The proximity made Joyce recall the scene in the car where he put his arm around her. She can't help but feel hot in the face.
"Just because I can shoot doesn't mean I can fight. Otherwise you would have been taken down long ago." A woman's strength was naturally inferior, and with him who was strong enough, she was completely unable to move.
"How long have you been learning to shoot?" He asked.
"Six years." She wasn't shy about it.
Luther's pupils contracted, six years, just six years of emptiness. What the hell had she been doing for those six years? And where did she learn to shoot? And what was her relationship with Justin?
He let go of her, and there was an unreadable complexity in his eyes.
Today, because of her, he was out of danger. He believed for the moment that she was harmless to him.
Luther was a little tired and reclined in bed. Having lost blood, he needed to rest and adjust.
Joyce sat up from the bed, poured herself a glass of water, and asked him, "Do you want some water?"
He closed his eyes and nodded gently.
Joyce handed over a glass of water.
He didn't pick up.
Did he want her to feed him? Joyce was surprised. Forgot about it. Since they would be divorced tomorrow, she had no choice but help him for the last time.
She brought the glass to Luther's lips, tilting it slightly to let the water flow into his mouth.
The knot in his sexy throat rolled.
"How can we sleep with only one bed? Or you can give me the car key and I'll sleep in the car." Joyce suggested.
Luther said lightly, "How do you sleep with a broken car glass?"
Joyce pretended a unnatural smile. What should she do, sleep in the same bed with him?
"What are you worried about?" He snorted, "I'm tired. Plus, what do you think I'd do to a woman who's getting a divorce with me tomorrow?"
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