Welcome to mine.
I kick my boots off and shrug off my jacket, needing as much skin exposure as possible. I’d strip down further if I could, but I want to kill them, not fuck them.
Let’s say that a little louder for my overactive sex drive in the back.
On assured steps, I walk up to him, my chin held high and he stands to match my stance. His height towers over me but it doesn’t distract my confidence.
In my life, I’ve broken my arm twice, fractured my nose once, and dislocated my shoulder more times than I can count.
Kioko, the woman who took care of me, died when I was fourteen. I was right back on the city streets again, fending for myself.
Everyone in my life dies ...
Apparently, Tylin didn’t do as much research on me as he thought.
For if he had, he’d know that I was a fighter long before I was an assassin.
Dark shorts hang from his hips. The rest of his hard body is exposed, revealing a jagged scar down one side of his ribs and just the tips of the angling black ink between his hips. My arms and shoulders are exposed and will help me with my grip. Leather pants cling to my curves and for once, I thank the tight material rather than curse it.
Rory has the good sense to step back toward the stairs as he wipes the blood from his face. He’s attractive in an unconventionally dangerous way. There’s a scar beneath his brooding eyes and though he’s not fighting, there’s still tension in his every movement.
The three men linger on the steps. Jameson has made himself comfortable, lounging on the bottom step as he watches us with interest. I note that his legs are spread wide in ablow meposition. Mason leans against the wall, quietly watching.
Tylin’s lips part with a hint of amusement and just before he speaks, I ball my fist and connect with the side of his pretty face.
It lands with a satisfying and slick sound.
I slip back from him as quickly as I came. My body snaps into a defensive position and I almost want to laugh at the astounded look on his face.
“Armond came to me. Did you know that?” I taunt him with my words as I stalk around him like a vulture ready to eat. “He solicited me into the Lifeless League. When I was a teenager, I earned a name for myself in only one way in my life. I was a fighter. A very, very skilled fighter, Ty.”
He shakes his head like he can’t imagine me earning money by fighting.
“Seems to me that you’re just pretty good at landing a sucker punch.” His gaze rakes across my body, setting my nerves into a furious rage.
Would it just completely crush him to give me a compliment? This guy’s not going to give me anything easily.
“I’ll have you know—” That’s all of the epic argument that I have.
Because then his body slams into mine. His arms wrap around my torso, forcing me to the floor. Just like I thought I wanted. I get to find out first hand—for the second time—what it’d feel like to be captive beneath dark, brooding Tylin.
My back lands on the carpeted floor with a jarring thud. Every hard inch of him covers my body. He’s wrapped around me in a harness of strength and power. His skin is slick against mine and his features are set into a look of determination. He doesn’t dare harm me though. He doesn’t lift a hand against me. If anything, he seems to have tried to take the brunt of the fall as he holds my body against his.
What a weird thing to do.
My legs lock around his lean hips and his gaze flares to life. And just like that, primal instinct overpowers basic intelligence.
Every time.
At the last second, I slam my head into his. I shove off from the ground and push him until his back is against the floor. A nagging thought in my mind tells me it was all too easy. My brows crease for only a second before I lean over him, holding his hands in place against the carpet. They’re slack beneath mine, held just above his head. I like him like this; held beneath me. My body is nicely against his. Harsh breaths fan against my lips. We stare at each other, our gazes assessing on another for what feels like longer than a moment.
Suddenly, with his hips positioned just beneath mine, my heartbeat is louder than the pounding music in the room.
“You’re more than just a decent fighter,” he finally says.
The simple statement makes me soar with happiness but my features remain impassive.
“And?”
