I exhale a long, pained hiss and draw both sets of eyes. Whipped puppy versus pitiable puppy.Let’s play.“Ouch! Anna.” I make a show of holding my bad arm. “I really should get this finished before swelling sets in.”
Carter’s eyes darken. “When did you say your last fight was?”
“I’ll call you sometime!” Anna pushes the fucker onto her porch and into the biting wind, and though he puts his hand out to stop her from closing the door in his face, she’s fast and determined. She whips it around and slams it with a noisy, wall-shaking boom, then she spins on her heels and plasters her back to the wood. “Oh. My. God.”
“You’re just a regular little liar, aintcha, Anna Maxwell?” Chuckling, I limp back to the couch and drop onto the cloud-like cushions with a harrumph. Part agonizing hiss, part too-tired sigh. Closing my eyes, I release the last of my energy and slump onto my side. “Dude wants to fuck you so bad, and you’re drier than the Sahara Desert every time he looks at you.”
“Crude. Rude.” She strides away from the door and leans over the back of the couch. I don’t bother opening my eyes, but Ifuckingfeelher. “Wildly inappropriate. We don’t even know each other, so what makes you so confident you can say such a disgusting thing?”
“Don’t know each other?” I swing my good arm out and grab her narrow, pulse-pounding wrist. With a fast yank, I tear her over the back of the couch and down until her hundred pounds crash against my body, crushing the ribs already bruised and—possibly—a little broken. “I thought you were my sister?” I drag my too-tired eyes open and snag the television remote. Flicking away from the news and onto something else,anything else,I catch the first Hunger Games movie already started, so I hit play and continue where Anna last left off. “Detective SmallDick wants to date my baby sister.” I rest my hand on her hip, exactly where a brother shouldnottouch his sister. “But you have absolutely no desire to go anywhere near him.” Tossing the remote, I twist half an inch and search her wary eyes. “You could just say no, ya know? It’s pretty simple.”
“It’snotsimple!”
She fights to climb free of my grip, so I grab her braid and yank her back down again.
Landing with athwump, she jams her fist into my side and searches desperately for an escape.I mean, we did just meet thirty minutes ago!“I work with him,” she grunts. “A lot. Our professional relationship would become awkward if I harmed his ego by formally declining his dinner invitations.”
“Moreawkward than this current game wherehechases,yourun away, andIbecome the big brother who likes how his sister looks in tight jeans?”
She shoves up and reveals pale cheeks, her eyes scouring mine and tightening as I walk my fingers just a little south of her hipbone.
“W-were you serious about being a fighter? Carter’s a detective, and you gave your real name, so if he went back to work and looked you up…?”
“He’d find a dude who loses only about half the time.” I flash a bright,possibly-charming smile. “Although I didn’tjustfinish a tournament. Technically, I was on my way to a tournament, so if he looks too deep and runs the numbers, he might pick that apart and get a little pissy.”
“O-on your way?” she stammers, her pulse thrumming wildly against the delicate skin on her neck. “So, you fight for a living? That means you’re pretty good at hurting people, huh?”
I’ve seen this look before, the one that says a woman is terrified. Guilt bites at my intestines, so instead of pulling her down once more, I release her completely.
You’re safe with me, pretty girl. I promise.
“I hurt my opponent.” I close my eyes to combat the dizziness determined to take me out after an evening from hell. “It’s a sport, Anna. It’s legit. I don’t hurt anyone outside of that.”
“When do you have to be wherever you need to be?” She clumsily climbs off the couch, stopping in the gap between me and the coffee table. “You’ll leave tomorrow to get there?”
“No.” The ibuprofen finally takes hold, minimizing the worst of my pain. Sort of. Not really. “Can’t fight with a busted shoulder, which means I forfeit this year, I guess. Sucks.” Pain and nausea keep me company, joining exhaustion and bone-deep weariness, as I float toward unconsciousness. “Can’t make a living in the cage if I don’t even compete.”
FOUR
ANNA
Ihave a man in my house.
I have a bruised, bleeding, professional fighter sleeping on my couch, and apart from the actual freakin’ fear that he might kill me when I’m not looking, I face a slew of other risks too.
Like, it’s possible he might die at some point in the next twelve hours, because I didn’t insist on taking him to the hospital. It’s also possible I’ll be charged—regardless of whether he lives or dies—for my participation in a car accident resulting in grievous bodily harm… andnotreporting it.
If I’m charged, I face disciplinary action, and worst-case, being disbarred.
Additionally, I have a wedding to attend in seven days; if I don’t turn up, Melanie will besomad.
And let’s not ignore those annoying, stabbing instincts in the base of my belly that wonders… why, on the same night three wanted felons flee a multi-million-dollar crime scene, was Dean on the road… allegedly exercising… in a ski mask, jeans, and boots?
Exercising, my ass.
I sneak out my front door early the next morning, tiptoeing past my unconscious—but still alive—guest, with a piping hot coffee in one hand, and my phone clasped tightly in the other. I slept about thirty seconds in total last night, and those thirty seconds left me sweating and squirming from the killer-clown-is-coming-to-get-you nightmares.
Because I have an injured, and potentially very dangerous, stranger in my house!
