“No.”
I shove at him. Weak. I hate that it’s weak. My palms slide uselessly against muscle and leather.
He looks down at my hands like he’s taking inventory.
“You’re shaking,” he states low.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
I push again, harder this time. Pain flares up my arms, sharp and immediate. My breath stutters.
That’s when he moves.
Chapter 17
Maksim
She freezes for half a second. Just half.
Then she jerks away.
Too late.
One arm locks around her waist before she can slip past me, muscle remembering the movement before my brain bothers to justify it. She hits me hard—palm slamming into my shoulder, then my ribs. I grunt, more surprised than hurt.
For someone who barely eats, she’s vicious.
“Let me go!” she snaps, elbow driving back with intent this time.
I lift her off the floor with a little more effort than I expected, she fights like an animal caught in a trap. All teeth and instinct and refusal. Her heel clips my thigh. Her fist finds my shoulder again.
“Stop it!”
I don’t answer.
I adjust my grip, one arm hooked under her thighs, the other braced across her back, and swing her over my shoulder in one smooth motion. Her breath punches out of her when she lands against me, ribs hitting bone.
She starts kicking immediately.
Wild. Uncoordinated. Angry.
Good.
It tells me she’s still conscious. Still in this.
“This is kidnapping!” she yells, pounding her fists into my back.
I open the door, steady and deliberate, timing my steps so she doesn’t crack her head against the frame when I nudge it open the rest of the way with my foot.
“I’ll let you file a complaint later,” I say calmly. “When you can stand without shaking.”
“I just need to rest.”
“You can rest at home.”
“This is my home, you psycho!”
