Page 166 of Making Choices

Waking with a start, I keep my arm curled around my duchess as I allow my eyesight to adjust to the muted darkness. The motion activated light in the hallway is on and a sliver of fluorescence shines through the crack at the edge of my slightly ajar bedroom door. As the sensor is manually turned off, I use my free arm to grab my Glock from the bedside table.

Dull footsteps reach my ears.

The person invading my space is trying to sneak closer on tiptoes.

A shadow darts and weaves until it stops outside Cherub’s door.

Since I turned the television off when the woman tucked into my side fell asleep against me, the bedroom is quiet, and I’m loath to make any movement that can alert them to our vulnerable state. Cherub’s door closes with a light thud and the shadow starts moving again. My fingers tighten around the butt of my handgun. As the outline of a person becomes visible, I level the muzzle at the doorway, lower my eyelids to a barely imperceptible crack, and lay back to feign sleep.

The door is pushed open.

My fingertip hooks around the trigger.

Our intruder sneaks inside.

I jerk the weapon to aim for the centre of their body mass.

A blinding flash makes me screw my eyes completely shut and pull my shot.

When I peel open my eyelids again, the bedroom door is shut, and footsteps are pounding down the hallway. I carefully extricate myself from Cherub, unwilling to drag her into the middle of this fracas after she was tailed home by the Maddisons yesterday afternoon, then I hit the internal button on my bedroom door and pull it shut from the outside. The moment the lock clicks into place, I’m in motion. Quickly as I can, I chase the intruder to the stairs. After vaulting the side of the balustrade before I’ve reached halfway, I land like a panther and my long legs eat up the distance between us.

I catch up with them in the living room.

A flash of black enters my line of sight when they spin around to face me. The balaclava covering the invader’s head hides their features.

After a moment, the fucker smirks like a crocodile, then he pulls over the coat stand in the foyer, and dashes out of my wide-open front door. The roar that leaves me as I pick up the metal contraption my well-meaning mother bought me as a housewarming present years ago and throw it out the door after the trespasser is full of rage. It comes from the deepest depths of my soul. Ineptitude engulfs me. I stumble out onto the front porch and watch as Isaiah races down my driveway on foot after the blacked-out SUV that’s reversing out onto the street through my open gates. The same damn gates I watched the prospect close behind my duchess when she returned from the compound last night.

Almost in the same moment as I do, Isaiah realises that there’s no catching the intruder. He stops running and assumes a defensive stance. Breathing hard, gun in his hand, I see his shoulders straighten and his feet widen as he weighs up whether to take a shot or not.

Brake lights illuminate.

Tyres squeal.

Something small is tossed out of the window.

As I surge forward, the SUV takes off again.

“Let me do my job.” The prospect flattens his palm against my chest to stop me from moving past him. “Stay put.”

I lift my eyebrows. “What’s that ’sposed to mean?”

“It means—” He runs his gaze down my body, starting at my face, passing over my naked chest, and ending at my bare feet. “—you’re wearing pyjama pants and I’m properly dressed. Let me check the road. If it’s even a little bit suss, we’ll get Cub and Hunter to deal with it.”

“Fine.”

Arms folded over my chest, I watch Isaiah cautiously step out into the middle of the street. He unknots his bandana and uses it to pick up whatever the passenger in the SUV tossed out the window. As he carries it over to me, I feel a sliver of foreboding run up my spine.

“It’s a pregnancy test.” Isaiah holds the piece of plastic out to me. I keep my arms crossed so I don’t have to touch it. “A positive one at that.”

“What the fuck?” Even as I pose the question, my body is already reacting as if I’m being stalked by a fanged spectre that’s determined to strike. “Why would someone go to all the trouble to break in to leave a pregnancy test?”

“Dunno. It’s obviously for you though since—” He shrugs as my mind goes back to the night of the Apologies to Medusa concert. “—Well, you know.”

“The last person I fucked was…” As I trail off, the look Isaiah gives me is filled with unconcealed accusation. The next two words I utter feel like knives in my throat, “Fuckin’ Bebe.”

“Tell me you didn’t fuck a Maddison without a condom?”

Holding up two fingers, I tell him, “Twice.”

---