Page 27

His expression turns guarded. “Nothing.”

“Was it the men who showed up yesterday?”

“How the fuck do you know about that?”

I don’t answer him because Sasha should realize by now that I know everything going on in this town. Even if yesterday was more about good timing than anything, I still would have heard about it. “Who were they?”

“Nobody.” He tries to push past me, but I whack him gently on the head again. He bats my hand away, way too delayed. “Would you knock it off?”

“No.”

Gritting his teeth, he turns, trying to get in my face but needing a few more inches to do it properly. “I said, back the fuck off.”

Something about seeing life come back into him has my lips pulling up at the corners. “Make me.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He glares at me, and I hold his stubborn stare. He’s like a mouse that’s been cornered and knows it’s over but still refuses to accept his fate. So interesting, the way he challenges me. The way he thinks I’ll back down simply because he says so, when it’s clear that Sasha isn’t in a position to be demanding anything of anyone.

On impulse, I reach for one of the rogue stray curls that’s slipped over his face and tuck it back behind his ear. My fingers brush his skin, but apparently, that’s enough to shock him out of his annoyance.

“I said to make me,” I tell him, voice lowering. “If you’re not in a position to do that, you’ve already lost.”

Instead of backing up, Sasha lets out a dry laugh, and I jump as his hand taps my knife. I’m not used to being caught off guard, but he managed it. “We both know that while you have this and I have nothing, I will always be at your mercy.”

“And you’re okay with that?” My frustration flares. “Being vulnerable?”

There’s a long beat where his gaze jumps between my eyes, and I don’t notice time has eaten the distance between us until his lips pull up into a dangerous smile. “Actually …” he whispers. “I think I prefer it.”

He prefers it? My brain can’t wrap itself around that. I can’t begin to imagine a time where I’d be willingly vulnerable around someone else, let alone someone who tried to kill me.

But Sasha keeps on standing there, within gutting distance of my blade, arms relaxed at his sides, long, thin neck exposed by those loose, little shirts, and he does nothing, nothing to protect himself from me.

He’s not in any danger right now, but I’m the only one who knows that. If those men from yesterday caught up with him though, what would he do then? What if it was him at his place instead of me? The size difference between them and him would make it easy enough for them to pick him up and take him. They’d overpower Sasha without breaking a sweat.

Which is why it’s so fucking important that I get through to him.

Without warning, I grab Sasha and slam him into the side of my house. It’s too easy to pin him and then use my body weight to hold him there. Sasha puts up what I think is supposed to be a fight, but my forearm easily presses to his throat, and when I slowly pull my blade out, his whole body goes limp.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

I wait for the fear I’m expecting to hear, but it doesn’t come. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I press the flat of my blade against his exposed stomach. “I’m always in control.”

“Really?” Something deepens behind his eyes. “When was the last time you lost control?”

“I don’t.”

“Ever?”

“Never.”

His eyes dip down to my chin and back up again. “Booker played a fun game with me yesterday. Is that what this is, Lynx? A game.”