𝐑𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐨 | 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝟐

𝟏

The boy in a ski mask stops, giving her a What the fuck are you talking about? look. "You might just what?"

"Repeat that for me," I demand.

She moves her left hand from Zach—good—and puts it on her hip, challenging me.

I feel truly offended deep down. I'm not used to people not listening to me. At the end of the day, it's just Zach and I. I do what I want and he also does what I want.

Focus. Focus. Fuck. Focus. Fuck it.

The adrenaline is too damn much. I aim the gun downward and I shoot her in her leg, disabling her.

The man's eyes bulge in horror.  "Shit!"

He runs over to the girl and picks her up.

I debate on untying Zach and running after them. I think Zach reads my bamboozled expression because he jerks his head toward the man and woman.

Before I can do anything, they're already in front of the elevator.

I shoot my gun but he dodges every bullet. Until I'm out of bullets.

My eyes start to water. "No, no, no! Not now! What the fuck! Zach!"

I feel like I'm drowning. I was so close. So close to the surface and I just sunk. I feel like that happens a lot. My whole life.

I chuck the gun at the elevator but I hear a thud meaning it hit the wall. I can't see it because of the tears blurring my eyesight.

Zach watches the elevator door close as he speaks. "Hey, love, it's okay, just come untie me."

"No," I mutter.

I scurry to my purse and find my phone.

I call Evans but I don't give her a chance to speak when she picks up. "Don't let anyone in or out."

"Wh—" Is she really about to ask me why right now? I sigh.

"Yes, Mrs. Ritzo," she complies, picking up on my frustration.

I slam my phone down on the table and run over to my husband.

I kiss his cheek apologetically over and over. "I'm so sorry, Zach."

I rip through the knots with my bare hands. Adrenaline can really do that to you.

My tense shoulders only loosen when he places his free and assuring hands on them. "It's okay, we're okay. We're alive."

He pulls me onto his lap and kisses my lips multiple times. I open my mouth at the same time he does, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

He pulls back a little to whisper, "And you look so good in that fucking skirt."

I begin to chuckle as I become putty in his arms—relaxed, doubtless putty.

I lay my head down on his large shoulder, my blonde hair falling down his chest.

"Where was your gun?" I ask, playing with the collar of his shirt.

"I was working on making you a sandwich because I thought you'd be hungry," he starts.

Food, I conceive as my stomach begins to growl.

"Oh, I'm starving. And my stomach agrees if you haven't noticed."

He snorts as he stands up and scoops me up with him, carrying me bridal style.

"We can talk about this while I make you a grilled cheese," he offers.