Page 38 of Taken By the Bounty Hunter

He doesn’t know yet that I’m married. He comes closer, creeping in, and I know that look. He has plans for me. Plans for the kind of punishment my father never had the stomach for.

But I’m not a child anymore.

With Jefferson’s .38 in hand, I point it at Nevyn.

“Where’s my husband?”

He pauses. “Your husband? He’s waiting at the temple. We’ve been so patient with you, dear. Let’s not play this game any longer.”

“It’s not a game. Where’s Jefferson? My husband.”

Anger suffuses his face when he realizes what I’m saying. He still doesn’t think I’ll pull the trigger. He still has plans to hurt me. Lock me away. Well, it’s not happening. Never again.

Nevyn lunges. “What have you done, you reckless little whore?”

The shot rings out.

My uncle jerks back at the impact of the bullet as it punctures his chest.

Nevyn falls to his knees, heaving. His eyes are surprised and enraged as he takes one last look, then drops.

I don’t move until I’m sure he’s dead. I nudge him with my foot, just to make sure.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

My hands shaking, I dig through Jefferson’s discarded clothes until I find his phone.

“Joaquin. Bring the Charger.”

Jefferson’s best friend growls. “Now’s not the time for a manual driving lesson. I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“Joaquin! Will you just shut up and bring the Charger? You don’t want any blood in your pretty little Lexus, okay?!”

He only sounds halfway concerned when he asks, “What’s going on, baby cakes?”

I snarl at the nickname, finally losing my cool. “I shot a man! Jefferson is missing! And you are wasting time because someone heard the gunshot, and the cops are gonna be on their way any minute!”

Chapter Twelve

Jefferson

Too bad I’m not wearing any pants, because that’s where I always keep a set of handcuffs, and, more importantly, a handcuff key.

But my dumb ass had to be gauche and wear a bathrobe downstairs.

I’m not that dumb, though, because I know from experience that a fluffy, draping bathrobe is excellent for preventing a car door from perfectly latching and engaging the central locking system.

I just hope I can safely roll out of here before the guys in the front seat notice the “open door” alert on the dash.

Fortunately for me, distracting Mark is easy to do, as I keep peppering him with questions.

“Where are we going, sport?”

“Shut up.”

“Is it far?”

“I said, shut up.”

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