It’s not a gun, though.
Oh, no.
A gun is too loud. Guns smoke, and I believe it would bring Livingston back to his days at war. Make him jumpy. And we can’t have that.
First and foremost, I am a lady. Comfort your target with silence before you go in for the kill.
No, I prefer a bow and arrow. Miles taught me how to use it when I was a little girl, and I instantly took to it. I enjoyed how tense my muscles became as I pulled back my arm. The concentration required as you squint with one eye and focus on your mark.
I am a perfectionist and prefer one shot to land my kill. Today, I have no intention of killing Livingston, but I do plan to capture his attention. The first time I used this on him seemed to do the trick, so why not try it again?
The tips of my shoes point toward the cobblestone road as I look both ways, and my heels click against the brick as I hustle across the road. When I lightly hop onto the opposite street, the hem of my skirt brushes against my calves. Up ahead, I see the Lacroix house hidden behind brick walls draped with ivy. With the birds happily chirping, you’d never know a debauched gathering occurred the night before.
Shaking my head, I grab the knob on the door and step into the narrow pathway. To my left is the Lacroix’s lush backyard. It remains one of Charleston’s most coveted gardens. With my head held high, I walk toward the door and stop short when I spot a man sleeping face down in Livingston’s nounou’s prized collection of azaleas.
My God, if she were alive, she would be speaking French at a rapid-fire pace, all the while beating this drunken man with a rolled-up newspaper all the way to The Battery.
As I walk by him, the man continues to snore. I shake my head and sigh. Luckily, I don’t come across any more drunken guests. But can the same be said for inside the house?
There’s only one way to find out. Holding my weapon behind my back, I give three sound knocks and wait. I strain to hear for any sounds coming from inside when the snoring man sounds like a blowhorn.
Impatiently, I turn and narrow my eyes. “Will you stop?” I hiss.
Of course, he continues to sleep. I knock four more times before I make the decision to try the door. I turn the knob, and the door opens.
“Oh, Livingston …” My voice fades away as I step into the foyer. Partially because I was getting ready to tsk him on his lack of safety, but the words slipped from my mouth the moment I saw the disarray before me. All I saw last night was a home filled with people. Now that they’re gone, the damage is unveiled, and it’s worse than I imagined. Curtains are torn and dangling from the wall. A vase is shattered on the floor. And this is only in the foyer.
I scrunch my nose from the rancid smell of liquor and vomit and begin to roam throughout the first floor. It will take several days to air this smell out and clean up everything. As I walk through the rooms, I spot no guests, and there’s no trace of Livingston. I stop in the middle of the ravaged sitting room and slowly tilt my head back to stare at the ceiling.
But I don’t hear any noises. I’m quite familiar with Livingston’s extracurricular activities, but if his inebriated state last night is any clue, then there’s no possible way he would be busy right now. He’s probably facedown in a pile of his own drool like the man sleeping outside. Or he might not even be here, but out with that strumpet. I tighten my grip on my bow at the very thought of her. From the smug expression, it was clear she enjoyed my humiliation. I can stand here, and guess where he is or simply find out. It will only take a few minutes.
Before I can change my mind, I hurry up the stairs. When Livingston moved into the Lacroix’s home in Charleston, he took over the entire third floor. He probably turned it into a harem den. I can only imagine how many women he’s entertained in that space.
I hurry up the second flight of stairs, gripping the banister with my left hand. Once I reach the third floor, I stop and turn my head to the right. Heart racing, I stare at the closed door and take a deep breath. The door is open a crack. There’s some rustling in his room. Good. He must be up.
With the toe of my shoe, I open it farther. My anger and humiliation from last night become my strength, encouraging me to pull back the string, and nock my arrow. I expect to see him blurry-eyed as he slowly sits up. Instead, I find a very naked Livingston on top of the woman from last night. At least, he’s naked to me. His shirt is off, and his pants are down to his knees. For some reason, my gaze settles on his ass. I’m not a connoisseur on behinds, and this is the first male one I’ve ever seen, but I’m certain it will be the best I’ll see. I feel my cheeks turn red. Squinting my eyes, I focus on the area where the woman’s leg is wrapped around his waist. I let the arrow go.
And then everything goes wrong.
As if he can sense me standing there, Livingston twists around, eyes wide with a sheen of sweat on his forehead. The woman, who finally realizes Livingston’s no longer moving, follows his gaze. When she sees me, she scrambles to cover herself. My beautiful aim now becomes a miserable miss. The arrow grazes his hip and becomes embedded in his nightstand.
“Christ!” he shouts and jumps out of bed.
With my heart pounding, I regard the once moaning cow for a second and saunter into the bedroom while Livingston scrambles to pull his pants up. Funny, I thought his only skill was removing his clothes with speed, not putting them back on.
He’s so enraged he forgets to button his pants, causing them to hang around his narrow hips. Shirtless, he stalks toward me. All’s well for me. The man drives me mad, but he has never hurt my eyes.
“What. Was. That?” he says between clenched teeth.
Happily, I go toe-to-toe with him. “What. Was. Last. Night?”
Rubbing his hands down his face, he gestures to the bow, and shouts, “You just tried to kill me!”
Sighing, I stare down at my bow and lovingly pet it. “Livingston, if I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it years ago.”
He snatches my beloved weapon of choice out of my hands, causing me to cry out. I lunge for it. “Give that back!”
“Like hell!” he snarls. “You’ve become unhinged, stalkin’ into my room while I’m … I’m—”
“Entertainin’ a guest?” I provide with a cheeky smile.
He does not smile back. My gaze drifts to the woman who he was lavishing all his affection on minutes ago. In the midst of all our wordplay, she had managed to slip out of bed and get dressed. We stop our war of words just in time to see her inch toward the door. She freezes and stares at us guiltily.
Livingston gives her his signature grin. “Don’t leave, darlin’.” His accent grows heavier as he turns on the charm. He gestures toward me. “This one is leavin’.”
“This one is not,” I chime in. “I am not goin’ anywhere.”
The woman looks at the two of us. When I first set my eyes on her as I burst into the room, a red haze briefly covered my gaze. It was unexplained and unnecessary but disappeared within seconds. Now, I feel pity. If someone is not prepared for Livingston and me, you can feel as though you’ve been swept into a hurricane. By the time we’re done snarling at one another, all the poor, unsuspecting people around us are a bit lost, scratching their heads, and saying, “What just occurred?”
“Livingston, I need to go.” The woman gives me a furtive glance before she shoots Livingston a sultry smile that even a blind kitten could read. I barely suppress the urge to gag.