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That sensible girl I mentioned before, Melina? She would’ve been terrified.
I should take lessons from her.
Too bad we’re not talking.
“So what does that tell you, genius?” In what can only be described as batshit crazy, I poke the burglar’s chest. He really is a muscular motherfucker. “Get lost. You’re wasting your time and mine.”
“There has to be something.” He lowers his face, and I smell sausage on his breath. Gross. “I did some digging. Your parents are wealthy, Amara. Tell me where you keep the money and you’ll get to live another day.”
“Hey, idiot.” I seethe, leaning forward. The barrel of the gun digs into my head, painful and lethal. I don’t cower, though. “Did you miss the part where my parents and I weren’t talking when you spied on me? When was the last time I’ve been photographed with them? With my sister? Huh? Jesus, you’re as dumb as you look. All muscle and no brain.”
His forehead creases in thought. I jump on the opportunity. “I told you there’s nothing here. Get the fuck out.”
“I don’t buy it.” The creases on his forehead smooth over. His eyes are no longer lost. “The hard way it is, bitch.”
One moment, my forehead burns with the metal pressed to it. The other, I watch the stalking thief raise the gun high up above me.
The door opens just then. My eyes find the much taller and stronger man standing there.
My man, filling the doorway.
Carter dons a black suit as always. His black hair is styled in a beautiful mess. His gray eyes breathe fire and violence.
He’s rage in its purest form.
But I don’t get to call for him.
I don’t get to say another word.
The burglar pistol-whips me. Strikes me right over my temple.
The world turns black around me until I can’t see my apartment anymore.
Lights out. Goodbye, world.
CHAPTER TWO
Carter
That fucking cocksucker.
Think he can mess with my girl? Call her a bitch?
Pistol-fucking-whip her?
I’d laugh at his audacity.
Except I’m way too enraged. Way too furious.
I’m goddamn blinded by my wrath. The red I’m seeing isn’t a fucked-up shade of pink.
The crimson red blaring behind my eyes is the color of fire. Of violence. Of bloodshed. Getting redder by the second.
Watching Amara, my pet, falling in slow motion to the floor does that to me.
Her sweet yet crazy brown eyes hide behind her eyelids. Then her body hits the edge of her coffee table, making a noise I never want to hear again in my entire life.
Crack, followed by a thud as she hits the rug.
