Page 154 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

The other two.

Coming fast.

“Jerry? What the fuck?”

I grab the fallen intruder’s gun, and now hold a weapon in each hand. I step into the hallway just as a second man rounds the corner.

He’s bigger than the first. Bulkier. He raises his weapon, but I’m faster. I aim my main weapon at his center of mass and squeeze the trigger. The shot is loud, but I barely hear it.

The man staggers back.

“Fuck,” he gasps, bringing his gun up again.

I fire another time. Again aiming for his center of mass. He drops, screaming. “I’m hit! I’m hit!”

I hear frantic footsteps. The third man is trying to get away.

I race into the hall, leap past the fallen man, and hurry into the living room. I catch the third man at the door.

“Freeze!” I shout.

The third man stops, his hand on the door handle.

“Drop it,” I command, aiming my main gun at his center of mass, and holding the second weapon in his general direction.

He doesn’t. Instead, he spins around.

Everything slows down.

I fire wildly. This time he returns fire, and I feel a searing pain across my ribs as a bullet rips through my side.

I don’t stop. Can’t stop. I dive behind my couch.

Suddenly a big, bulky body is landing on top of me.

We crash into the wall. My guns skitter across the floor. I pivot so that I’m on top of him, and pin him to the floor.

“You picked the wrong fucking penthouse,” I growl, wrapping my hands around his throat.

He struggles, bringing a knee up sharply. Pain explodes in my ribs, but I hang on, slamming his head back against the floor.

“Who sent you?” I demand, digging my nails into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. “Was it Weiss? Morgan fucking Weiss?”

“Go to hell,” he spits.

I see his pistol lying abandoned on the floor not far from his head. I grab it and pistol whip him across the face. Blood sprays from his nose, splattering my shirt.

“Tell me who sent you,” I repeat.

He laughs, blood bubbling between his teeth. “No one. We just wanted to rob a rich fuck.”

I don’t entirely believe him, but I don’t have time to continue the interrogation. I hear movement behind me, past the couch that’s shielding me from the rest of the room.

With the butt of the weapon, I hit the man one last time in the head.

Then I swivel around and peer past the couch. I see the second man, crawling on the floor, trying to grab one of the weapons I dropped earlier.

I fire a shot that spiders the marble floor inches from his outstretched fingers. “Move again and the next one goes through your skull.”

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