Page 21 of Savage Hero

I straighten. Ease a crick out of my neck.

She flicks her hands at her side and starts shifting her weight from foot to foot. Honest to fucking God psyching herself up like she can’t wait for the bell to sound.

“We’re not doing this,” I tell her.

“Chicken.”

“That doesn’t work on me.”

“What, getting punched? Because you still sound a bit wheezy there, Papi.”

I growl at her, but that just widens her grin. So I pull out my fucking gun and point it at her head.

She stops shifting about. Her lips twist into a sneer of disgust. “Fucking pussy,” she mutters. “I’d win in a fight, you know.”

“Brave words. We’ll see if you have the courage to back it up later, but not now.”

She narrows her eyes at me, crosses her arms over her chest.

“Strip.”

When she doesn’t move, I turn off the safety and point the gun at her thigh. “Don’t tempt me. We have a really good doctor on call. You could lose two pints and he’d still be able to bring you back.”

“Of course you do,” she mutters as she slips off her jacket.

“Faster.”

She glares at me, but when I move the gun to her stomach, she hurriedly drops her jacket and rips off the sweater beneath.

“My father’s asked to see you.”

She hesitates and then takes off the sweater. There’s a T-shirt beneath—some promotional thing advertising a low-fat yogurt.

“Everything, Angel,” I growl.

Nyx draws in a big breath and then lets it out in a rush. But she rips off the T-shirt, and then the tank top below it, following with the baggy jeans, her scuffed boots, her socks. Until she’s standing in my bedroom wearing just a sports bra, a pair of boxer shorts, and a magnificent scowl.

“Everything,” I repeat in a low rumble.

She mutters, “Jesus wept,” before struggling out of her sports bra. She doesn’t try to cover her tits, but she does hesitate before taking off the boxers. I guess because she wasn’t quite sure how to approach the whole fake penis thing.

“Why the fuck go to so much trouble?” I ask her, watching as she untangles herself from the setup. “You could have walked into that place and shot him through the head.”

“I could have,” she agrees, finally looking up as she drops the fake penis getup on the floor. Now all she has on is a pair of black panties. Even wearing a beanie, her hair hidden beneath it, she looks good enough to eat. Her body is full of curves, with hints of strong muscle beneath—especially her upper body.

And I’m sure she’ll be a million times tastier than the prime fillet I just had.

“But I couldn’t risk something going wrong. One of Bryan’s bodyguards could have spotted me, gunned me down before I could get my piece out.”

Piece?

I quirk an eyebrow at her and she stares back at me defiantly for the longest time before she finally withers under my stare.

“You don’t have a weapon.”

Her head snaps up. “I do.”

I scan her. “Is it a hairpin?” Then I shake my head, let out a low laugh. “Don’t tell me there’s something shoved up your—”

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