Page 4 of Bad Blood Alpha

Chapter 2

Kira couldn’t believe she’d just asked Flynn of the Bad Blood Crew to slow dance with her at a club.

Flynn of the no-last-name, who hated everyone except his crew, and could kill a person six different ways before they knew what hit them. And who almost certainly didn’t dance.

She was always cool. Calculating. Every job she took on was planned out to the last detail. And this was the most important one she’d ever taken on.

But she hadn’t planned on the way she’d feel when she finally saw him.

He turned to face her, and her whole world tilted with vertigo. Nothing she’d heard about him had prepared her for how overpoweringly sexy he was. Tall—at least six-six, because she was six foot and her head only came up to his sculptured cheekbone, even with the heels on her boots.

And big. Taut, muscular chest, and arms that strained the shoulders of his button-down shirt. Leather vest structured to conceal the handgun in the shoulder holster; sleeves rolled up once. Far enough to show his strong wrists and muscled forearms, but not so far that he couldn’t hide a knife sheath underneath them.

His whole attitude screamed leashed, controlled violence and power. All except his hair—a wild tangle of black dreadlocks that said no matter how controlled he was, he’d be forever untamed.

His mouth was hard and firm, like he’d had to make a lot of tough decisions in his life. But it had a sensual curve to it, and a hint of a smile at the corners. Maybe a sense of humor there.

She hadn’t expected that either.

But it was his eyes that held her. Cool and assessing, but with fire in their depths. Fire, and an intelligence that was almost terrifying in its intensity. It was like he saw right inside her, past the carefully-constructed armor she used to shield herself from the world.

Past the walls she’d built to keep her emotions in, and other people out.

He spoke, his voice deep and gravelly like the growl of the lion she knew was inside him. “You’re the second woman to ask me to dance in the last ten minutes. I never dreamed I could be so popular without wearing skinny jeans.”

She glanced down. He was wearing cargo pants. The legs were baggy—the better to conceal weapons with—but the waist rode low, and she’d seen the way the seat clung to his taut, muscular butt.

Much sexier than skinny jeans. Unconsciously, as if drawn by a magnet, she took a step closer to him.

“You turned the first one down,” she said.

His gaze never left her face. “Technically, she turned me down. Maybe she’s not into guys who live in their mom’s basement?”

That almost made her smile, but she kept her game face on. “You don’t live in your mom’s basement.” He was even closer to her now. Had he moved, or had she?

“You don’t know that for sure.” His voice was low and sexy now, a deep rumble inside that massive chest.

“I’ll risk it. I like to live dangerously.”

His mouth curled into a half-smile. “So do I.”

He closed the distance between them, sliding one arm around her waist and running the fingers of the other one down the inside of her forearm, sending a shiver through her body. He took her hand in his enormous one and fitted her body against his, swaying with the music.

Murmuring in her ear, he added, “If you’re thinking about pulling any of those weapons on me, just keep in mind that I can get my hands around your neck and snap your spine in less than three seconds. And nobody in this place would notice a thing.”

Having her life threatened shouldn’t have been hot, but somehow it was.

“What weapons?” she asked innocently.

“Besides the pistol in the small of your back?” He moved his hand so it rested on the weapon. “That one’s a gimme, so it doesn’t even count.”

“Well, a girl’s got to protect herself.”

“Mmm.” He pulled her tighter against him, tucking her left hand against his chest and resting his cheek on her hair. With her height, very few men could do that. She was surprised and a little terrified by how much she liked it.

“Let’s see,” he said. His hips moved against hers, sending shivers to her core. “Spare piece in your boot top—probably a .22. Nice boots, by the way. Leather boots are fuckin’ sexy.”

She suddenly imagined herself with Flynn, wearing leather boots and nothing else. Heat flooded through her.