“You couldn’t fucking afford me,” I say, playing with the fucker.
He laughs again, shaky but arrogant, despite the fact that his hands are still raised in surrender. “Try me.” He looks mesquare in the eyes, clearly confident he can get out of this. “What will make you go away?” he demands.
“Go away?” I repeat, then cock the trigger.
Marcus tenses at that, but he doesn’t back down.
“What I want,” I say slowly, making sure he hears every word, “is for you to feel every ounce of fear and pain you’ve inflicted on Jude.” My voice is dangerously quiet. “But there’s no way for a monster like you to ever feel that kind of pain. So I’ll settle for death.”
His eyes go wide, and he opens his mouth, but before he can get a word out, I shoot.
The sound is a dull, metallicphutthat’s swallowed by the cavernous garage. The recoil is a familiar kick against my palm. A splatter of blood and brains hits the luxury car’s driver-side door as the bullet enters right over his right eye.
Then the asshole falls over dead without making a single sound.
I calmly push the gun into my pocket, take out a folded piece of paper I typed up earlier, and slip it into the breast pocket of Marcus’s expensive suit.
Then I turn, ready to get home to my mate.
Chapter Eleven
Jude
Iwake up early, the pale gray light of dawn just starting to filter into the bedroom.
The house is quiet, except for the low hum of the fridge and the steady sound of my mate breathing beside me.
Pace is on his back in my nest, half-covered by a blanket that has slipped down to his hips. One arm thrown over his head, the other resting on his stomach, and his cock is on full display, lying heavy against his thigh.
Heat creeps up my neck as I consider leaning down and taking him into my mouth. Waking him up slowly with an early morning surprise. But he worked very late last night. In fact, I’m not even sure what time he got home. I must have been out cold.
He needs his rest.
I slip out of my nest carefully, pulling the blanket up over Pace’s hips before I head toward the kitchen.
I pull flour, eggs, and milk out of the fridge to make pancakes. My appetite has been ridiculous the last few days. I keep telling myself it’s just stress, or maybe my hormones settling.
I’ve been hyperaware of every little shift inside my body since the agency mentioned the possibility of pregnancy. Every twinge makes my mind race. Even now, I realize that my nipples kind of ache.
It’s not unbearable, just sensitive, and kind of tight.
The problem is that I don’t know what’s normal and what could mean I’m pregnant.
I crack eggs into a bowl and whisk them too aggressively, then I pour myself a glass of juice while the pan heats up.
That’s when I hear it.
A chime.
Pace’s phone.
But it’s not coming from the bedroom. It’s in the living room.
I freeze, listening, and the sound comes again.
I move toward the couch and find Pace’s hoodie draped over the back. His cell phone is in the front pocket, vibrating softly. When I reach in to grab it, my fingers brush against something hard and unfamiliar.
I pull the phone out first.
