Page 37 of Lock Up the Darkness

And suddenly somebody was on me, slamming me up against the side of the house.

A natural woodsy scent, like cedar or pine, infused my nostrils.

A snarl sounded at my ear. “Hell, yeah. Fresh meat.”

9

~Jonah~

She smelled fucking sweet.

Like strawberries and leather.

A whiff of cigarette smoke too that just tantalized me even more because Asher had that same lingering scent about him, along with that sandalwood smell from his shaving soap.

I could feel her heat.

She’d been running.

Sweat trickled down the side of her face, down her neck across her cleavage. It had me mesmerized as her small perky breasts rose and fell as she panted against the wall, her cheek against the cool stone, her hands held down by her sides as I gripped her upper arms, all my bulk and muscle pushed into her back keeping her pinned there nicely.

Her gaze darted to my Infidels tattoo on the left side of my neck and her eyes flashed.

“Jonah Keller. Heard a lot about you, sugar.”

“Get. Off. Me,” she ground out.

“Why the rush? I’ve been wanting to meet the tough little thing who got under my boy’s skin so fucking deep.”

“He had it coming.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry about cameras right now, this is a blind spot.”

“Good to know.”

The words came out as a sexy growl and, the next thing I knew, she was jerking her right arm from my grip, and then I was hissing as my bicep burned.

I stepped back in surprise.

That earned me a knee to the gut.

As I lurched forward, my hair was yanked down, right into a knee to the underside of the jaw. I wavered, my head snapping back, disorientation taking the lead, and the scrappy thing used the opportunity to drive her elbow into my back, then smash her boot into my side.

I went down hard on my knees.

And there she was looming over me in a well-learned fighting stance, a blade clutched in a white-hot grip in her right hand.

My blade.

She’d somehow snatched it from the sheath holstered at the back of my belt.

Well, damn.

I looked to see my right bicep dripping with blood from a three-inch-long gash she’d sliced into my skin.

Jesus Christ, my cock was rock fucking hard.

She’d slashed me, brutalized me, and now she was standing over me with a ferocity that called to my own in the sickest and sweetest way.

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