Page 250 of Deceit

She’s baiting him but not as the adoring Emmy Lou we all know but as the scorn one.

She has every right to be pissed and hurt. To not want to entertain the thought of them being together again.

“He doesn’t love you,” Alexander roars. “You said that.”

“Yeah, well—“ Emmy tries to push herself from the ground, giving me her back. ”—I guess I loved more for the both of us then.”

Then she swings around the glint of the blade before Alexander howls out in pain.

Emmy Lou has a death wish, and it’s for us to go down together.

My head flies to the side as Alexander backhands me for my little knife trick.

It’s perfect because it gives me enough anger to spring upon him like a lioness about to tear into a gazelle.

Alexander crashes into the kitchen island, his height to my disadvantage but the force of hitting the heavy furniture disorients him for a moment.

So I backhand him my damn self to even us out.

My ex’s hand seizes my neck, clamping down as hard as he can as he straightens himself. I pull my chin into my chest and remain calm, remembering my training, that this is the go-to for most men.

Reaching outward and around his arms, I pull him by his wrists, breaking his grip and creating him to tumble forward a bit. Snatching the back of his head by his hair, I closer, my knee connects with his balls a moment later.

As if he emerges from pain altogether, Alexander immediately uses all his weight and collides with me.

I growl out in frustration, my shortness, the fact that I am a female, and no matter how much I’ve been trained, I have to work that much harder to sustain my own damn life.

To save Bishop’s.

I steal a glance, one I know better to take. He’s on the ground, bleeding from his back as he takes a kick to his ribs and has some weird fight with the younger man on the floor.

Then a burning sensation hits my side simultaneously as that famous indistinctive sound of a gunshot rips through the air, and I feel the prompt burn right after at my side.

It’s the old man with gray hair who could be my grandfather.

He fuckinghitme.

I’m on the floor in the next second with an unbearable weight on me. It digs uncomfortable and painfully into my side.

“I didn’t fucking tell you to shoot her!” Alexander roars then straddles himself over me.

I wrap my fingers around his perfectly ironed shirt with my left hand and swing with my right. I connect and use my throwing him off balance a tad.

Leaning forward and trying my absolute best to ignore the pain, I hit him again then shove him off me. My heels dig into the hardwood floors, and I hurl myself back on my ass to gain distance.

Then that I do something I haven’t tried in years.

Palming my knife, I sorta flick-throw it with my wrist, praying to God that it’s enough. I see it fly through the air but not where it lands. No, because I’m thrust back, and my skull hits the floor thanks to my ex and his bullshit ofI’d never hurt you again.

We both scramble to our feet. It’s harder for me with his hold on me while he does the same thing. The room spins a little from the adrenaline and possible gunshot. I hear a man grunt, but there are four of them in this room. I have no fucking clue what’s going on. Just that Bishop and I are trying to get to each other.

Weren’t we always.

On my knees, I see Alexander march forward. He’s going to punch, kick, or do some other pussy-ass move to knock me down.

Pulling my arms up to protect somewhat of my frame, he takes another step then, in a blink of an eye, he’s gone.

But not the thud.

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