“I want to talk to him,” I said.
“No,” Dylan answered. “There’s nothing this asshole has to say that you need to hear.”
“Dylan, I want to talk to him. Please.” Dylan scowled at me, but slid his knee back and pulled Steven to a sitting position. Axel moved behind Steven, producing a set of handcuffs. He secured Steven’s hands with the smooth skill born of practice.
“Why?” I asked Steven, finally meeting his enraged brown eyes. “You stole from me. You burned my house to the ground. Now you try to kill me.” Behind me, I heard my mother gasp. “Why?” I demanded. “Why me? What did I do to you?”
“This is all your fault, you stupid, fucking bitch. Everything was fine until your fucking ten grand. That was the money that put me in the hole with Tsepov. I haven’t won a hand of cards since I bet that money. You killed my luck and then you couldn’t make it right. Burning down your house should have broken the curse, but it didn’t. I need you dead.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You did all this because you think I’m responsible for your bad luck at cards?”
“It’s you. It’s your fault. All of it.” He started to mumble under his breath. Now that I was closer, I could smell the sour scent of stale liquor coming off him. I looked over at Dylan, who had come to his feet and moved beside me.
“He’s insane,” I said, hearing the amazement in my voice. “Completely nuts. He tried to kill me because he had bad luck at cards after betting the money he stole from me? Is that what he just said? Seriously?”
“It is,” Dylan agreed sliding his arms around me from behind. Abruptly the jolt of adrenaline from seeing the gun faded, and I leaned back into Dylan’s warmth. Together, we watched five policemen separate the crowd as they headed for Steven. His prone body disappeared under the swarm of blue. They yanked him to his feet, escorted him across the main floor of the Delecta, and out of my life.
I was sure I’d have to deal with him again when he went to trial, but for now I was free from the threat of further destruction.
“Don’t do that again,” I said to Dylan, turning to brush a stray piece of carpet fluff off his sleeve. “He could have shot you.”
“He was going to shoot you,” Dylan said. “Don’t try to stop me from protecting you again, Leigha. I won’t do it. You’re mine. I’d take a bullet if I had to.”
My heart swelled. Dylan was sweet and terrifying at the same time.
“Okay, how about I just stay away from crazy men with guns, and then you won’t have to go near any bullets?”
“That works for me,” he said, pressing a kiss to my lips. I wanted more, but we were surrounded by people, one of whom was my mother. As I leaned into his arms I heard my sister’s shrill voice say,
“Is the drama over yet? I’d like to get back to my wedding!”
Typical. I almost get shot and she’s worried about it interrupting her party. Any other day she might have bothered me, but not today. Not when I’d just decided to move in with an amazing man who’d saved my life.
“Come on,” Dylan said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders in a possessive hold. “Let’s go. I want to dance with you at the wedding.”
That I could do. Though the way he said ‘wedding’ made me a little nervous. Three days and I’d agreed to move in. He wasn’t going to get any ideas about weddings, was he?
Mentally, I shrugged. I was done worrying about the future, at least for now. Life was too good to stress. Instead, I was going to hang on tight to Dylan and enjoy the ride.
Thank You