Page 165 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

“My apology.” Timms rubs his hands together, practically bouncing on his heels. “I’ll record it here, for the forum.”

He turns and makes capital L’s with his thumbs and index fingers, framing the room like an old-timey film director framing his shots. Hugo really led this misogynist horse to water, didn’t he? Then again, Timms has been losing sleep over the possibility of prison. He was probably halfway to a plan like this already. In some ways, this might be the kinder way out for him.

I hate that for us.

“How will you do it in the end? Like that?” Hugo gestures to The Death of Socrates, which shows the man himself reaching for the cup of poison that killed him.

Energized like he hasn’t been all night, Timms pulls out the gun and holds it out to Hugo, then pulls it back like he’s playing keep-away. “Uh-uh. Look, but don’t touch.”

He runs a finger reverently over the barrel. It’s engraved with Greek letters I don’t recognize.

“Molon labe,” Timms says. “Come and take them.” Then he glances down at himself and grimaces. “Not looking like this, though.”

“You’re so right, brother.” Hugo nods solemnly. “Your disciples should see you at the height of your powers.”

“I’ll clean up.” Timms starts to walk out of the room but spins around in the doorway. “You can handle the bitch for fifteen minutes, right?”

He makes his meaning clear when he tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, the gun resting next to his dick as his eyes lock on the exposed tops of my breasts.

Hugo answers by stroking a thumb down my neck and gently pressing on one of the faded bruises from Overton’s fingers.

“Only fifteen minutes?” he asks silkily. “No. You want to take your time with a woman like this.” He wraps his other arm around my waist, caging me against him. “A woman like this, you keep for as long as you can.”

My breathing hitches, and I’m sure Timms reads it as fear over being restrained by an apex predator. But to me and to Hugo, it’s a promise. It’s forever.

Timms, though, doesn’t see two people in love.

“You’re talking like she’s not some disposable thot. But whatever, have fun.” His face hardens as he points the gun at my midsection. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

The slap of his slides disappears down the short hallway to his bedroom, and Hugo drops to his knees in front of me, pressing his face into my stomach.

“Baby,” he says in a whisper.

I brush my hands over his hair, getting his attention so I can mouth I’m okay.

He shapes the words Brave girl, and I settle onto the floor next to him so we can lean against the wall side by side.

“Roll call.” Fi’s quiet voice comes through our earpieces. “Is everybody okay?”

I cough softly.

“Did you really get him to change into something more comfortable?” Quinn asks.

I laugh, then I cough, wince, and pray if Timms just heard me, he’ll think it’s some kind of fucked-up sex noise.

Pell’s the next one to check in. “Guessing you’re alone in the room but don’t wanna risk talking?”

Hugo lightly taps once on the zipper-pull mic.

“Is this like a séance?” Quinn asks. “Once for yes?”

Hugo quickly taps again.

“No summoning the dead,” Fi says. “You both good for this last stretch?”

I lock eyes with Hugo as I tap the mic, then slide my gloved fingers into his bare ones. His answering squeeze reminds me this is worth doing. The humiliation Timms tried to force on me, the threats, the posturing… I’ve survived worse from scarier people, and none of it broke me. But acting like it did? Making Lester Timms think he actually stopped me from killing him at his back door an hour ago? That’s the misery.

“Almost there,” Hugo whispers into my neck.