The sound of someone running filled the alley, footsteps thundering like a battering ram. My sister spun around, eyes widening at the sight of a young man running at full tilt toward us. My gaze chased the blur of movement rushing past. A cannonball intent on destruction.
Whit.
But not the roguish Whit, who could charm a smile from even the most dour of personalities, but Whit the brawler, unrefined and furious. He bent and struck the man in his belly and somehow managed to flip him up and over, until the pockmarked man roughly hit the ground with a reverberating smack. Isadora fired her gun again, this time narrowly missing Whit, who took a second to flick a contemptuous glance in her direction before ducking the fist of the mustached man.
My sister loaded her gun and aimed—
“For the love of Christ,” Whit shouted. “Stop shooting.”
Farida edged closer to me, her eyes wide. My erratic heartbeat had slowed, and I found that my earlier fear had all but vanished. “Isadora, come watch the parlay from over here,” I said in a pleasant voice.
Whit threwmea dirty look and then narrowly avoided the jab of a knife aimed at his midsection. The barrel-shaped man had his arm outstretched, and Whit latched on to it, using the man’s momentum to yank him forward, knocking him off-balance. With his elbow, Whit slammed down into his back, and the man slumped onto the ground.
Farida nodded in approval. “Well done.”
Whit spun around, blue eyes blazing. “We had an agreement, Olivera.”
I raised a brow. “I haven’t broken it.”
He gestured to the three men moaning on the ground. “Oh? Care to explain this to me?”
Farida pointed to one of them. “That one is trying to stand, Whit.”
My insufferable husband turned and aimed a kick at the mustached man—who groaned and fell silent. Whit bent into a squat, one muscled forearm draped across his knee, and said cheerfully, “If anyonethinksabout moving, I will feed the lot of you to a crocodile, bit by bit.”
The three assailants stilled.
Then Whit stood, hands on his hips, and waited with an air of impatience. When I stayed quiet, he muttered a curse under his breath and said, “What does saving your life get me?”
“Excuse me?”
“I think I’m entitled an answer to three of my questions.”
I narrowed my gaze. “One.”
“Two.”
“Fine.”
Whit crooked a finger at me, and I rolled my eyes as I walked to him. I would have ignored the gesture, but my companions were openly staring in bemused fascination at our interaction. Since I didn’t want to answer any oftheirquestions, I allowed Whit to lead me off to the side.
“We really must move on,” Isadora called out in warning.
“This will only take a minute,” I said.
Whit scowled. “I only get a minute?”
I feigned looking at a pocket watch. “Less now.”
“You are the most…” Whit’s voice trailed off. “Never mind.”
“This is why you wanted to talk to me?” I asked coolly. “To insult me?”
“I wasn’t thinking of an insult,” Whit said softly.
I ignored the way his voice sent a shiver down my spine. For the hundredth time, I reminded myself that he had betrayed me. That I didn’t care about his sister, a woman I’d never met, that he ought to have been honest with me from the start. I repeated this over and over until I was able toreturn his stare without flinching, without blushing, without feeling anything at all.
“What are your questions?”
