Fuck.
I dived to the side. The knives hit the floor beside me, clattering on the marble. I rolled and raced for the couch. I dived over it.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I looked up. Three knives were embedded in the leather.
“Do you know how much this couch cost?”
“You won’t care, once you’re dead.” She advanced.
She looked like a pint-sized angel of death.
My cock hardened.
Shit. I dragged my gaze off her breasts cupped by black fabric. I nabbed a soft throw blanket in a rich, bronze color that Georgie had given me for Christmas.
My fingers gripped the soft wool.
She slid one of her custom knives out of the sheath strapped to her chest. “You have one of my knives, Thorne. I want it back.”
“Sorry, it’s mine now.”
She made an angry noise. She sprinted forward, knife clutched in her hand.
I leaped up and threw the blanket. It covered her head.
She cursed. I lunged forward, gripped the blanket, and twisted it to keep her trapped. I felt the stinging prick of the knife through the fabric, stabbing at my forearm, and ignored it.
I lifted her off her feet and she cursed.
Dropping her to the couch, I pinned her there. She kicked and twisted.
I shifted most of my weight onto her, then reached under the blanket and found the knife. Managing not to slice my hand open, I snatched it free and tossed it over my shoulder. Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out the zip ties I’d been keeping in there all day, in case she made an appearance.
Quickly, but with a lot of effort since she was still wriggling, I zip tied her hands in front of her. I yanked the blanket off her head.
She glared up at me.
Damn, it was corny—something I usually avoided—but she was beautiful when she was pissed. Large eyes the color of mahogany dominated her face. She had a stubborn chin, inky-black hair, and creamy skin. Her hair was mussed and her cheeks flushed.
I had the thought that this was how she would look after I’d finished fucking her.
“Zip ties in your pocket?” she said caustically. “Really?”
“I had them on hand just for you.”
She bucked up, pressing her body into mine.
I used my weight to keep her legs pinned. “Now, we’ll talk.”
CHAPTER 8
LARK
Ibucked hard, trying to knock Bastian off me.
It was futile. He was too big, too strong. That body was all muscle. The suits camouflaged it well, but I was well aware that he was fit and dangerous.
