The Right to Bear Arms: BBW Military Paranormal Romance (Wild Operatives, #1) by Vivienne Savage Page B

did the work. Where’s my hug?” Taylor demanded.
    “Get your own woman,” Russ muttered to him.
    I couldn’t help myself. I peeled myself off Russ and hugged his friend tight. “It looks amazing!”
    “Damn straight it does.” Taylor lifted me off my feet for a brief spin then passed me back over into Russ’ arms. “Well, I do believe my work here is done.”
    “You hold on a sec. Need to talk to you about something,” I heard Russ saying to his friend as I wandered around my vehicle again, touching and stroking the flawless paint job. “Dani, I made reservations for us. You wanna go change?” he asked me.
    “Should I drive the car home?”
    “Hell yeah. Take it home and change. I’ll be over in a sec.” He passed my new revolver to me with the safety on. I would have forgotten and left it with him if he didn’t.
    We’d already talked and discussed the possibility of enrolling myself into a concealed handgun class. With my new S&W, I felt more confident about carrying for my protection. I drove my new-to-me car home, squealing joyously the entire way like a child on Christmas. I even triggered the alarm the moment I shut the car door.
    Once inside, I set my shiny revolver on the kitchen counter and darted upstairs to my bedroom to change. A quick rummage in the closet provided a cream, off-the-shoulder dress with a billowy bodice. The perfect amount of cleavage.
    I let my hair down and misted it with lavender water to refresh my curls. Russ appreciated my casual looks, adored me without makeup, and simply liked me for being me. With him, I could be myself.
    Had I ever felt so in love with Michael? A giddy feeling overtook me until I giggled crazily in the bathroom. I applied some sweet, peach-flavored gloss to my lips and admired my hair again. My dress emphasized my cleavage and tits.
    “Maybe just a little make-up.” I peered down into the makeup kit and selected a brush for my eyeshadow palette. When I glanced up again, a frowning face peered back at me through the mirror. There was a man standing behind me in the open bathroom door to my bedroom. I shrieked and whirled around to face my ex-husband in the most unlikely place I ever expected to find him. My home. Mike was in my home, violating the private sanctity of my new residence.
    “You look like a slut.” Mike’s gaze lingered on my breasts. He was at least ten pounds thinner. His gaunt face had hollowed a bit, and his bloodshot eyes told a tale I knew well. He’d been up all night drinking and the binge had extended to the day. The smell of tequila wafted off him and assaulted my nose. Shit. Why hadn’t I set the house alarm, too?
    “I look great. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? No one else wants to put up with your shit, right?”
    The shotgun was in my closet, behind Mike, and far out of my reach. All I had at hand was a jar of cream eyeshadow and an Avon make-up brush with a tapered black handle.
    I could make a stand here and now. I weighed more than he did and I knew how to deliver a punch now. Those thoughts of dispensing physical justice died as quickly as they were formed though once I saw the gun tucked into his waist. Fists and a makeup brush weren’t any match for a firearm.
    A terrifying realization occurred, bringing with it a flash of cold understanding that struck me like ice water. A man only arrived at his ex-wife’s house with a gun for one reason, and one reason only. He’d kill me whether I fought or not.
    Two years ago, I would have cowered. I rushed him instead and shoved all of my weight behind my hand. The blunt end of the makeup brush sank into his shoulder. He punched me and screamed in pain, but my sudden attack gave me the upper hand. With my weight, I knocked him over and darted into the hall.
    “You bitch!”
    Get downstairs, get downstairs. The alarm Ian had installed included a panic button. I could activate it from the box beside the door or my phone — which I had left in my car with my purse.