my fingers.
Pain tightened my chest. “He deserves to die!”
“Well, it won’t be you, Gabby. You’re leaving.” Connor put the weapon in his waistband. He grabbed my arm and began hauling me from the room.
I dug my heels in, leaning away from him. “He’ll hurt my sisters—my mom!”
“That’s not my problem,” the mobster hissed. “You are. I’m tasked with keeping ya safe.”
“But they’re not—”
“I don’t fecking care!” he spat. “You’ll not be startin’ a street war without the boss’s say so.”
How could he do this? Just walk away from something that was clearly wrong? There was an abused, hurt woman on the ground. A madman on the loose! And Connor ignored it in the name of protecting me.
I struck him.
The muscle under his eye twitched. But he continued to move.
The bastard didn’t care! Hatred bubbled inside me. It seeped from every pore. I was going to kill Connor. This kind of monster, the one who ignored the plight of others, didn’t deserve to live.
I battered him with my fists. With a grunt, he hauled me through the front door. He practically had to drag me down the steps. I used the clumsy, awkward moment to reach around his thick trunk. My fingers gripped the pistol. I almost had it!
But Connor whipped me around. “The fuck, cailín?!”
“I’m going to kill you, I’m going to kill you,” I shouted. Or tried to. My voice cracked, and it came out as a desperate wail.
I felt the gaze of the ten other guards.
If I had any shred of control, I would have realized that I could appeal to them. But Connor hauled me to the SUV, around the back.
“Pop the boot,” he snapped.
Someone jumped to help.
“Connor?Connor!” I screamed.
He ignored me, lifted me, and none too gently tossed me in the trunk. “Give me the keys. I don’t trust you to drive carefully enough.”
