My Great Escape Led Me to You (Emily Blair) novel Chapter 970

She slammed her fist into Larkin Porter’s face, putting every ounce of strength she had behind the punch.

For a split second, Emily Blair actually heard the sharp crack of her knuckles connecting with bone.

But no matter how hard she hit, she still couldn’t compare to Andrew Lane.

When Andrew hit him, Larkin went down, sprawled out on the floor.

When Emily landed her punch, Larkin only staggered, barely losing his balance.

Clutching his bruised cheek, Larkin glared at her, his voice low and venomous. “FUCK!”

Emily didn’t give him a chance to recover. She grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and hurled it at his face, then snatched up a feather duster and started whacking him with it as hard as she could.

Larkin kept cursing in his native tongue, growling and spitting out every insult he knew.

Whatever Emily could get her hands on, she used as a weapon. Larkin grew more and more furious, snapping, “Stop it! Stop! Enough!”

He raised his fist, about to swing at her.

She didn’t hesitate—her knee shot up and caught him squarely between the legs.

His face twisted in agony as he doubled over, both hands clutching himself, unable to even form words.

Emily finally stopped, chest heaving from the exertion, breath ragged.

Larkin shot her a murderous look, spitting out more curses in his own language.

Emily snorted. “Weren’t you the one who said I could hit you however I wanted? What, changing your mind now?”

His face turned red with shame and anger. “You—you went too far! I didn’t mean for you to actually do it!”

Emily’s expression hardened as she leaned in close. “Don’t ever bother me again.”

She straightened up, flicked her hair back, and turned to leave.

The moment her back was to Larkin, he muttered another curse through clenched teeth.

Elizabeth was barefoot, standing on the couch, belting out a ballad with her eyes squeezed shut: “I’d—DIE—FOR—LOVE! If I can’t have it all—”

It was heartbreak in its purest, most dramatic form—like someone mourning a dead husband, the kind of pain you’d need to be dumped by at least eighteen boyfriends to sing with such raw emotion.

In reality, though, Elizabeth had all the theory in the world and absolutely zero real-life experience.

Emily shut the door behind her, walked over, and, without hesitation, turned down the mic and lowered the music volume.

She was pretty sure if she’d stayed in that noise much longer, she’d have gone deaf.

It wasn’t until the music quieted that Elizabeth finally noticed someone had come in. She opened her eyes, spotted Emily, and waved, grabbing the extra microphone off the coffee table.

“Come on, sing with me!”

Emily took the mic but shook her head. “You go ahead. I’m good just listening.”

Elizabeth flopped down next to her. “Oh, come on. No one else is here! Sing however you want.”