Page 106 of The Best Shot

“She’s my wife.”

“And I’m telling you she’s not here and you need to leave.”

“I don’t believe you.” He pushed past me, shoulder clipping mine hard enough to knock me backward.

“Shaun—”

By the time I caught my balance, he was already halfway down the hall.

“CeeCee!”

I followed him. “She’s not here. I⁠—”

The spare room door flew open.

Empty. The bed was made, CeeCee’s things still on the dresser, but no CeeCee.

He turned on me. “Where is she?”

“I told you. Out.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. And even if I did, I won’t tell you.”

“She’s my wife, Yasmine. She’s carrying my kid. I have a right⁠—”

“A right to what? Tear through my apartment?” I stepped back toward the hallway. “Get out. Now.”

He moved toward me, and I stepped in front of the bedroom door. My bedroom.

“What’s in there?”

“The fuck, Shaun. I don’t know how many times⁠—”

His fingers dug into my arm, then he shoved me aside. Like I was furniture. Like I was nothing.

My back hit the doorframe. Hard. My head knocked against the wood, and for one clean second all I felt was fear.

Then Shaun pushed open the bedroom door.

Empty.

He stood there, breathing hard, staring at my neatly made bed. The candle on the nightstand.

“She’s really not here,” he muttered, surprise in his tone.

Anger closed around the fear like a fist. “Get out.”

He turned. “Yasmine⁠—”

“Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

His eyes moved over me, finally taking in the way I was pressed against the wall. The way I was breathing through it. For half a second, something like shock crossed his face. Then he swallowed it. “I barely touched you.”

“You shoved me into a wall.” My voice came out wrong. “In my own home. Because I wouldn’t let you search my bedroom. You put your hands on me.”

“I was looking for my wife⁠—”