Judging by stature alone, Micah guessed they were about equal in strength. He may have even been stronger than Jason with desperation on his side, but the fact of the matter was, Micah’s ankles were still bound together. Focused as he was on getting the gun, it wasn’t all that surprising Jason managed to knee him in the gut hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

Micah sucked in oxygen, resisting the urge to curl into himself, but the split-second distraction was all Jason needed to bring the gun down hard onto the side of his head.

Stars burst behind his eyes, and Micah had barely comprehended the fact that he’d been frickin’ pistol whipped before the gun was coming down again, just as hard, and connecting with his temple once more.

Micah blacked out for what was probably only seconds, but seconds was all the time Jason needed to climb atop his prone form, knees on either side of Micah’s torso, caging him in. Jason continued to cuss him out even as Micah bled sluggishly from the head, dazed from what was probably a concussion in the making.

Looking back, it was a miracle Micah even heard it over Jason’s temper tantrum and the ringing in his ears: the sound of the front door creaking open and the telltale click clack of high heels against the wood floor.

Jason heard it, too, stiffening above him.

Micah turned his head from his spot pinned beneath the man just in time to see Caprice, sharp features uncharacteristically expressive in their shock, drop a bottle of wine onto the floor.

Crash.

Its shattered remains joined the rest of the glass on the floor.

For a moment, all was quiet. Then-

“What the fuck is going on here?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Caprice’s voice was dangerously soft, but Micah had to give Jason credit – the man didn’t flinch. In fact, he recovered from her unexpected arrival rather commendably.

Giving Micah a quick once-over, and apparently deciding he’d scrambled his brains enough that he was no longer a threat, he climbed off him. “I thought you were having a spa day with Renata.”

Jason sounded awfully accusing for someone who’d just been caught red-handed in the middle of a murder attempt.

“Renata got sick so we had to cut it short.” A pause. “Why is Micah tied up in our living room, bleeding out on my Martin Brudnizki rug?”

On one hand, she sounded more pissed about the rug than the fact that Micah was hurt. On the other hand, Micah was pretty sure that was the first time he’d ever actually heard her say his name when referring to him – so maybe she did care… at least a little.

“And what the fuck did you do to the coffee table?”

You know, probably.