Page 42 of Savage Revenge

PLAYING WITH GUNS NEVER ENDS WELL

I’m halfwayup the stairs when his heavy steps click on the marble floor.

“Don’t walk away from me, little girl,” he shouts.

I slow for a millisecond at his words.

Little girl.

Why is that so hot?

Something to think about later. When I’m alone and not being chased by my captor.

“Leave me alone, asshole!” I yell at him.

I don’t look back, but I only hear one set of footsteps, so I think it’s only Cash after me. I’m not sure if Cash told Caleb to keep more of a distance from me because I’ve barely seen him since the incident at the pool. It’s been kind of nice but also kind of lonely.

As soon as I get into my room, I slam the door even though I can’t lock it. It’s only a matter of time before he crashes through it, but it still felt damn good.

I haven’t even made it halfway to the bathroom when Cash strides through the threshold, the walls practically shaking as he slams the heavy door. Before I can run, he’s on me, grabbing me from behind, his veiny, tattooed forearm pressed against my softstomach. A rush of adrenaline spikes through me, and I fight against him. He’s bigger and stronger, lifting me off my feet so I’m powerless.

“Leave me alone! Get out!” I scream. “I hate you.”

He chuckles, low and evil. “Actually, I don’t think you do, kitten. I think you want to keep pretending there’s nothing between us.”

My breath comes out fast and harsh as I wiggle and try to elbow him. “There is nothing between us,” I hiss.

It’s a lie. I know it. He knows it. But I’ll die before I admit feelings toward Cash Savage. He’s an asshole.

We struggle against each other. He’s stronger, but I’m not making it easy on him.

With all my thrashing, I end up turned so we’re chest to chest. I shove at him, but he doesn’t budge.

“I hate you,” I spit out.

His jaw flexes. “Hate me all you want, but if you think you’re going on a date or fucking any other man, you’re so wrong, baby. The only person you’re going to be fucking is me.”

What?

Did he just say that for real?

Heat spreads through me, shooting straight between my legs. His dick is pressed against me, hard and long, and I loathe myself because I want to touch it.

“I wouldn’t fuck you if your life depended on it,” I spit at him.

Using my palms, I push and shove, but he continues to fight me, grabbing my wrists to keep me from slapping him in the face. The way he overpowers me. How can he restrain me with one hand while I battle with all my energy? It sends a spark of electricity through me that I shouldn’t feel. My panties shouldn’t be damp.

As I’m flailing my arms, scratching and striking his chest, torso, and arms, my fingers come into contact with something at his waist, tucked into the waistband of his slacks.

It's cold and heavy.

I freeze for half a second before I move again. Without a plan, I grab it, yanking it free, surprised by the weight.

His gun.

As soon as he realizes what I’ve discovered, his eyes widen, just slightly, before he reaches back to grab it from me, but I’m quick. I stumble back a step, my breath shaky, and raise it with both hands, pointing it at him.

Blood rushes in my ears, and my skin feels like ice.

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