Page 14 of Leading Conviction
She rolled just in time to escape a shot that was way too fucking close for comfort. The bullet hit the wooden cabinet door behind her, splintering shards just above her head.
Before she could take aim again, the intruder ran around the cabinetry and pounced on her instead, scratching at her shooting hand to take the gun away from her. She grunted under his weight and tried to kick him in the groin, fight back, dosomething. All she could do was cling to the gun for dear life, knowing without a doubt her life was exactly what was at stake.
His focus on her gun was so single minded she was able to finally get enough leverage to knee him in the groin. He groaned and held tight to her gun with one hand and his crushedcojoneswith the other as he curled in a fetal position. His shifted weight enabled her to wriggle the rest of the way out from underneath him, and she used the counter beside the stove to get up.
That spurred him into motion. He tightened his hold on her gun while he used his other hand to yank the waistline of her jeans with such force she fell to her ass on the hard tile floor.
She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. Before he could get on top of her again, she reached up blindly to the oven’s burning top and snatched the pot off the eye of the stove, letting it clatter onto his head. The half gallon of boiling hot water gushed from the large pot, making his fair skin flush red where every blistering drop fell.
He shouted and dropped her to clutch his face. As he turned on his side, writhing on the ground, she scrambled to her feet, trying not to slip on the water. Just as she got her bearings, the front door slammed open.
The Russian’s wild eyes snapped to the door, but her entire focus remained on him. She didn’t bother to take aim as she quickly fired into the man’s chest, emptying the pistol and praying like hell at least one round would be a killing blow.
His hands clutched at the hole near his heart as he collapsed limply to the ground. Crimson blood poured from his wound onto the pretty blue-and-white tile. The liquid flowed outward in little rivulets, guided by the grout between the tiling.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, her inner artist admired the beautiful way the deep, rich red painted the clay artwork underneath it before soaking into the mortar. But as she dodged a thick river inching closer to her sneaker, the realization of what she was actually marveling at finally hit her.
The life of a man she’dkilleddrained out in front of her, right before her eyes.
Disgust roiled in her belly up her esophagus, prompting her to swallow. But she didn’t allow herself time to think about what she’d just done. Her hands trembled as she lowered her gun slightly.
When her would-be murderer’s glazed eyes flickered toward her, he attempted one last lunge up to grab her, but a sudden spray of bullets peppered his abdomen.
She screeched and hustled backward into the corner of the kitchenette, unable to take her eyes off the man’s body as it jolted with each gunshot.
Up until that point, she’d completely forgotten the door had opened, allowing someone else to witness the fight. When the gunfire was over, she whipped around and used both trembling hands to aim her empty gun at the new intruder.
Her whole body went numb and muscle memory in her fingers fought to hold on to her gun.
“Hawkins?”
CHAPTERSEVEN
After all these years… Hawkins Black, the man who’d broken her heart by choosing strangers over her—just like everyone else before and after him—filled her doorway with his striking stature.
He was bigger than she remembered, and his sculpted muscles were hills and valleys through his thin, black, long-sleeved shirt. Sweat glistened against his dark-sienna skin, slowly trailing down his face, following the faintest creases that hadn’t been there nearly a decade ago. His fade tapered right above his ears, but was slightly longer than his nearly buzzed military cut, and now had soft waves.
Those hard, charcoal eyes she still dreamed about, glared at the corpse on her floor, as if Hawk’s angry gaze alone could send the man straight to hell. If anyone had that kind of ability it would’ve been Hawk.
For the past two years, she’d wished and prayed he had power over death itself. And here he was…alive. Making her wonder if her prayers had been answered or if she’d finally lost it.
“Was he the only one?” he asked, his familiar deep voice shocked her to her core after not having heard it in years, but the sharp tone was nothing like he’d ever used with her.
He glided into her living room, checking behind furniture while flicking glances toward her.
“Han? Was he the only intruder?”
Other than you?
She nodded her head as she slowly got her wits about her. “J-just him.”
Hawkins slowly relaxed, lowering the weapon down as he turned to finally make eye contact.
A flurry of emotions washed over her. Cool relief, warm gratitude, hot betrayal, and burning lust. The very real, varying temperatures throughout her body sparked perspiration on her skin and she gripped the counter at the sudden wave of dizziness.
He was by her side in an instant, his worried gaze flitting up and down her body, seemingly checking for injuries. The disbelief that had frozen her to her spot finally began to thaw as her mind latched on to the fact her ex-fiancé was right in front of her.
“I knew teaching you how to shoot was the right move. Are you okay? Did he hurt you, dove?”
