Spinning on my heel, I walk and place myself in front of him.
“Stance.” His voice is grit and steel. The muscles of his arms flex as he closes his hands into fists. I watch as he swallows hard, the Adam's apple in his neck bobbing, the tendons straining. He looks like he’s in pain as he stands in front of me.
“Rory.” Jameson’s tone is wary.
“Don’t worry, big boy,” I taunt. “I can take care of myself.” I’m not sure which one I’m talking to—maybe both—but it’s Jameson who holds up his hands in surrender.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Both of you.” Jameson shakes his head and moves to the outskirt of the room.
I crack my neck and get into position, finding my balance and bringing my own fists up, ready to fight. Ready to own Rory’s very fine ass. It’s not like I haven’t noticed. Those taut cheeks practically call my name every time he saunters past. I’ve wanted to grab his ass more than once already and… I immediately hate where my thoughts are off to again.
My own muscles coil as I prepare to strike. I just know I need to be the best I’ve ever been in this fight against Rory. There’s no way in hell I’ll let him put me on my ass. Not unless he follows me down.
There’s proving myself to Tylin and then there’s proving myself to Rory. Tylin needs to see my value on his team. He needs to know I’m capable. With Rory, it’s deeper. I have to earn his trust and respect first. On some level—some very small, almost inconspicuous level—Tylin respects me as an assassin. Rory, on the other hand, has zero care for me as an assassin or as a human being.
I can’t explain why I feel the need to earn my place on their so-called team. I mean, why does this feel so important? It shouldn’t. I’ve been a loner my entire life. I don’t need anyone. I don’t need them.
Except I do. I need to know what’s going on. And they’re the key. It’smylife on the line now, and I’m pretty damn fond of living.
Rory stands in front of me, unmoving. He’s a mountain of a man and impressive muscle lines every part of him. His eyes are glued on me. The weight of them is heavy and prickles against my skin. My body is aware of every inch of him.
Without waiting another second, I jump into action, and throw a punch into his stomach. His very defined stomach. The contact hurts my hands. Fuck. What does he have, abs of fucking steel?
I growl and throw a few kicks and jabs, each one landing on some part of his body as he stands still. The only sign that he’s even paying attention is the tic of his jaw.
Rage pumps into my bloodstream.
“I’m not weak and I’m not a leper. You can freakin’ touch me.” I grind my own teeth this time, working my jaw. Backing up and lifting my arms again to block my face. If anyone was going to take a cheap shot and go for the face, it’d probably be this guy. His contempt for me is thick in the air. I just don’t understand why. Sure, I was sent to kill him, but we’re all still breathing. So far.
I mean, how long is he going to hold that little tidbit over my head? We’re all adults here. Get over it already.
Without taking his eyes off of mine. He lifts his hands.
“Finally.” I give him a taunting grin.
Except he doesn’t put his hands up to block his face. Instead, he holds them, bent at the elbow, out from his body, palms to the ceiling. I feel the pull of energy before I realize that he’s cheating and using his power. It’s the one rule to our little fight club, and he’s breaking it.
Asshole.
But I don’t stop him, too eager to see what his power is. My heart sinks, just a little, at the thought that I won’t get to search his body for his mark myself.
Spoilsport.
Before I can drop my fighting pose, the pictures start rattling on the walls. Images of a happy family with smiling faces lined in thick black frames. Memories of days gone by. They crash to the ground, glass shattering. The floor rumbles below me and I look around, worried about the variable earthquake that’s happening around us.
The couches that have been pushed to the side wall lift into the air, straight off the floor, as does the pool table. Each colored, and striped ball takes flight. The pool cues rattle in their holder, joining the cacophony of floating items that start swirling through the air around Rory and I. Waves of nearly invisible energy push from his big palms.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I yell over the din of stuff that’s whirl pooling around us. “Telekinesis?” My hair whips around my face, obstructing my view of the lethal weapon of a man that stands across from me.
I cross my arms once more, arching an eyebrow. Luckily, I hold that pose before the pool cues gather around Rory, thin end aimed in my direction. He lets them fly.
I try not to react as he lets them soar at me. I don’t even blink before they fly past my head, hitting the far wall with a resounding thud.
He drops everything then, releasing his hold on the objects still aloft in the room.
The couch crashes to the floor, falling on its back, the pool balls scatter and roll across the carpet. The pool table he sets down with more care. It’s impressive that he can control each item individually, but I don’t say that. I don’t say anything. My heart beats a million miles a minute in my chest, but I don’t let on to that either.
“You cheated,” I say more calmly than I feel.
