Page 38 of Fighting for Scarlett

The thump of each beat of her heart.

Was it supposed to be that loud?

Was it supposed to be that painful?

Or was the pain coming from her back and not her heart?

“Are you shot?” Tate demanded as a featherlight touch whispered over her back right across the epicenter of her pain.

Sucking in a breath, she flinched away from the touch. Light as it was, it felt like a burning poker aggravating her bullet wound.

“They were going to kill you,” she mumbled as a way of explanation.

“You don’t ever do something so stupid,” he raged, and she wondered why he was yelling at her.

Was she supposed to let him get shot?

That seemed mean even if he had been nothing but nasty to her. Two wrongs didn't make a right, and in this case, they would have made a dead body.

Tate’s dead body.

Why was she even surprised that she’d just saved his life and he was still angry with her?

Didn't seem to matter what she did, that man she’d spent the best night of her life with had vanished, and she was no longer sure he had ever even existed at all.

“You were unconscious,” she reminded him. With great effort, she shifted in her seat so she was upright again instead of sprawled across it. Catching a glance at his face as she sunk down into the soft leather, Scarlett was surprised by the fear in his stunning eyes.

Was he angry or afraid?

“Doesn’t matter.” Tate blinked and the fear was gone, replaced by what she was used to seeing, cold disinterest.

“So, I should have just let you die?” Maybe pushing him wasn’t the best move to make right now, but she was hurting, she was sick of being accused of things she didn't do, she was sick of Raul sending people after her, and she’d reached her limit. Apparently, at the end of her limit was a whole big pile of anger just waiting to be ignited.

Tate was the match.

The spark that was going to set her off if he didn't stop saying stupid things.

“Did you kill them?” she asked when he didn't respond. Instead, he tried to get the car to start up again.

A grunt sounded like an affirmative so she relaxed a little.

Only a little. The cops would be here soon, the gunfire would have woken neighbors who would have called it in. Once they got there, she’d be taken back into custody. Probably not by the local police department, but some agency would take her in.

“I don’t think your car can drive,” she said when he managed to get the engine to start.

Ignoring her as he always seemed to—unless he had more insults to hurl at her—he merely jerked the car into reverse, and it stuttered backward.

“Why are we leaving? The cops will be here any moment.”

“Because the cops will be here any moment,” he said.

Scarlett frowned. “Right, I just said that. I would have thought you wanted me arrested,” she said.

All she got was another growl, and then he was somehow driving the mangled car.

“I don’t get it. Where are we going?”

“My place.”

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