I bite him.
“What the fuck!”
I sink my teeth into his back and he spins in place. Once he’s relaxed his hold on me, I release his skin from between my teeth and wriggle free—my feet hit the ground, and I run.
Motor barks excitedly as I thunder down the stairs, running through drills in my mind. There are so many of them, so many different scenarios and escape routes, but I know one thing for sure.
I need to get to the car.
Throwing the front door open, I bolt out into the snow. My cheeks immediately feel numb, but I ignore the sensationand go for the vehicle, knowing the spare key is hidden in the sun visor.
But I don’t hear Gable behind me.
I skid to a stop and face the house, my breath billowing around me as I spin in circles to try and spot him. Did he go out a different way to ambush me? Did he fall down the stairs?
It’s a trick.
He’s trying to get me to go back into the house.
Not happening.
I open the driver’s side door and slide in, yanking down the visor.
But the keys aren’t there.
“No, no, no—” I search the glove compartment, under the seats, and scream when I spot Gable standing at the window, grinning—the keys dangling from his fingers.
Without missing a beat, I scramble over to the passenger door and bolt from the car.
I might not be strong, but I am fast. And I know Gable hates cardio, which means I already have an advantage.
Snow kicks up behind me as I make it to the tree line, weaving between thick trunks and leaping over logs. Leaves crunch beneath my boots, and the cold bites into my skin, but I don’t stop. Even when my lungs burn and my muscles want to cramp, I keep going.
“I can smell your fear, Gibson!”
This is a drill. It isn’t real. Gable won’t hurt me when he catches me, and I’ll make it out of this alive.
Still, a zing of fear goes through me.
And that feeling, the heat, the thrill I felt when I saw his mask … it doubles in intensity.
I hardly have time to register my feelings when I’m tackled to the ground. Gable flips me ontomy back and pins his hips between mine, holding my hands above my head.
“Gotcha.”
“Unfair advantage,” I pant. “I didn’t stretch first.”
“Danger can happen at any time, Gibson,” he says, keeping my hands pinned between one of his. “The question is, did you complete the most important part of the drill?”
Fuck. What was that?
His other hand slides down my waist, and I pull in a sharp breath as he reaches between my back and the hard ground. Finding nothing, he runs his palm down my other hip, my legs, between my thighs, coming dangerously close to the warm throbbing that’s increasing with every second he touches me.
His eyes dart to mine, and for a horrifying second, I wonder if he can feel the heat from between my legs.
“You didn’t take a weapon,” he says quietly, his dark eyes drifting across my face.
I swallow hard. “I forgot.”
