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Adrenaline races through my veins. I stomp my foot and put my hands on my hips instead of backing up to the opposite wall, ready to unleash my anger.
I’ve never been too good at the flight part. Much to my parents’ dismay, I’m a fight girl through and through.
“Your money.” The man in black shuts the door behind him, edging closer. No more than three feet separates us. “Hand it over.”
My eyebrows knit. My lips curl in a snarl. I don’t budge.
This wasn’t supposed to be like this. This man is ruining everything.
“You better go. My boyfriend”—jerk here doesn’t have to know we haven’t put a stamp on our relationship—“will be here any minute. He’ll kick your fucking ass, you ass.”
The double use of the word ass doesn’t go unnoticed by me. Too bad it won’t get my ass any action. By my muffin.
My God, why am I thinking about sex right now?
Carter, you freak. You broke me.
“The black suit guy?” The ugly creep raises an eyebrow.
When I glare at him, mouth agape, he chuckles. Psycho.
“We both know he won’t get here until much later. So tell me, Amara Carmichael, owner of Carnations.” He eliminates the distance between us, looming over me. “Where. Is. The. Cash? And don’t you dare scream. Unless you want a bullet in your pretty head, that is.”
The reality of my situation dawns on me.
He’s been planning this. Stalking me. Counting on Carter being late.
He’s not wrong, either. Carter will be here later.
Until then, I have myself to rely on.
Myself, and my pissed-as-fuck mood.
But no vase.
Jesus, of all the days, this is the one I had to choose to wash it? It could’ve become handy in knocking this guy out.
I’ll have to think of something else. And I do.
I bet he doesn’t believe a little florist like me could fight back.
I’m smaller than him. A ton more unhinged, too.
Fuck the barrel of the gun aimed straight between my eyes. My hands ball into fists. My muscles strain, begging to be put to use.
Because this isn’t just about this shithead anymore. This isn’t about the wild sex I won’t be having. Or Carter being late.
While I don’t have money stashed anywhere in the apartment, I have my grandmother’s diamond hairpin. She was the only family member who showed me kindness. The only relative to ever love me.
I’ll fight this burglar to the death.
“There’s nothing here for you,” I lie, giving him a furious glare. Hoping he doesn’t see the truth in my eyes. “Since you’re a fucking stalker, you have to know that. You know I deposit my revenues in the bank every day after work or send my employee to do that.”
“I know.” He doesn’t seem deterred. Why?
There’s no time to contemplate. Not a second when he presses the gun to my forehead. I smell the metal and gunpowder.
My heart hammers louder in my chest. It pushes against my ribs, almost breaking them.
