Page 122 of Joker in the Pack

He carried me up the stairs again, and this time I was the one who pulled his shirt off as we got into the bedroom. I’d worn a T-shirt with no fiddly buttons this time, and it only took him a second to return the favour.

“Fuck me, Liv.”

Nye’s eyes widened as he hooked his thumbs in my waistband and peeled my trousers down. Okay, I might have worn that fancy underwear with the little bows too.

And I’d got used to his crude words, enjoyed his dirty talk, even.

“Make it hard,” I whispered.

He guided my hand downwards. “Not a problem.”

Then hisdamnedphone rang.

“Can’t you leave it?”

“Not this time, babe. It’s the control room.”

It only took a second before he was reaching for his shirt again, and I lay back on the bed and groaned. Would I ever get a proper taste of Nye?

“One of Spike’s sensors just went off. I need to check it.”

“You’re going out there?”

“Don’t worry—it’s probably just a fox.”

Chills replaced the heat I’d felt only moments ago, and my heart didn’t just race, it pounded in a series of wild palpitations as Nye did his jeans up.

He grabbed my phone from the nightstand and pressed it into my hands. “Stay here, and if you hear anything you don’t like, I’ve programmed Blackwood’s control room as speed dial one. Call them, then the police.”

“Please don’t go.”

“I’ll be right back.”

He hadn’t even got to the stairs when I heard a window break downstairs, followed by a softwhump. Then another window, and another. Nye came running back in and slammed the door.

“What’s happened? Is somebody down there?”

“Worse. Molotov cocktails, three of them. Lounge, dining room, and kitchen by the sounds of it. We’ll have to go out the window.”

I tore the curtains open and saw flames leaping into the darkness—both trucks were on fire too.

Nye leaned past and threw the window open. Acrid smoke drifted inside, burning the back of my throat and making me cough.

“I’ll climb down first,” he told me. “Then I need you to wriggle out backwards and hang from the windowsill. When I tell you, let go, and I’ll catch you.”

I should have been terrified, but there was no time to think. Nye shinned down the old wisteria tree like a monkey, then landed safely next to the overgrown flower bed. Then it was my turn.

I used the dressing table to boost myself up onto the windowsill, but as I looked down, the fear hit. The ground looked an awfully long way away.

“Turn around, Liv,” Nye shouted.

“I-I-I can’t.”

“Babe, you can. I’ll catch you, I promise.”

I shuffled around onto my knees, clinging to the scarred wooden frame as if my life depended on it. Which it did. Tendrils of smoke curled under the bedroom door, creeping towards me, and I knew there was no other way out. Knuckles white, I lowered myself off the edge.

“Let go, Liv.” Nye’s voice sounded above the crackling fire, and I released my grip.

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