hand, stunned. “You’d shoot me?”
“I’ve done worse than kill a whore.”
I blink a few times, thinking I’m imagining things. Thinking the gun is actually a lipstick or something innocent. Yet five blinks later, I still have a 9mm pointing at my chest. I look up into her eyes, cold eyes, and shake my head in disbelief. “You think killing the woman he loves is going to win him over?”
She advances, her hand steady. “The chances of him loving me are a lot more likely without you around.” She disengages the safety. “I need him. More than you do. I’m dead out there without him.”
“You’re insane.”
“That’s what happens when you hold out for years on a man. I will have him. No one will stop me. Not you, not him, and not—” Amber loses her line when she’s barged from the side, taking a tumble to the floor on a loud thump. She drops the gun, and I watch as it’s kicked away. I expect to find Danny when I look up. I don’t.
Esther is glaring at Amber as she scrambles to her feet, a look of pure disdain tarnishing her usually clear complexion. “Get out,” Danny’s mother seethes, throwing an arm toward the door. “You’ve long overstayed your welcome.”
Amber, her forehead heavy with a frown, pulls herself to her heels, never taking her cautious eyes off Esther, who is positively thrumming with anger. “Why do you care?” Amber asks, darting her eyes to me.
“Because if my son wants to keep her out of harm’s way, then I do too. If my son wants you gone, then I do too.”
Amber’s shock is embedded in every pore. “Your son?”
Esther moves in, slowly and intimidatingly, backing Amber into the corner. “Be warned, you gold-digging, power-tripping slut. I will tear you to shreds if you’re not out of this house in one minute.”
“You’re his mother?”
“Get out,” Esther hisses, moving back. “Or so help me God, I’ll—”
“What’s going on?” Danny appears, and I drink in air, bracing myself for the extended showdown. His gaze jumps between the three of us, lines perfectly straight across his forehead. I’m quiet. Esther backs up even more, falling into the subservient mode I’m familiar with. Amber, though . . .
She’s quick off the mark, quick to get her version of events across. She practically disintegrates on the spot, tears springing from her eyes like they were ordered on demand. Because they were. “Danny,” she breathes, shaking her head in a really amazing display of despair. “I was just—”
“Shut up, Amber. I told you I wanted you gone.” He doesn’t give her a chance to spill her lies. Walking calmly across the room, he lowers to his haunches and picks up the gun, turning it over in his hand a few times, inspecting it closely. Anyone would think he’d never seen one before. Looking up, still crouched, he holds it out. “Whose is this?”
I keep my mouth shut. I’m not a squealer, and Esther seems to have taken the same road as me, because she’s quiet too. Both of us still and silent, letting it play out without our input or intervention. Danny knows. Danny knows everything.
He slowly rises and wanders over to Amber. She’s quaking now, her back against the wall. “Did you pull a gun on my mother? Or was it my fiancée?”
The beauty of that word doesn’t get the chance to warm me. I’m too cold, too wary. Amber pastes herself tighter against the wall, fear filling her eyes and replacing the fake tears.
Danny shoves the gun into Amber’s chest, his jaw vibrating with fury. “For the last time, get out of my house.”
“She’s a rat,” Amber blurts desperately. “She was conspiring to take you down.”
“She took me down,” Danny breathes. “You’re nothing more than a slut I used when I needed to fuck without giving a fuck. Now, get the fuck out of my house.”
“But, Danny, I—”
Bang.
“Shit,” I yell, as I hear a screech. Then I wait for the thump of a body hitting the floor.
It doesn’t come. But my ears are suddenly ringing with Amber screaming.
“Out,” Danny growls.
And then she’s running. Because unless she’s really stupid, by now she should know that with Danny Black, there are no second chances.
Danny stares at the gun for a short while, before flicking the safety on and placing it on the coffee table. He turns to me, looking impassive, like he hasn’t just fired a gun at his ceiling. “About that TV time.” He points to the couch.