Page 32 of Whistle

He shook his head.

I slumped against him, body going completely slack. I realized then that I was in his lap and he was holding me. The constant beat of his heart was right beneath my ear.

Safe.

“Let me up!” an angry voice yelled, and a body began thrashing around so close by it disturbed the air.

I bolted up, but Emmett palmed my hip, keeping me in his lap. “Call the cops,” he told Rush who wasn’t just standing in the middle of the room but pinning the guy who attacked me into the carpet.

“No!” he roared, struggling.

Rush dropped and jammed a knee between his shoulder blades.

“You’re giving me a headache,” he growled and reached for his phone.

“Wait,” I said, peeling myself out of Emmett’s lap and going across the room to a safe hidden in the closet. After unlocking it, I reached inside for a stack of cash. Carrying it over, I tossed it on the floor beside the asshole’s face. “Here. That’s all of it.”

“You owe him money?” Rush’s voice was strangled.

I shrugged.

Red-faced, Rush bolted up, black eyes swirling. “You almost got us killed because you owe some asshole some money!” he roared. Putting his hands on my shoulders, he shoved. “You stupid asshole!”

I stumbled back but didn’t retaliate. He was right.

The man in the leather jacket—I couldn’t remember his name or even why I owed him money—grabbed the cash and stood. “This is four grand?”

Is that how much I owe? “It’s five. See the band around it?” I said, and he looked. “Consider the extra a bonus.”

“Whatever,” he spat and started toward the open sliders. But then he turned back, eyes falling on the gun lying near the bed. He took one step toward it.

Emmett stepped between him and the weapon. “Don’t even think about it.”

“That’s an expensive piece,” the man whined.

Emmett folded his arms over his chest. His biceps bulged, and it was distracting. “I’m sure the cops will be interested in where you got it.”

“Bro, get lost and don’t come back,” Rush spat.

“Rich dicks,” he bitched but left without another word.

Emmett muttered beneath his breath, scooped the gun off the floor, and started after him.

Alarmed, I gasped and grabbed his arm, squeezing it with both of my hands. “Wait.”

He glanced down at me, eyes indiscernible. “Let go.”

“No,” I demanded. “You can’t just go shoot him.”

His lips twitched like he wanted to laugh. My eyes narrowed.

Rush made a sound and slapped a hand on my shoulder. “Come on.”

I let loose an angry sound and smacked his arm away, then turned to swing.

Emmett caught my arm, his hand locking around my wrist. To Rush, he said, “I’ll handle this. Go back to bed.”

“You think I’ll be able to sleep?”

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