Andhecertainly didn’t care. Every one of those creases was a reminder that he and Chrissy had been having way too much fun to worry about folding clothes.
Closing his eyes, he relived a couple of the morememorablemoments. Like when she rode him slow and lazy, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her eyes half-lidded and watching his face as she took pleasure from him and gave pleasure to him in equal measure. Or when she’d dripped ice cream onto his nipples, watching them furl, and then licking them clean.
He’d done up the last button on his fly when the bathroom door slammed shut. His erotic musings dried up quicker than a cow pond during a drought, and his heart lurched in his chest. Then he remembered how the door to the bedroom he used at his grandmother’s place sometimes did the same thing when a cross draft created a vacuum inside the house.
Except…
The windows in Chrissy’s little cottage were closed and locked.
A hot feeling slid through his veins. He knew it well. Adrenaline. The body’s magic battle elixir.
“Chrissy?” He reached for the doorknob. It turned easily, but the door wouldn’t budge.
An ear-piercing scream shattered the quiet of the house, and it was like Death himself dragged the point of his scythe up Wolf’s spine.
“Chrissy!” he yelled. If adrenaline was hot in his veins, then fear was ice-cold. He shoved a shoulder against the door and pushed until his bare feet slipped on the tile floor.
Thump! Crash!Another scream!
“Chrissy! Goddamnit! Answer me!” He used his shoulder as a battering ram, slamming into the door over and over, but making zero progress budging it.
Damnit!It wasn’t like it was possible to lock the door from the outside. What the hell was—
He didn’t finish the thought. He knew why he couldn’t get out of the bathroom.
Some sonofabitch was on the other side of the door holding it closed by bracing his feet against the opposite wall. Wolf had performed the same maneuver one time in Aleppo to ensure two unarmed women stayed safe in a bedroom while the rest of his Team took out the three tangos who’d been making pipe bombs at the kitchen table.
“You motherfucker! Let me go or I’ll scratch your eyes out!” He heard Chrissy’s snarl. She said something else, but he couldn’t make it out. Her voice was muffled like something had been shoved into her mouth.
“Yeah, yeah! Look at her, man! Hot damn!Hot damn!” The words came from the other side of the door, and the sound of the man’s voice was enough to have Wolf baring his teeth and growling.
“She’s a feisty bitch,” came an answer from somewhere down the hall. “We’re going to have some fun with her.”
Molten fury burned away Wolf’s fear until he became rage itself. There was a murderous frenzy in his eyes when he took a deep breath and backed up the entire length of the bathroom. The muscles in his body coiled until his whole being shook with pent-up power.
“Can’t wait,” the cretin holding the door said. “I’ll meet you in the car after I off this fucker.”
“You’re welcome to try,” Wolf snarled and exploded across the bathroom, throwing all his weight against the door in a violent show of force that didn’t give a thought for self-preservation.
It felt like he hit a brick wall, but his maneuver worked. He overpowered the asshat on the other side. The door burst open so quickly, Wolf bounced off the hallway wall and was catapulted back onto his ass.
There were no lights on in the house. But the streetlight shone in through the living room windows and provided enough glow for Wolf to see Chrissy’s kicking bare feet as they disappeared around the corner. It looked like she’d been tossed over someone’s shoulder.
Outrage propelled him to his feet. But he hadn’t managed a step before the door-holding asshole screamed from behind him, “Die, you piece of shit!”
Displaced hair ruffled the hairs on Wolf’s arms and his lizard brain knew what was happening before his rational mind even registered it. He turned in time to see a man lift a knife high over his head. His assailant was dressed in black and wearing a ski mask, so he blended into the shadows. But the knife caught the light and glinted evilly.
Instinct, and years of training, kicked in.
Wolf caught his attacker’s wrist on the down stroke. Then everything slowed down. His heart went metronome steady, his breaths turned measured, and his moves became automatic.
The secret to combating someone with a knife was to control the knife hand and use your free hand to pummel the shit out of your attacker’s body and face. Which was exactly what Wolf did.
Landing punch after punch, blow after blow—which wasn’t as simple as the movies made it seem, since he had to be careful not to break the delicate bones in his hand against the asshole’s jaw—the two men fought for control of the blade.
Ski Mask proved he’d make a good punching bag. Even though he grunted and groaned with each brutal hit, he didn’t drop the knife. And the longer the battle wore on, the more Wolf’s muscles burned with fatigue.
Time to up the ante.
