“Don’t underestimate her.” Tommy gave her the full force of his eyes while addressing Van. “I’d rather take on you and your attic than this hellcat.”
What the fuck? He must be joking.
“I can arrange that.” Van clapped him on the back and ambled toward the bathroom.
The shower turned off, and he prowled back through the room, joining the din of footsteps and hushed voices that gathered outside the door.
Tommy unchambered the live round in his gun and wedged the weapon into the back of his jeans.
She tightened her grip on the pistol in her hands. “How did you find me?”
“We had a tail on the hitman.” He tipped his chin in the direction of the corpse, his expression unreadable. “You butchered him.”
“He deserved it.”
He went still, no part of him moving except his gaze, which darted over her, probing, flaring darkly. Deadly eyes. Hypnotic. God, the man was beautiful when he was contemplating murder. “Did he hurt you?”
“I’ve been hurt worse. Most recently, on your watch.”
“Yeah, I hurt you. Unjustly. Unforgivably. So shoot me.” He lowered to a crouch, leaning into the crack where she huddled, sucking all the oxygen. “Pull the fucking trigger.”
The gun rattled. Her breaths shook.
She couldn’t do it. Even knowing the gun was empty, she couldn’t take the risk. “I hate you.”
“I know, and I’m going to fix that.”
She blinked, unsure she heard him correctly. “Fix what?”
“I was wrong about some things.” He drifted closer, pressing his chest against the barrel of the gun. “You and I, we’re going to start over, but right now, I need to get you out of here.”
“No. Fuck that. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You’re in danger.”
She met his treacherous stare. “You think?”
In a blink, he snatched the gun from her hand, aimed it at the ceiling, and fired a dry click, without a twitch of surprise.
He’d known the whole time it wasn’t loaded.
“Let’s go.” He held out a hand in the narrow space between them.
More footsteps entered the room. More ruthless friends to aid in her mistreatment.
Reaching under the bed, she grabbed the knife and angled it at his throat. “Back up.”
His eyes glinted, and he pressed forward, cutting his neck on the blade. “You can do better, Rylee.” He dropped his voice to a heated whisper. “Hate me with your body. It’s far more satisfying.”
She was struck by how much sharper his words were than the weapon in her hand. He bled from a small cut in his throat while she hemorrhaged in endless, agonizing bitterness.
For reasons she didn’t understand, someone wanted her dead. Maybe that someone wasn’t Tommy, but… “You starved me.”
“A decision I regret. Tonight, I have a new priority, and that is protecting you.”
“You can’t protect me from yourself.”
“No.” His gaze, warm and richly gold, never wavered from hers. “You’ll have to weigh that risk.”
His throat didn’t bob against the knife. His hand didn’t swing to overpower her. He just waited her out while his friends searched the dead body.
She leaned in and tipped up the blade, lifting his chin. “No shackles.”
“Not unless you beg.”
“Never. What about the last rule in the rules of three?”
Three months without hope.
“We were ten minutes behind the hitman. I knew I would arrive too late.” His face took on an expression she’d never seen there before. Torment. “The whole way here, I knew I would hold your dead body, look into your lifeless eyes, and never experience hope again.” He touched the pads of his fingers to her throbbing jaw, featherlight. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but for the first time in ten years, I have hope in my grasp, and I’m going to fight like hell to keep it.”
Just words. Nice words. Profound words, if she were honest. But they wouldn’t keep her safe. “I will never forgive you.”
“I look forward to all the ways you’re going to never forgive me. Lower the knife, Rylee.”
He could take it himself. He was stronger, faster, expertly trained in disarming opponents. But for some insane reason, he wanted her to make this step.
It didn’t mean anything. She was in danger, and he was the only person who could help her.
She tossed the knife.
With a nod, he rose and held out his hand.
“You should clean that cut.” She rejected his waiting hand and pushed to her feet. “Someone else’s blood was all over that blade.”
He stepped back, giving her space to move out of her hiding spot. The room was empty, the corpse covered with a blanket. Everyone waited outside.
“You have two minutes to clean up.” He nodded at the bathroom.
She didn’t have to look down at her body. Her skin shivered beneath a sheen of cold, wet blood.
“Who’s here with you?” She strode into the bathroom, grateful to find the clothes she’d left in here earlier.
“Half the team.” He followed her in and gripped the hem of her bloody shirt. “Arms up.”
Sensing the tension in his posture, she let him undress her. “You’re expecting more hitmen?”
“Yes.” He traced a finger along the torn, burning skin that ran the length of her spine. “How did this happen?”
“The bed frame. I saw the gunman talking to the motel clerk. It gave me time to hide.” She washed her upper body in the sink, thinking through the ramifications. “The clerk might’ve called the cops.”
“The clerk was dead when we arrived.”
She froze in horror.
“Keep washing, Rylee.” He crouched behind her and carefully lowered her filthy pants. “You have one minute.”
Another dead body. Three in one week. Because of her. Who would be next?
Shoving down a thousand questions, she focused on scrubbing away the blood.
As Tommy helped her step out of her pants, she was viscerally aware of how close his mouth hovered to her bare backside. His breath caressed her flesh, prickling goosebumps, and his hands ghosted down the backs of her thighs, too tender to belong to the man who’d viciously fucked her in the desert.
“What are you doing?” She jerked her hips, trying to dislodge his touch.
With a firm grip on her butt, he gave her a warning squeeze. Then he released her and grabbed a clean towel.
Seconds later, she was wiped down and dressed in clean lounge pants and a t-shirt.
As he soaped up his neck and scrubbed the cut she’d inflicted, his gaze locked on hers in the mirror. There was something different about him. Something softer in the way he looked at her. It put her on edge.
When he clasped her hand to lead her out, she yanked free from his grip.
“Rylee.” He reached for her again, eyes hard.
“I’m not going to run.”
She walked out ahead of him and slammed into potent, eye-burning fumes of gasoline. The room had been doused in it.
“Where’s my ID? Clothes?” She spun in a circle.
“They grabbed it.” He caught her shoulders and pointed her toward the door.