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In a breathless rush, Genevieve fired out, “Wait, Jed,” while hooking her hands under his arm. “I want to kill him.”
Marshal arched a dubious brow and cupped her cheek with his free hand. “How stupid do you think I am, dove?”
“You want me to watch him die, right? As a punishment? For some sick fulfillment? Honestly, I don’t even know what you want to get out of this, but I figure if Mr. King has to die, then I might as well be the one to do it. It will prove my loyalty to you, and we both get something more meaningful out of it then.”
Brendan’s eyes widened. Where was she going with this?
Marshal studied her expression before drawling out, “Why not? I don’t know what your angle is, but I’ll play.” He wrapped his arms securely around her and pecked kisses along her ear. “I told you, I’m no fool, dove—I’m not about to let you shoot me. I’ll hold your hands to the gun until he’s dead. Understood?”
She bobbed her head.
“Good. Let’s do this then.” Bracing his cheek against the top of her head, Marshal said, “You’re right. This will be more satisfying for me.” He lined her fingers up, securing his larger hands firmly over hers. “Go ahead, dove, pull the trigger. If you want to earn my trust back, this will certainly help.”
The calm expression on Genevieve’s face sent a biting chill down Brendan’s spine. “If I do this, Jed, I want my freedom back. After I marry you, of course. Agreed?”
Marshal nodded against her scalp. “I can agree to that with two additional terms—you will have a bodyguard accompany you, and you will spend your nights in my arms.”
Twisting her neck around, Genevieve smiled at Marshal like she’d won a prize deal. “Agreed.” She molded her mouth to his, kissing him with so much vigor it sent a dagger through Brendan’s heart. With one hand still on the pistol, she shimmied the other out of Marshal’s grasp, reached up, and gripped the back of his neck, deepening the kiss.
Please be a ploy. Brendan ripped his eyes away and shoved the disturbing image out of his mind. Of course it’s a ploy. She loves you. Focus.
Brendan glanced at the guards to his sides. The one to his left grinned and tightened his grip on his gun. The one to his right raised his brows but held no weapon as if he thought him to be harmless. Could he jump him and grab his gun? It was now or never. Brendan lurched back, ready to dive.
A loud grunt of pain erupted. “Fuck,” Marshal’s harsh voice boomed out.
Brendan whipped his head around. Marshal cradled his nose while Genevieve sprinted toward him, pistol in hand, raised and ready to shoot.
“Back up,” Genevieve shouted at the guards as she ran.
She smacked into Brendan’s chest, shoved him against the wall, and stood in front of him, rotating the gun around the room until Marshal’s men complied. An ironic feeling of contentment rushed through him, followed by a burst of adrenaline. Genevieve had just saved his life; now, could he save hers? And how many more times would they have to do so for one another in order to have a small inkling of a chance?
“Room exit ten paces to our left,” Genevieve whispered to him while aiming the pistol at Marshal’s chest.
Marshal grabbed Roman’s gun from him, but that was hardly the biggest problem—every guard in the room had their guns trained on them.
“They’ll shoot us before we get there,” Brendan whispered back, trying to shimmy in front of Genevieve.
“No, Brendan.” She swiped her arm out and pressed her back into him, locking him in place against the wall. “Don’t even think about it. They won’t kill me.”
In a venomous, whiny tone, Archer called out, “She broke my nose too, boss. We need to lock her up until she agrees never to?—”
Marshal fired a bullet, and Archer went down.
Genevieve gasped. “Oh my god, Archer.”
“Don’t worry. He’s not dead,” Brendan said as he watched Archer twist around, wailing in pain with blood gently seeping out of a notch in the side of his triceps. “Looks like Marshal just grazed him.”
Marshal trained a crazed look on Genevieve. “Should I aim for your bestie’s heart instead? If I put him in a grave in the desert beside lover boy, would that finally be a solid enough punishment for you to come around?” He leveled the gun with her heart and slowly drawled out, “Or perhaps I should just kill you, dove.”
Genevieve confidently belted out, “But then you’ll lose, babe. I thought you always won.”
“Killing you is winning. Lover boy doesn’t get you, either. In fact, maybe after I kill you, I’ll let him live. That would be quite poetic, wouldn’t it?”
“Go ahead. Pull the trigger.” Genevieve tossed what looked like a giant diamond ring at Marshal. It bounced off the cream-colored armchair and clinked tauntingly on the porcelain tile floor. She dropped her voice an octave. “I dare you, Marshal.”
Twenty-Two
BRENDAN
