Page 97 of Precious Legacy

He huffs in response, the pads of his fingers still making that incessant sound. “Then you can listen.”

I spin around almost too fast for my vision to catch up. I cut him a glare, an incredulous expression arching my brows. Roman should know better than to demand anything from me, especially now, and I’m not one for obeying him so easily.

Turning my attention back to the coffee machine, I press the button to pour out a heavy measure of caffeine into my mug. “You lied to me,” I accuse sharply.

“You undermined me,” he snaps back, making me seethe. “Your brother and I have a job to do, and it was under control until you?—”

“Saved him?” I punch a hand to my hip in emphasis because Roman can give me excuse after excuse, but the truth is, he overstepped. He should know that, but now we’re in a battle of wills. We both think we’re right, and until we come to an agreement, it’s always going to be like this.

“He can have me kicked out of the academy!”

“For once, this isn’t about you, Lani!”

Ouch.

“Prescott is working for the Russians. He’s being paid to take us out, and we needed to send a message!”

“By taking his fucking eye out?” I scream at him, ignoring the painful insinuation that I’m being selfish—because right now, I know I am.

Roman grips the edge of the counter, and it’s then that I see the unabated rage surfacing. It’s not just anger, but irritation. Both of which I’ve caused.

“You said you wanted to keep out of this side of things,” he says with a calmness that doesn’t feel like Roman at all. It’s like he’s trying to suppress the urge to shout at me, even if I’m pushing his buttons.

“I do! But right now, our lives are overlapping. What you did tonight is going to come back onme, Roman! Why don’t you see that?”

“Because it doesn’t matter!”

I gape back at him as we fall into an excruciating silence. The tension between us grows thicker, to the point it’s clouding my head and making my chest ache. I can’t think clearly. I can’t breathe without the sharp pain in my chest. It feels like betrayal, only worse. Like Roman doesn’t believe in me; like he never has. He was someone I thought was supporting my decisions, someone I could rely on when I felt like my family would never understand.

Was that all a lie?

Are we a lie?

“I want you to leave,” I whisper, hating how much my voice cracks under those words.

His approach slows, eyes watching my every movement as I create space between us. It’s almost as if he’s planning his next move. His plump lips curl into a smirk that’s both sexy and irritating. “How about I remind you how I know that’s a lie.”

“Roman,” I warn, reaching for my gun resting on the countertop in front of me. I know what he’s doing. Rage bubbles inside of me and I can feel the heat of it coat my cheeks as myfingers twitch. I don’t want to take this route, but he’s pushed things too far and I’m on the cusp of letting all my emotions spill out. I don’t want him to see that side of me, not again.

He doesn’t listen, though. Roman steps forward again, forcing me to draw my gun and point it in his direction. Though it’s aimed over his shoulder, I’m not above firing it off just to prove a point. He glances at it like it’s a toy’ as if it couldn’t harm him, even if I wanted it to. I know him well enough to recognize that he only sees this as a game. We’ve done this dance before, and it didn’t end well for me last time.

Actually, that’s a lie, but I’m still trying to forget about how he made me come with my own weapon.

“Presh,” he soothes, stepping closer until the barrel of the gun is so obviouslynotpointed at him that he laughs. “Don’t tempt me with a good time. I’d love nothing more than for you to wear my blood.”

He’s mocking me and I hate it.

“I mean it!” I bark, though my shaking hand is a contradiction to my words. It’s taking everything within me to keep calm right now and resist repositioning the gun on him. The fact that he even followed me back from the club is enraging, not to mention his taunts. I don’t want to be within two miles of Roman right now, because the mere thought of what he’s done is enough for me to want to pull the trigger.Obviously, I wouldn’t kill him, just maim him a little.

His hand closes around mine, and I swallow heavily as his lithe, tattooed fingers click the magazine release button. The magazine falls to the floor with a clatter that makes me jump. The distraction is enough for Roman to swipe the gun out of my hands and spin me around until I’m bent over the kitchen island, my cheek pressed against the cold surface.

“I’m beginning to regret buying you this,” he comments, placing the gun beside my head.

A huff mixed with a whine escapes my throat.There goes my self-control.

I hate that he remembers he gave me my first gun.

I hate that I still have it.

---