“Tell me, Ethan—have you lost enough blood to write an obituary for your bastard?”
Ethan’s black eyes bore into me, unreadable.
Moments later, the knife clattered to the floor.
He laughed, then turned and slapped his men across the face.
“You think you’re worthy of pointing a gun at my wife? Put those down!”
He glanced at the gaping wound on his arm, almost down to the bone, then looked back at me.
“Got it all out of your system yet?
Anna, we’re still husband and wife. I’ll let it go this time. Next time you go crazy, think carefully about who you’re targeting.”
Mr. Harris came forward with a tray, carrying the fetus that had just been taken from Grace.
I smashed the tray into Ethan’s face.
“Take your dog and your bastard—and get out.”
Ethan scooped Grace into his arms, his eyes flicking to the thin cut across my neck.
I had been so exhilarated earlier that I nearly lost my chance to slice him open myself.
The blade had left a shallow red mark across my throat.
He reached out as if to touch it, but I pulled away.
“Some dirty diseases can be transmitted through blood. Don’t contaminate me.”
He ignored the curse in my words.