Accidental Shield (Marriage Mistake #6)(68)

That’s when I hear her. The woman in the corner. He’s got her mouth bound with a gag, but her eyes are huge. She’s been watching me this whole time, clutching her daughter against her chest, her bound hands looped around the kid’s head.

It’s a small relief knowing she tried to protect her from the sounds of my screams, the damnable whirr of that bloodthirsty drill.

“Want me to finish this fuck boy, boss?” The goon asks, squeezing the drill again so it stirs in his hand.

“Keep working him. I want answers. As for our other guests...I’ve seen enough. Finish them cleanly, please. The little girl, in particular, should go first so she doesn’t have to watch her mother. We’re not heartless.”

His heavy footsteps echo across the tiled floor as he walks away. More muffled sobs come from the woman, and the goon sighs as he stands, like a petulant child who’s just been robbed out of his next carnival ride. He lays the drill down and pulls what looks like a nine millimeter from his belt.

I swallow the bile in my mouth.

I’m so weak they didn’t even bother tying me down. I don’t know if there’s permanent nerve damage, or if I can stand, but if there was ever a time to find out...

I flex my fists, channeling all my fury, my hurt, my fear into one fluid movement so I can spring up.

All I see is his back as he walks toward them. Laughing, he disregards his boss’ orders.

He tells her I was sent there to save her. He laughs again, saying I’ll be dead within the hour, and then she’ll be, too, and so will the girl in her arms.

Like hell!

I reach for my gun. It’s not there. Of course they’ve taken it.

There’s a chair, though, the one he was sitting on when he wasn’t on the floor drilling hell in my back.

It’ll do. Despite the pain, the hellfire burst zipping up my spine, I leap to my feet and—





*



Present





A noise pulls me out of my thoughts.

It’s Val, coming downstairs, grinning from ear to ear. I shut my computer. I’ve spent hours again coming up with practically nothing.

“All finished?” I ask.

She nods like her head can’t hold itself up, then presses a hand against her mouth, too excited to speak. She lifts up on the tips of her toes, bouncing, flaunting her curves in ways I’m almost afraid to notice.

Fuck, this girl.

“Come see!” she chirps, her tits bouncing real sweet every time she bends her knees and springs back up.

“Let’s check it out,” I say, standing up, trying to find the strength not to watch her ass hugging those jeans she’s got on today.

“I hope you’ll like them, but...if there’s anything you don’t like, just tell me. We can always change things around,” she says, hurrying to the stairs.

“I’m sure you left nothing unturned.”

“Seriously, just tell me,” she says. “It’s your house, obviously, so anything you like, I’m game.”

Right. I see plenty I like, following her up the steps, but I won’t tell her that any more than I’ll say anything negative about the rooms.

She’s worked too hard. I can always change things after she goes home if it’s appalling.

Upstairs, both doors are closed.

Smiling, she rakes a mischievous gaze over me and says, “Time to make a choice, Flint. Door number one or door number two?”

They’re both across the hall from Bryce’s room and the bathroom.

Since it’s the farthest one down the hall, I say, “Number one.”

“Oh, I was hoping you’d say that.” She hurries down the hall, wagging a finger after me to follow.

“Why?”

“Because number one’s pretty good...but two might be my favorite.”

“Saving the best for last? Smart.”

“Yes!” She opens the door to the first bedroom and steps aside for me to enter.

I do, pausing for a moment. The room looks exactly like she’d drawn it, except she’d done her sketch with pencil. The room’s bursting with color.

The walls are still covered with builder’s white paint, but the bedding, rugs, pictures, and accessories bring it to life. Damn.

The bed sits between two windows, covered with a comforter of tans, greys, and greens that match the sheer curtains hanging to the floor. It’s flanked by tables on each side, both with bamboo shaded lamps. There’s a ladder shelf near the closet, along with a monkey wood chair, and a fuck-huge chest of drawers on the other wall, plus a tall leaning mirror.

“Shit, Val. You really went all out.” I’m not just feeding her what she wants to hear. I let out a soft whistle as I really take it in, pacing the perimeter.

“Aw, shucks,” she says playfully. “You really like it, though?”

“Like it? Hell, woman, I’m in love.” I finish my rounds and nod, fully satisfied. Nothing’s too overdone. “It’s perfect.”

“Whew. Big relief. I worried I was overthinking it, and maybe you wouldn’t like it, but...check this out!” She takes great pride in pointing out the little things, the new photos of the palm leaves on the beach, the sunset portraits, different shaped throw pillows, knickknacks like tiny anchors and a leather-bound journal or two on the shelves.