Page 42 of The Alpha's Assistant & The Dom Next Door
“Yes, she is. Your little bombing job left her with PTSD. For a while we thought she was going to the nuthouse instead of anunnery.”
Roland stops dead. “Wait, wait. She was actually going to be anun? Vows of poverty, all of that? She would have gotten out of the way without us doing anything, and you would have inherited your parents’ money as soon as they died of naturalcauses?”
Angry tears fill my eyes. “Yes.”
He turns to me, staring. “You would have gone and become a holy woman.” For a moment there’s a twitch of ... something ... in the back of those emptyeyes.
“Yeah. I was about to start serving as anovice.”
Puzzlement fills his expression. “Whathappened?”
I explode suddenly, pulling against the ropes so hard that the chair arms creak. “Youhappened! You and that crazy bitch over there! You killed my parents and you tried to killme!”
This isn’t manipulation. I’m not just talking back to drive my sister off-balance and make her argue with a dangerous assassin. This is raw emotion pouring out ofme.
“How in the hell can I believe in God when this psycho ruined my childhood, tried to ruin my life, and is now trying to burn me alive? How can I believe in any kind of divine justice when murderers like you and her are allowed to just walk around free?How?”
“How indeed?” muses a deep voice from the hallway behindRoland.
Shayla’s jaw drops and she just turns and stands there, peering down the hall toward the back door like she’s seen a ghost. I hear the sound of a shotguncocking.
Roland moves like lightning, his lean white form darting behind the nearest cover as he draws a gilded pistol from beneath his suit coat. Unfortunately for Shayla, the nearest cover is her. He grabs her and yanks her backwards against him as a human shield, holding the pistol over hershoulder.
“You’ll hit your lover’s sister,” he taunts the unseen figure with the raspy voice. I feel very dizzysuddenly.
“I’ll hit my lover’s abuser. Drop the gun. Or I’ll blow you bothaway.”
Carl?
“Um ...” Roland looks between the hallway and me, and then glances back at the door behind me. “I don’t think you’ll do that in coldblood.”
“Bitch, you splashed gasoline all over my kitchen and living room! Nobody’s going to believe this isn’t self-defense!”
Roland blinks once—and then shrugs. “Goodbye.”
He shoves Shayla forward and yanks the front door open, bursting out onto the porch. I can hear running feet—and then the yelp of sirens as at least one cruiser pulls up.Guess the fire caught too much attention for even the lieutenant to brushoff.
Shayla is on her ass, trying to get to her feet in stiletto heels. They skid on the hardwood as she stares up at whoever is walking slowly down the hall toward her. “I had you killed!” shecomplains.
“Yeah.” Carl coughs as he steps into view in the doorway, his voice raspy. His clothes are torn, muddy, and full of hedge leaves. His face is bloodied, and he looks plenty pissed off ... but he is very much alive. “Well, you did a piss poor job ofit.”
He turns his shining smile on me. “Hi, baby. Told you I’d protectyou.”
I smile through my tears. “Yes. Youdid.”
In the end, all Shayla could do once she ranted off empty threats was sit on the floor and cry like an overwrought toddler. I watched her while Carl untied me with blistered hands, and wondered why I had ever feared her—before she hired an assassin, atleast.
The police brass seemed to understand that they had a mess on their hands, and the lieutenant who had taken Shayla’s bribe was quietly fired. Shayla and her errand boy were packed off tojail.
Carl took Jenny, Flubber, and me off to vacation in Humboldt for a few weeks while the lawyers sorted out the redistribution of my parents’ estate. I saw sea lions for the first time, and drank Californiawine.
He introduced me to ball gags, so that I could scream as much as I wanted even with Jenny sleeping in the next room. (They’re getting a lot ofuse).
I hired a cleaning crew for my parents’ house and someone to redecorate, and someone to sell off my sister’s things while we were in California. I kept myself busy by day. Carl kept me busy bynight.
By the time we pull up in front of my family home in the Garden District, other than the permanent burn scar on one of the trees, there’s no trace of Shayla left in this place at all. I have even had her room repainted. And I made sure the yard was safe—and escape-proof—for both dogs and littlekids.
I smile proudly as the stately old house looms before us, and Jenny gasps with joy. “It’s a castle!” she cries. “Look, Daddy, I told you Emmie’s a princess! She lives in acastle!”
