Their Virgin Princess (Masters of Ménage #4)(101)

"I'm not going to cooperate."

Oliver got to one elbow. She could see blood on his hands as he pushed himself up. He was behind Yasmin, his stare finding her back and his fists clenched, red dripping from his palms. How much had he heard? Did he know she wasn't carrying their child? Did he know she'd never loved him, wasn't capable of love?

Yasmin frowned. "Yes, you are because I'll shoot you otherwise."

Another thing Yasmin rarely did was to really think something through. All throughout their childhood, Yas had come up with outrageous plans only to run up against a wall of logic anyone with half a brain could have seen a mile away. She needed Alea to cooperate, but there was no real incentive to, beyond making Yasmin's job of getting away with double homicide easier, and Alea just wasn't in a giving mood.

"You'll shoot me anyway, so I don't see why I should help you out." Besides, if she moved, she left the relative safety of the sofa. It was an antique with a high back that reached the middle of Alea's chest. It had been a piece from her mother's childhood, handed down from generation to generation from the seventeenth century. It would survive a bullet better than she would.

Yasmin huffed a breath from her mouth in a frustrated sigh, but a grim light hit her eyes, and she leveled that gun again. "Fine. I'll put them on you afterwards."

Oliver was still fighting, now almost to his knees. "Am I supposed to have shot myself in the head from ten feet away? You know the rest of the world watches TV. Everyone knows that the police can figure out the distance a gun was fired from. You need to be closer. You need to make this look like I shot myself in the head and my arms aren't that long, Yas. You always sucked at math." 

If there was one thing Yasmin loved more than her clothes and shoes and money, it was complaining about how terrible things had been for her.

Yasmin's face went a dull red. "Well, how could I compete with the egghead? I just went to school. I didn't have an army of tutors to do my work for me."

Yasmin had gone to the world's most expensive private schools, but that had never been enough for her. There was something deeply empty inside her cousin, something no amount of money or fame or possessions could ever fill. Even if Yasmin succeeded, she wouldn't be happy. She would find all the flaws in life and hold them tight to her because she believed the world to be against her. She saw herself as a victim. It was how she excused everything she did. It was how she managed to live with herself. What a miserable existence. But it was all Yasmin understood.

Alea realized that she could have become just like Yasmin if she'd kept trekking down the path to empty bitterness. She would have shut out anyone who could have loved her, and resentment would have ruled her life. Her men had saved her from that. The island had saved her, and now she wanted life and love in the real world, too. It wouldn't be easy, but nothing worthwhile was. That simple truth was what Yasmin had never understood.

"This isn't going to work, Yasmin. No one is going to save you from your short sightedness this time. Put the gun down, and I'll talk to Talib about sending you to a place where you can get some help." A psychiatric hospital would be a good place for Yasmin. They could figure out if she was a complete sociopath.

For the first time, Yas looked a little uncertain. "I can't. I'm not going down for this."

"I disagree, bitch," Oliver's words were guttural as though forced through sheer willpower from his chest.

Yasmin screamed and turned, her gun firing wildly, hitting the balcony doors and sending glass flying out. The sound filled the room and her ears, making her heart pound again. Now she had to decide which way to run toward safety.

Oliver shoved at Yasmin, toppling her and sending her to the floor. His dress shirt had turned a horrible muddy red and she could see the gray cast to his skin. His hands shook as he reached for his wife's throat. Yasmin scrambled, the gun still in her hand. She kicked out and got to her knees.

The bedroom was too far away, and Yas had a direct line of sight. If she could get a shot off, it would likely hit Alea in the back.

Another little ping zipped through the air as Yasmin fired wildly.

Alea dashed to the doorway, sprinting as she looked back, trying to see what was happening with Oliver and Yasmin. Yasmin kicked out, catching Oliver's chin and sending him flying. Alea heard his body fall, then another little ping.

She made it to the balcony before Yasmin turned. Alea forced herself to not breathe as she moved around the glass at her feet.

"Where did you go, bitch? Do you think I won't find you? I don't care about anything now. I just want to kill you! You wrecked everything! Everything!"

Alea clung to the marbled walls, inching away from the door. She had to get to the trellis and hope that she could still make it to one of the trees that were planted close. When she'd been a child, she'd been able to make it to the ground by jumping from the railing to the tree and shimmying down. Her aunt and uncles had been horrified. Talib had called her a little monkey. Who knew the skill might come in handy now. God, would the branches even hold her?