To dive headfirst without my hands to save me.
“Don’t stop,” Emmy begs, piercing into my soul with her brown eyes. She does exactly what I want and keeps that pretty little gaze on me.
It’s everything.
I take my girl with every ounce of energy that I have. I circle her sensitive clit and meet her tiny thrusts with one of my own.
“Oh God,” she breathes, gripping onto one of my biceps. Her fingers dig into my hard flesh, and it does nothing but up the ante.
She comes down hard and howls out through her orgasm with her eyes still fucking open. I watch her soar, and her face pinkens brighter when it triggers my own release.
My cock shoots out ropes of come inside her beautiful ass, but I pull out and shove it into her tight pussy. I milk myself as Emmy moans again and I growl out.
I was screwed from day one with Emmy.
I’ll continue screwing her until I fucking die.
The problem with being entitled is that you don’t think of someone else’s feelings or plans. In fact, you plainly ignore them.
Alexander believes that today he’s going to have a one up on me.
That he’s going to fucking kill me because I already know too much, and it only takes one visit or report to blow the biography of him being a piece of shit.
He’s going to have a story, alright. One that ends with his death or missing—I haven’t decided yet.
This morning, Alexander’s text messages to his squad were that he was going to finish this himself.
I’m ready.
I’m waiting.
And he’s here—a few hours early.
Dressed casually—well for him—in navy blue slacks and a burnt orange shirt with navy matching triangles on it, Alexander stands at my doorstep and looks at me with zero fucks that he’s not supposed to be here yet. His medium-brown hair is perfectly styled as if he’s about to pick me up for a date or we’re about to have a damn picnic.
I mean, why look like shit when you’re about to kill someone?
“Hello, Emmy,” he greets without his usual and charming smile. “I figured we’d get this over with.”
“No big deal—“ I step aside to let him in. “—make yourself at home.”
He strides inside, careful not to touch anything because this place probably hasn’t been deep cleaned ever. His silence pricks my skin, and when I pivot around, he’s got a pretty little gun shoved in my face.
“You ruined everything,” he bites out, his expression pained and conflicted. “Why? Why the fuck did you contact me?”
I cock my head to the side, kinda confused and kinda like I want to kick him in the balls. “You didn’t want me to tell you that I was alive with our kids?”
“That’s not what I meant,” he snaps, shaking the weapon as he says it. “You’re still fucking around with your ex-husband.”
The response that is about to leave my lips might get a bullet in my face, and I’m not sure if Lucien can fix that, so I opt out for another answer.
Because my ex-husband is now stepping out of my bedroom with a Glock in his hand.
“I’ll admit,” I tell Alexander. “I was having a petty moment and wanted to see the look on your face.”
“You were never going to forgive me, so why—“
“Quit fucking whining and drop the gun, dickhead,” Bishop leers, his expression taut but not his body.
It’s fucking shaking.
Alexander’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t drop the weapon—shocker. “You think this is going to end how you wanted it to?”
“Maybe,” I quip, then shrug. “Maybe not.”
“So I guess you thought that hacking into my text messages was going to give you a head start?” My blood runs cold at his question because the fucker caught on. As I said, Alexander is no fucking idiot. “What kind of dumbass would I be to talk about killing my ex-girlfriend where it could be traced back?”
“The same one who put a hit on my husband.” Alexander steps forward, and that’s when the barrel of Bishop’s gun shoves into the back of his head.
“One more move,” Bishop warns.
“And risk me shooting her too?” Alexander retorts. “You can’t save her.”
“Watch me.”
Alexander meets my stare, and his lips curl into a sardonic grin. “Rhett Mills, right? He’s the one who’s been babysitting our kids?”
This time, I definitely don’t make a peep. Just the mention of him putting both Alaric and Atlas with Mills speaks volumes that are blaring warnings in my ear.
He knows where the twins are.
“And he’s on his way here, right?”
I erase the limited space between him and I, the silver barrel of Alexander’s gun now pressed into my forehead. “You’re outgunned, Alex.”
“Don’t underestimate me, sweetheart. You fucked up the last time.”
“You wanna kill me? You’re gonna raise the twins?”
“No,” he says slowly. “This isn’t an assassination for you, Emmy. It’s for him.” He jerks his head back and against Bishop’s Glock.
Alexander’s cool eyes hold mine, and he’s not fucking around.
He wants to kill Bishop.
He has some power floating behind his perfect persona too. All rich fucks do. Money talks, people loathe and love it; it’s simple math.
My cell rings in my back pocket, and Alexander’s gaze falls down my body. “Answer it.”
Instead of doing it, I look at Bishop, who’s ready to just pull the trigger. His whole body is on another level. This is new for him because his plan would’ve been to make my ex bleed before questioning.
He nods, and I reach behind me to see Kyson’s name appear on my screen.
“Hey,” I say cautiously.
“You okay up there?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Not so much. I got a lot of men around your building. I can’t get out of the car yet, and there are four SUVs in front. We can take out the trucks, but the burly dudes are what I’m working on.”
“No shit,”
