Page 205 of Bona Fide

“I have a message,” he states coolly, pulling out a piece of paper and unfolding it. “Demi Lockwood would like me to tell you that she warned you and that you didn’t listen. That you’re done fucking her husband.”

“She sent you?” His face twists at my obvious question because he just said who sent him here.

“She just regrets that she isn’t here to see you die in front of her eyes. And that you’ll be the reason the President of the United States falls. Not only from grief and regret of your death but also your secret love affair will become public knowledge. Everything and everyone around you will suffer for you being a whore.”

The hammer of his gun clicks back, and my eyes snap shut on their own before another shot rings out through the room. My exhale is loud at the shock of what I knew would come as I wait for the pain to start taking over my body. For a bright light or the sound of me hitting the floor.

Another second and nothing.

I replay the sound in my head because I know it was real and that I wasn’t imagining anything. Hesitantly, I crack my eyelids open, and Marty’s frame appears in front of me.

As I open my mouth to call his name, he raises his arm, peering down at the floor before I see the gun in his hand.

“You talk too fucking much,” he seethes before another discharge of a gun goes off twice. Then he promptly swings his leg back and kicks something in front of him—a fucking body.

I know it is, the asshole didn’t just vanish into thin air. Another punt with his foot and Marty stops, cocking his head side to side before inhaling one deep, slow breath into his lungs.

I shoot up from the table, catching Marty’s attention as he cranes his eyes to look at me, head-on.

What in the actual fuck.

“Marty,” I stammer, my gaze falling back on his gun.

“It’s okay, Tsarina,” he coos softly then motions for me with his other, gun-less, hand to stay where I am. “Don’t move for me, okay?”

My answer is lodged in my throat, but I do what he asks for once. He lets the clip from his gun fall before catching it and holding both of his hands in the air in silent surrender. “I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“What...the fuck does that mean?” He calmly rounds the couch, acting like he didn’t just shoot someone to save my life. As though this was a normal-ass thing that happens all the time.

Maybe it does, he is a Marine after all, but still...I tried to stay as ignorant as I could so that I didn’t drive myself crazy with the uneasiness about what he was doing.

“You alright?” he asks me, his green eyes never leaving mine. I stare at him, feeling my jaw drop as he makes his way only a few more steps before he stops. “You need to speak to me.”

“You…”

Who are you?

I replay what just happened a few moments ago. He shot him three times then kicked him repeatedly. He sounded confident, unruffled, and…

“I need more words, Tsarina. If you’re suffering some sort of shock, I need—”

“Oh, I’m...in shock alright.”

His lips break into a feeble grin. “There she is.” He places his gun on the side table next to the couch and proceeds to step closer. “We need to talk. But, first, I have some shit I have to handle.”

“You just…” I can’t stop my body from shaking. My brother just shot someone, and he’s cool as a fucking cucumber.

“She’s here, Emric.” I flinch back, knocking into the table again, and my head and Marty’s snap to another man who just strode through the room.

Huge, tall, he looks like the Hulk without the green features as his gaze sweeps over me for a brief second before returning it to my brother.

“Give me a second,” Marty replies, waving him off.

“Who the fuck is Emric?” I mutter. Instead of answering me, Marty rubs one of his temples.

“We’ll talk, but can you do me a favor?” I bow my head automatically. “Do not leave, I’ll answer all your questions, but I need to handle this.”

“Handle...what?”

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