I shake my head, backing away from him step by step until my back hits a wall. “I’m not poisoned. I don’t need saving. I left because you crossed a line. You—”
“Enough!” He slams his hand on the armrest of his wheelchair, making me jump. He points the gun higher, directly at my head. “Don’t make me raise my voice again. Go grab your things or you’ll leave as you stand.”
I swallow hard, swatting my tears away. How long has it been? Five minutes? Ten? How much longer?
“You look awful,” I choke out to distract him. “When’s the last time you slept? Ate? What happened to you?”
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except getting you away from here. They’ll get you killed, Bianca. I’m the only one who can protect you.”
“You don’t look like you can even protect yourself.”
“Stop. Just stop.” His expression darkens, and he wheels closer, the gun glistening under the lights. “I didn’t come here to argue. You’re coming home with me. We’ll leave this city, disappear somewhere safe.”
“And then what?” I ask, my voice rising. “You’ll lock me in some room? Pretend I’m your wife? She’s dead!”
He pulls the trigger.
The bullet hits the wall inches away from my head. My heart isn’t far off bursting out of my chest, eyes wide, panic gripping my throat so tight I can’t even scream.
His hand trembles as he lowers the smoking gun. He’s panting, not far off hyperventilating, yet his voice is eerily calm. “You don’t understand, but you will.”
I can’t move. My ears ring, my lungs work overtime, every breath painful while panic cinches my chest. Vaughn gets closer, his free hand darting out to catch my wrist.
“Shh, calm down,” he whispers. The wild, unhinged look in his eyes doesn’t help me relax, no matter how soothing his words. “Just do what I say and you’ll be safe soon.”
“I won’t come with you. You’re sick, Charles. You need help. Please... I’m not your wife. I can’t replace her.”
The faint sound of the elevator dings outside. My heart leaps into my throat and Vaughn’s head snaps toward the door.
“No,” he mutters. “They’re back too fast. Fuck.” He yanks me toward him, hard. Much harder than he should be able to, given his fragile state.
I stumble straight into his lap. Before I can jump off him, he maneuvers my back over his chest, his thin arms surprisingly strong as he wraps one around my middle.
“Don’t fight me.” The cold barrel of the gun digs under my chin, surging a new wave of fear through me.
I whimper, thrashing against his tightening grip.
“Be quiet.”
A knock rattles the door. “Bianca? It’s Arthur.”
I open my mouth but Vaughn’s hand clamps over it, muffling the scream.
Arthur pounds the door harder. “Bianca! Open up.”
Vaughn’s lips ghost the shell of my ear. “Not a sound.”
Tears spill down my cheeks. Arthur’s done knocking, his voice buzzing just outside the door. I can’t make out the words, just the low hum of conversation. Ten seconds later the beep-beep-beep-beep of the PIN being entered breaches the apartment. And this time it floods me with relief.
Vaughn’s grip shifts, pulling me closer, the gun crushing my chin as the door swings open. Arthur steps inside, his phone to his ear, a gun in his hand.
He freezes mid-step, his eyes locking onto me in Vaughn’s lap, trembling, crying, trapped.
“Fuck,” he snaps. “Ryder, he’s here.”
“Hang up the call,” Vaughn demands. “Hang it up, or I’ll blow her head off.”
Arthur’s jaw tightens, his gaze flicking between us as he lowers the phone. “Let her go,” he says, his gun steady despite the fury in his eyes. “You don’t want to do this.”
