Page 177 of Hate to Love You
Floor by floor we make our way down the steps, with Cal going ahead and making sure the doors leading to the stairwell stay closed until we’ve passed.
When we finally set foot on the ground floor, I gently set Abby down, and take her coat from Cal, holding it open for her.
“Well, I hope you’re not too winded,” she says with a taunting smile, slipping her arms inside of it. “I was going to invite you back to my place.”
She reaches back and her hand immediately grabs my crotch, squeezing hard. A bit too hard.
Oh, this girl…
Cal opens the door for us to the parking lot, but before I let Abby step outside, I pull her back and pin her against the wall by her throat.
She gasps just before I crush my lips to hers, shoving my tongue into her mouth.
She kisses me back, her hands pressing gently against my chest as I suck hard on her bottom lip.
“Don’t worry, Foxy,” I whisper as I pull away. “I was already planning on it.”
However, the flash of sincerity in her eyes that bat up at me, before settling back on my lips, softens my aggression ever so slightly, and I release my hand from around her throat.
Of course, there’s a part of me that wants to ravish her, right here. And of course, I love manhandling her around and taking her breath away.
But what she said to me that day at the bar still gnaws at the corners of my mind like an earworm.
“Let’s just say my ex wasn't a good person…”
The vague words sent me on a small quest down a minute rabbit hole, looking for answers. But I couldn’t find much. Her dead husband may have been a douche, as so many aristocratic men often are, but his business dealings were either very clean, or very well hidden.
Which has left me to wonder if her comment is in reference to something he did to her physically.
I never saw any marks on her, whenever I’d see them out in public together. But I did see the extensive list of small “accidental” injuries reported in her medical file as minor bumps and scratches.
The idea of anyone laying their hands on Abby makes me immediately murderous…while also making me second guess how aggressive I should be with her.
Because I know how aggressive I can be.
Taking a deep breath I step back, and extend my hand, which she accepts without hesitation.
As we step into the city night, our two cars wait for us down the sidewalk, the heat from the exhaust turning to steam in the cold fall air.
“So why did we—”
“Death to Antonovs!”
Abby’s question is interrupted by a man’s shout, followed by rapid gunfire to my left.
With a pistol in his hand a short skinny man wearing a ski starts running toward Abby and I. And just as one of his bullets grazes my left arm I push her behind my body, yanking my own gun from my belt but unable to get a shot off.
Thankfully, Cal’s aim is impeccable.
He fires two shots directly into the man’s chest before landing the last one right in his forehead, sending his brain matter scattering all over the parking lot.
“Boss!” Oleg pants, racing up to me. “Are you alright?!”
“We’re fine!” I snap, pointing to Abby. “Get her to the car now!”
“No!” Abby protests, her lip trembling as she clings to me. “I want to stay with you!”
“Abby, I will be right behind you,” I say reassuringly, grabbing her shoulders. “I just need to make sure the threat is dealt with. Go with Oleg!”