Page 70 of Savage Desires

"Pretty sure that was just survival instinct or that I had already accepted I was going to die that night, so fighting back didn't scare me. It was death either way," I admit.

"You're right. There's no way you could ever stand up to the people who held you captive. You should just stay home and let us deal with it," Kisten says.

It takes a second for me to comprehend his words and half a second to get more pissed off than I've ever been. How dare he?! I jump up from his lap and level him with a glare.

"Screw you! I'm going, and I'm going to make those fuckers bleed," I yell.

He shrugs. "You're obviously fragile. It wouldn't be safe having such a liability there."

"I'm not fragile! I'm strong. I've survived shit that would make you curl up in a ball and cry, and I'm still fucking standing. They didn't break me even though they tried. I'm going on Saturday, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

I'm panting by the time I'm done screaming at Kisten, who is smirking at me. I'm so mad I want to punch him in his handsome face. He's such a jerk! Why would he teach me to shoot and offer to train with me if he didn't think I could handle myself on Saturday? It takes a second for logic to catch up with me. He only said that to prove his point. He does believe in me, and deep down, I know it.

"That was mean," I huff.

He chuckles. "You needed a reminder. You're a survivor. A warrior. There's nothing that you can't do. You will exact your revenge on Saturday, and it will be a beautiful sight to behold. My avenging angel."

"Damn straight I am. Those assholes won't know what hit them."

Kisten tugs me back onto his lap. "That's my good girl," he murmurs in my ear before crushing his lips to mine for a deep kiss.

T.J. clears his throat, reminding us that he's still here. "Do you need the range tomorrow as planned, or is Little Miss Sharpshooter prepped enough?"

Kisten looks at the pile of paper targets and smiles. "She's good with stationary targets, but if the obstacle course is available, that would be great practice. I need to get her set up with holsters and two Glock 43Xs. Need the holsters to have extra mag slots, too."

A little thrill of excitement goes through me when I think about how powerful I felt shooting today. I love the challenge of it. I really love the fact that I'm good at it. Hitting the targets is easy when I imagine how it will feel to use one of the bastards at Mecca as target practice.

"I'll have to special order the holsters; she's a lot smaller than my regular customers," T.J. says, sounding amused.

"We can't all be overgrown men," I bite back.

He chuckles. "Touché."

"I'll have everything for Saturday ready in the warehouse armory for you to check Friday. If you think of anything else you need, let me know."

"Thanks, man," Kisten says. They do that macho handshake/bro hug thing men do, and then T.J. leaves us to finish packing up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

KISTEN

Seeing Willow have a panic attack pissed me off, especially when she immediately started doubting herself. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and there’s no doubt in my mind that she will be an asset on Saturday. I’m so fucking proud of how she stood up to me when I told her she should just stay home where it’s safe. It made my cock harder than steel to see her so fiery. I never want her to think I doubt her. Thankfully, she realized what I was doing and wasn’t mad or hurt by my words.

“This is so good,” Willow says, licking her lips.

We stopped for lunch on our way to the gym. She picked pizza, another guilty pleasure food, she said. In her old life, she said nutrition was big. Her father raised her to believe that food is fuel and that it’s okay to indulge sometimes, but that healthy eating is key to keeping in top fighting form. Even though she was a teenager, she took those words to heart and took them as seriously as she took her training.

The tidbits she shares about her past feed my curiosity about who her father is. I know he works at a gym, but she hasn’t revealed his name or where she’s from. He trains fighters and taught her how to fight, but other than that, the man who raised my girl is a mystery. I hope one day she’ll decide to open up to me more about him.

“New York has the best pizza,” I say, agreeing with her.

“Definitely better than Vegas.”

Her eyes widen slightly when she realizes she gave me another piece to the puzzle. I decide not to make a big deal about it. I won’t ask her any questions. I could easily find her now that I know where to look, but I won’t hack my way into finding out who my Beauty is. I want her to tell me everything herself.

“Vegas is good at many things, but pizza is not one of them,” I agree.

She ends up eating two pieces of her Canadian bacon and black olive pizza and half of a slice of my barbecue chicken pizza. We have the waitress box up the leftovers for later, so there’s no waste, and then we head to the gym.

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