To get through a heartache after the sudden breakup, Arabella moves to New York City to start another chapter of her life.
Driven by the hope to make Adrian Castle, the man who left her broken to pieces with an excuse of protecting her against his w...
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She jerks herself up and down, complaining and gripping my arm as though it would stop me from doing what I intend to do. Inside her glittered black purse, I find a small carry-in gun, a Glock 26 without a doubt, and my hardened gaze strays toward her face instantaneously.
"Where did you get this?" I ask, the mere fact that she has a gun already an alarm I shouldn't ignore no matter what she says next.
With that familiar impertinence of hers I've learned to enjoy, she answers me defiantly, "It's none of your business! I don't ask where you got yours, so do yourself a favor and stop caring, will you?"
I swear I wanna swat her ass so badly right now. She's become even more crass and undisciplined and smutty-mouthed now than I remember.
Sighing, I clamp my teeth tightly not to let her temper get to me. I was trained to keep myself cool and focused even when I'm facing death, so this shouldn't be hard, right? One little foul-mouthed sub can't tame an assassin and a Dom like me, can she?
The fuck she can! She's doing just that and I can't say it's new.
"Arabella, listen," I say calmly, letting out a short breath while looking evenly at her. "You can't go on living your life like this just to get back at me. Carrying this" — I lift the baby Glock in my hand with a pained expression — "will only put you in trouble. What if you shot Francesca today? Are you sure you could live with it knowing you've killed a person?"
Dread sweeps over her face, but just like me, she's quick in masking her immediate, unsolicited emotions. In fact, I'm beginning to think Arabella is a mistress of manipulation when she chooses to be, the kind of art earned from a long period of lies and secrets and verbal self-defense.
I can neither blame nor judge her. Our paths make us what we are.
"So the ol' bitch already tattled her big mouth, huh?" She strides closer toward me as she says this with a smirk. Crossing her arms on her chest, she tilts her head to one side and says, "Well, it looks like you care about her pretty much and maybe you're the one who wouldn't lose a sleep if I killed her, right?"
Of course, I'd be worried and crushed with guilt if that happened, but mainly because I'd be responsible for both of their destruction and not for the non-existent reasons Arabella has been busy imagining.
Also, I hardly believe that she was going to kill Francesca with this gun today. Unless she recently took off the magazine, which I assume she had no time for it, her gun weight suggests it's unloaded.
Discovering this, I snort. Her face crinkles in return.
"What? Do you think just because I spared your grandma I'm incapable of pulling the trigger?" she barks, but I don't respond because I know everyone is capable of pulling the trigger or pushing the dagger into one's flesh.
When pushed to the edge of no escape, everyone is capable of killing.
Lifting her chin high, which as a result makes her resplendent full breasts collide with my chest, she snaps to my face, "I'm going to kill any bitch you try to fuck, Adrian. Try me and you'll see what I'm made of. You might as well learn to become a eunuch while at it... unless you kill me first before I get to them."
