The Billionaire’s Marriage Of Deception

Amanda didn’t hesitate before obeying, even if she felt awkward shoving the chairs aside to hide under the table like a little kid. Michael wasn’t getting any answer on his phone, and he cursed under his breath as he moved towards the front door. Amanda saw him pick up the gun and heard the sound of a round being loaded in the chamber, and prickles of fear ran down her back.

“Fu*k,” Michael muttered, tucking the phone away. “Get upstairs, Amanda. Get in one of the closets and don’t come out until I tell you, no matter what you hear. Got that?”

On shaky legs, Amanda clambered back out from under the table her ample hips catching on a splinter in the table leg and making her wince. Michael was by the front door, gun held out low in a two-handed grip. He turned off the light switch, and Amanda blinked in the sudden darkness. “Go!” Michael demanded in a low voice.

Amanda turned tail and felt her way to the stairs, banging her elbow on the railing before she found her footing. There was a little bit of moonlight coming in through the windows that weren’t still boarded up, but not enough to see much by.

There were no sounds from outside, nothing but the creak of the front door opening, and Amanda was suddenly terrified about what Michael might be facing out there. She’d somehow forgotten the real reason Michael was here, and as it all came back to her in a rush, it made her knees weak. Wyatt’s man should be out there somewhere too, watching. Should she text him? She decided to text him, fishing frantically for her phone which was on a chain around her neck. She typed SOS hoping that would suffice.

Fumbling at the railing, Amanda got up the stairs and into the bedroom. The moonlight was sliding into the room through the small opening between the balcony doors, making it a little easier to see. Amanda frowned, pausing in the doorway of the largest closet. She hadn’t gone out on the balcony earlier, and Michael hadn’t even come upstairs to shower yet. How come they were—

“Don’t move.”

The voice wasn’t Michael’s, and that alone had Amanda’s heart racing. The quiet click that accompanied it had her freezing in terror.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a dark figure emerging from the shadows of the second, empty closet. As it moved closer, it resolved into a man with a gun, pointed right at Amanda.

Amanda’s mouth went completely dry.

There was no sound for a moment except Amanda’s harsh breaths and the ever-faster pounding of her heartbeat. Then the gunman moved forward and gestured with the gun. “Turn around. Hands on top of your head.”

Amanda wanted to voice a protest, wanted to refuse to turn her back on an armed man, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the gun. She couldn’t have told anyone what the man looked like who was holding it, only the moonlight reflecting off the sleek black metal and the dark, empty maw of the muzzle pointing at her.