“Fuck!” His hands come up to block my assault. I notice one of them is bleeding.
Good. Boo drew blood, too.
I kick him, one of my stilettos making contact with his most prized possession — the space directly between his legs. He grunts in pain and hunches in on himself involuntarily. He seems stunned I’m fighting back.
I use that to my advantage.
“You hurt my dog, you fucker!” I scream at the top of my lungs, kicking him in the shins, the thighs, anywhere I can reach. Again and again and again, until he falls to the ground, groaning.
“You shot my brother!” I scream, barely recognizing my own voice.
I kick and kick and kick, with a savagery that surprises me.
“And that’s for Lila, you sonovabitch!”
He moans and curls tighter into himself.
“Sweet P.”
The tension in my brother’s tone makes me look up from my assault. Petey is whimpering on the ground like a coward. I feel a strange, detached sense of satisfaction when I see that, along with some serious undercurrents of horror at my own barbarity.
Perfect Phoebe West — socialite and secret sociopath. Who knew?
My eyes swing up toward the sound of Parker’s voice and I feel them widen as they take in the sight a dozen feet from me. My throat closes, not letting any air in or out as I stare at my big brother.
He’s standing there looking at me, a bright crimson circle staining his t-shirt at the shoulder, with a gun barrel pressed to his temple. My eyes trail from the hand holding the gun, up one muscular arm, and finally, to the face of the man who’s been haunting my nightmares.
***
“Cormack.” The word barely makes it past my lips. “Let him go.”
“I don’t think so, Phoebe.” He smiles — a cold, cruel grimace. “See, I need one of you. Your father isn’t being cooperative. I think he needs a bit of incentive.”
I hear gunfire in the distance — Nate and Theo are still occupied on the tarmac. I’m on my own.
My razor-sharp stiletto heel is poised over Petey’s temple. I know if I stepped down with all my body weight, I could kill him instantly.
I’m not an exceptionally violent person. Never have been.
I don’t believe in the death penalty. I cried when hunters killed Cecil the Lion, for god’s sake. But in this moment, right here, with my brother’s life on the line and my dog lying motionless and the man I love in jeopardy…
I could do it.
I know I could.
“Let go of my brother or I’ll kill him.” My words are flat, emotionless.
I’ve been spending too much time around Nate.
Cormack’s smile twitches wider. “I like you like this, Phoebe. You’re much feistier than I gave you credit for, in the beginning. I used to think you were just a dumb heiress.” His eyes narrow. “Now, I think you’re a dumb heiress with no sense of self-preservation.”
“Let him go,” I repeat.
“You wanna kill Petey? Go ahead.” Cormack shakes his head, amused. “He’s useless, anyway.”
Frack.
There goes my only bargaining chip.