Page 87 of Destroyed With You

He takes another step.

“Or do you? Will you get the poison or the sedative?” he continues, obviously not realizing one needle has been emptied. “Which scares you more? Death? Or sleep and the knowledge that I can do anything to you—touch you however I want—and you’ll wake up ripped apart and bleeding?”

A vile smile slithers across his mouth. “You really are such a pretty thing, and I’ve always wanted you in my bed. How is it you never fucked me? How is it I never made you?”

I resist the urge to spit, my mind churning for some solution. But I’m strapped down tight, and even though I could shove the chair backwards as he approaches, that would only buy me seconds.

Still, seconds are something…

“Poison or sleep?” he continues. “It’s like flipping a coin. Like the lottery.”

He’s right there now, leaning forward, the ring outstretched. And, yeah, I claim those seconds. I lean forward, then lurch backward, trying to kick my strapped-down feet out in the process. I don’t get much momentum, but I get enough, and I tilt backward at the same time that I hear a sharp crack!

At the same moment, something wet and sticky splatters my face and, as if in slow motion, I fall the rest of the way, landing on my back on the hard concrete, still tied to the chair.

I open my eyes, and see Billy Hawthorne fall. There’s a sick crunching as he lands facedown beside me, a huge chunk missing from the back of his head.

I wrench my head around, trying to see, and manage to scoot the chair just enough to open up my field of vision.

Winston.

He’s alive.

He’s either alive or I’m dead and dreaming, but he has to be alive. Because there is no way in hell my subconscious would have him half in and half out of a doggie door, a Ruger tight in his hands.

“Winston?” I say. And that’s when the tears start to flow.

My heart pounds as he wriggles the rest of the way in. He’s at my side in an instant, using the knife that Billy dropped to cut me free. He pulls me up, then rips off his tee so that I can cover myself. He bends for a strip of my shirt, then gingerly cleans the blood from Billy off my face.

“I thought you were dead.” My voice is raw from the force of my sobs.

“I almost was. I realized I forgot something. I got out of the car with only seconds to spare.”

That’s when I notice his clothing is singed. “They must have used a manual detonator. One of Billy’s men—oh! There are more of them.”

As I speak, the garage door rattles open. I turn, the terror fading to relief when I see Renly standing there. He gives Winston a thumbs-up, then smiles at me. “Thank God,” he says. “Backup is on its way. Take your time,” he adds, then walks away.

I shake my head, not certain I’m following everything.

“Those other men have been taken care of,” Winston tells me. “We can stay here until the cavalry arrives. Give a statement, then go home.” He cups my chin as he meets my eyes. “Sound good?”

“Better than good.” Right then, covered in blood and my body aching, I’ve never been happier. After all, the man who’d died in front of me is standing here alive.

I swallow. “Winston, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Confusion plays across his face. “For what, sugar?”

“For not believing that we were really in love before. I sat there in that chair certain that you were dead. I felt what you went through after I supposedly died. I made you go through that back then, and I—”

“You didn’t have a choice. And we’re together now.”

“We were together then, too,” I tell him. “And you’re right. It wasn’t the role we were playing, it was who we were in our hearts. I loved you then, real and true. Just like I love you now.”

“Oh, baby.” His pulls me close and looks deep into my eyes. “I love you, too. We’re so damn lucky.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he says.