“You’re not very big. I think it would be rather easy.”
She scoffs.
I move around her then lunge at her back. I grab her shoulders.
She lets out a yelp and swings at me. The bright light flashes across my face. I pry her phone out of her hand and dance away, a laugh bursting out. She raises her hand to block it when I shine it at her face.
“Come on, then.” I turn and saunter away, the flashlight arcing across the floor in front of me. She’ll just have to follow in my shadow. I leave her in the dust and find the breaker. There’s a switch for the generator outside, which is how they lit this place up for the fight.
The hum of electricity makes the building seem to come alive around me, and I come around the corner to find Scarlett standing in the center of the huge main room. She’s climbed up into the cage and spins in a slow circle.
“Intimidating, isn’t it?” I hop the steps and snag the door with my fingers, swinging it shut behind us.
She jumps. “A little.”
I smirk.
“Okay.” She rubs her hands together. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Faster we do it, faster you get to go home?”
She nods emphatically.
I laugh. It’s not true. I’m going to keep her here until I’m satisfied she won’t be a worm on a hook for the people coming after her, whether we jump right into it or have a little foreplay first.
Instead of revealing that, though, I appraise her. She’s wearing a long beige coat, a fuzzy scarf tucked into it, tight jeans, and fashion ankle boots with a low heel. Her hair is loose around her shoulders. Before we left the house, I made her switch out her glasses for contacts but still.
Tactically, this is all shit that will get her killed.
I could wrap her easy-to-catch locks of hair in my fingers and yank her around, strangle her with the scarf wrapped around her pretty throat, or get her all tangled up in that coat and trap her arms or pin her thighs…
“Strip.”
Her eyes grow wide.
Another thought occurs to me: her panic was visceral when she was facing the douche canoe who shall not be named. She was shaking and frozen.
I need to figure out what else will make her freeze. Or throw her intoflightmode. And then, I suppose, teach her how to fight through it.
Ugh.
I tap my foot on the mat. It’s weird to be standing here in shoes, but I have a feeling Scar–I should not call her that–would resort to foot stomping, especially when I grab her from behind.
“Are you going to follow my directions or just stare at me?”
“I’m cold,” the liar says.
“Your cheeks are flushed.”
“I’m just nervous.”
I burst into motion, crossing the cage and getting in her space in an instant. I grab at her oversized coat, bunching the fabric in my hands. It’s easy to catch her sleeves without holding onto her wrists, and I pin them behind her back with one hand. My other hand grasps her scarf and twists just a little, allowing the fabric to tighten around her neck.
She gasps.
“See that?” I get in her face. “You’re a walking victim, Scar.”
She flinches a little.
