Page 7 of It Starts With A No

Because that could send bullets flying.

So he kept his hand on her wrist. Partly to keep himself from flinching away from her; partly to make sure she did nothing foolish like putting herself in front of the gun again.

“I said to get in the car!” The man pointed the gun at Miss Fiore, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “You, too.”

Seth swallowed the curse at the tip of his tongue and tightened his grip on her wrist.

He couldn’t let her go with their assailant. That man was here for him. She didn’t have to get involved.

“Get moving!” The man waved the gun toward the car, gesturing for them to get a move on.

She squared her shoulders and opened her eyes. “No.”

So she does have some sense of self-preservation. “I’ll go with you,” Seth said to the assailant. “Leave her out of this.”

She wrenched her wrist from his grip.

For a moment, Seth thought she’d turn and run.

Instead, she grabbed a fistful of his jacket sleeve again. “No,” she repeated.

Their assailant frowned, as did Seth.

Why was she being so stubborn?

“No,” she repeated yet again.

Seth didn’t think it was possible, but her clutch on his jacket sleeve tightened further. It would probably come apart at the seams if he tried to move forward.

She shook her head when their gazes locked.

He ran his tongue under his teeth. What was Miss Fiore trying to do? Wasn’t it obvious that she shouldn’t keep agitating an already agitated man? Especially one with a gun.

“Look,” she said to the assailant, “the cops are on the way.” Her other hand reached for the round silver pendant hanging around her neck.

“Stop lying and get in the car.”

“We’re not going anywhere with you,” she said, and Seth had to swallow a sigh.

The man took a long step forward and jabbed the gun against Miss Fiore’s cheek. The force of it caused her to tip her head against Seth’s shoulder. “Do you want to die right here, then?” the assailant asked.

Seth’s heart thumped harder as her face turned toward him.

Her eyes were closed, and there was no hint of fear or stress. Apart from the gun denting her cheek, her expression was of perfect serenity.

Perhaps that was why his heart was racing—because he was worried for her. Since she didn’t seem capable of doing that for herself.

This woman must have a death wish. That would explain a lot.

He would prefer death to being Edward Eolenfeld’s mistress too.

As Seth drew a breath, the light floral scent drifted over again. “I’ll go,” he said, but didn’t step away from her.

Because he was right where he was supposed to be.

Seth frowned at his own thoughts while Clary’s eyes flew open.

“No!” she insisted despite the gun pressed into her cheek. “You won’t.” She spoke those words with such confidence and composure that Seth knew she would back them up—even if it meant she’d die trying.

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