Page 23 of Revenge of the Blood Pack

I don't think before I attack. I just act. My hand snaps upward, and I’m squeezing his jugular, hard. Holding on for dear life as he starts to thrash. Silently, I will the bastard to regret the moment he thought I’d be easy prey.

But he's stronger and faster than I’d imagined. He peels my hand from his throat before I can squeeze the life out of him, or at least leave him unconscious. Then, he’s rasping for breath above me, probably debating his next move. I wasn’t prepared for his strength, but I don't let it deter me. I simply adjust my attack, snapping my leg up and kicking him in the groin as hard as I can, even though the movement sends pain ripping through me.

A groan cracks through the silence of the dark place we’re in, coupled with his raspy breathing. I even think he might be trying to say something, but I don’t give a shit. This is the moment. The moment when he might be too surprised by the fact that I’m fighting back to react quickly enough.

I try to kick him again, but he dodges my blow and grabs my leg. His grip is tight but not painful.

Refusing to let him win, I kick out with my free leg, hitting him squarely in the face.

Then, to my surprise, he releases my leg and practically falls on top of me, pinning me down. His weight squeezes the air out of me, and I’m struggling to free my arms. Panic screams to life inside of me. This is almost the worst position I can be in, and if I can’t get out of it in time…

Then a light floods the room.

"Asha, Braxton, what in the hell is happening here?" Max’s voice booms through the room, through my chest, through my heart, awakening me from whatever fear-induced stupor I was in.If Max is here, I must be safe. But then, who the hell is this… Braxton?

I look up at my attacker and my breath catches. It’s the man from the diner. The one who smelledsodamn good. The man who I wanted to do dirty things to and who has the face of a deliciously lickable demon. But right now, he looks different. His black hair is messy. His eyes are the same startling shade of light-blue, but wary as they gaze down at me. And something inside of me flips at just the sight of him. It isn’t just the feeling of walking past someone I find attractive, it’s something deeper and more intimate.

And then my pain and uncertainty push past my hormones. I don’t know who this man is. But it’shishard body on top of me.Trappingme.AfterI caught him staring at me in the dark.

“Why the fuck did you attack me?” I shout, anger rising inside of me, even though my heart is still pounding with fear.

He shifts enough so I can get my arms free. “I was just checking on you.”

“Checking on me?” I shove him as hard as I can, and he must have been off-balance because he flies back and falls on the floor with a thud. “Next time, do me a favor anddon’t.”

My entire body is shaking, but I roll, even though my body aches in protest, almost like my skin is too tight. I get to my feet in a crouch, trying to keep the guy on the floor in my sights as I stare around the room. Boring walls. A nasty smell. A tv, two nightstands, and two beds.

It’s another fucking motel. We’re in our room.

Safe, I guess, in our room. With Max, and the strange man. I don’t completely understand what happened, but I suspect everything is okay and tell my body to calm the hell down, even though my sweaty palms say my body doesn’t care what my head has figured out.

Then, I hear someone fart. My head jerks in the direction, and I see the golden retriever with the scars and the stumpy tail lying on his back. His eyes are half open, and he has a greenpiece of fabric, about the size of his head, clenched in his teeth. He holds my gaze, then farts again.

Okay…

“That’s Trouble, my dog,” the strange man says.

I’m too damn tired for this.

“Asha.” My gaze snaps to Max and slides down his body. He’s wearing grey sweatpants, a black t-shirt, and nothing else. Not his tailored suits. Not those sunglasses he often wears that hide his eyes. Right now, he looks less like an Enforcer and more like a man.

I hate it when I notice that he looks like a man.

“You showed up here last night looking like hell. Braxton and I got you fixed up and put you into bed.”

Braxton. That was the name he used for the delicious man. The man who slowly climbs from the floor wearing nothing but black boxers and a smirk. Oh yeah, and tattoos that cover his arms, part of his shoulder, and the side of his leg.

A primal urge awakens inside of me as I look between the two men. There’s something about them. A pull. A feeling I haven’t experienced in a long time. And one I don’t enjoy.

Not really.

“Braxton,” I say his name like I’m tasting it. Like it’s something foreign I haven’t decided whether I like. “And who the hell is Braxton to be standing over me in the middle of the night?”

Max sighs and moves closer to me. He gives Braxton a look and the man hesitates, then moves away from me to the other bed and sits on the end. Almost as far from me as he can get, but he’s still watching me in a strange way. Like I’m a prisoner, and he’s my guard. Or like he thinks I might suddenly sprout a second head. I’m not sure which. But him being further from me doesn’t make me feel any more comfortable than I felt a second ago.

Then, the golden dog rises from the corner. It’s a dog who smells wet even though he isn’t. He walks, well, almost hobbles over to this Braxton and then the man is petting him, rubbing his head and grinning at him like the dog is the most beautiful creature in the world.

It’s curious. Strange.

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