Page 55 of Elite Metal: Warriors

Michelle glanced at him and annoyance pricked in her. “I hope you have a car,” she said, only wincing a little when her voice echoed through the stairwell. “Because you made me leave my keys upstairs.”

He glowered. “Hush.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Just sayin’.”

In a rush, he backed her against the cold cinderblock wall and plastered his body against hers, clapping his hand over her mouth. Shocking, the heat of him on one side and the coolness on the other.

“Shut. Up.” A hiss.

She hated being cornered, hated being covered. She wriggled against him in a fit of rebellion, arching her hips in an attempt to make him back away, but she only succeeded on noticing how hard he was…everywhere.

He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. His breath washed over her face. “There may be another one waiting in the garage. Please do shut the fuck up.”

He waited until his words sank in, waited until she nodded, before he moved. But he didn’t release her. Not right away. He gave her one more nudge with his rock hard pelvis, one designed to illustrate his strength, or the strength of his arousal.

When he was certain she’d noticed, when he was sure she’d gotten the message that he was bigger and stronger and easily roused, he finally edged back.

There was no need for him to place a finger on his lips. She’d gotten the message, thank you very much. And she hated that her pulse flared at that simple touch.

Stupid pulse.

He scuttled toward the door to the parking garage and flattened himself to the side of it, then peered through the grimy window. When he was certain there was no one there, he held up his palm. “Wait here,” he mouthed.

Wait here?

The fuck.

He pulled the Sig from his waistband and slipped through the door, holding the weapon high and quartering the garage with his sharp gaze. Michelle watched through the window, prickling with anticipation. She wanted to get out of here…now. She should just follow him. She should just ignore his order—pretend to misunderstand, or some shit—and follow him. She didn’t like being alone in this creepy stairwell. And for all that she couldn’t trust this guy completely, she kind of did.

The attack, when it came, was unexpected. A dark form barreled from the shadows and knocked her escort to the ground.

Michelle’s heart lodged in her throat. Her first instinct was to leap into the fray, to join the fight, and then she realized, she might just be in the way. Also, if her escort lost—and how that thought ripped into her gut—then she would need to run. She should run now—that’s what she should do—but she couldn’t look away.

The two men fought and rolled over the filthy oil-stained cement of the garage, battling for supremacy. First one was on top, then the other. They were both wearing black and through the smudged window, she couldn’t tell which was which.

A boom echoed in the cavernous space, even rattling the window. The two men stilled. The one on top slumped to the side. Fell.

The other pushed him off and stood, brushing himself off.

Oh God. Was that…? Did he…?

She couldn’t see. She couldn’t tell.

Without thought, she ran to the stairs and ducked beneath them, where the bottom flight formed a cave of sorts. She curled herself into a ball and sucked in a deep breath.

Her pulse pounded in her ears. Her lungs ached. Sweat beaded her brow.

The door opened with a clang. “Michelle?” Was that his voice? She couldn’t tell. “Michelle?”

His footsteps on the stairs. One. Two. A pause and then two more…

And then a face appeared from above.

She stared. Unable to speak. Unable to move. Unable to breathe.

It was him. Relief gushed through her.

Thank God it was him.