Page 49 of Cutter

“No. That’s the end. I want the first part.”

She blinked thinking. “Oh, you mean, ‘When we surprise them at the warehouse.’ Is that it?”

“That’s it. What the hell are you thinking?”

Suddenly, the feel of his hand scorched her. Letting him go, she sat back. “I—I don’t understand?”

“You saidwe. ‘When we surprise them.’ Not you, kitten. You’re not an ATF, FBI field agent, or SWAT. Why would you endanger yourself that way? Have you been trained for that kind of a bust? I don’t think so.”

“Don’t you talk to me that way.” Pushing back her chair, she stood, glaring. “I’m not a child. I’m a fully trained detective, and this has been my idea, my project from the start.”

“Agreed, and for your dedication and smarts, you should receive every credit.” He stood as well. “But there’s no reason for you to engage in a street shootout with the Sons of Chaos.”

With her stomach churning, Emily strode out of the kitchen. She wanted to scream at him.

Unconcerned with her fury, he chased after her, still arguing. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want you to get hurt. Anything can go wrong in a situation like that. Have you ever been in a shootout?’

“No,” she seethed. “Have you?”

“Yes, stubborn woman, I have.” He grasped her shoulders, but as she tried to shake him off, he tightened his grip. “Stop fighting and look at me. That kind of operation isn’t fun, Emily. It’s vicious and dangerous and bloody. Men on both sides carry military-grade weapons. Shots ricochet in every direction, and no one’s safe from a stray bullet. Not you. Not them. A vest only protects your chest. Your head, arms, and legs are still exposed.”

The tiny voice in her murmured he had a point in his tirade. A faint vision of law enforcement agents in tactical gear and MC members engaged in an all-out gunfight formed in her mind. But the other voice, the undisciplined, needy brat who sought attention at all costs, wasn’t happy.

“You’re saying that to scare me.”

“No, kitten. I would never.” He tried to reach for her arm, but she swatted his hand away.

“Men. You’re all the same. Can’t take it when a woman’s plan stands above the rest. You want me to fail, just like the detectives at the station. But I got news for you?—”

Emily stopped. Cutter had turned so pale and the lines on his forehead had gone so deep she realized she’d gone too far. In the next second, she landed belly down on his shoulder as he tossed her over it. Moving at lightning speed, he maneuvered her around as if she weighed nothing.

Oh, yes. She’d riled him up. The inner brat smiled; a nice attitude-adjustment spanking was on the way.

But this time, his gestures were unceremonious and abrupt. He sat at the edge of the sofa, dropped her over his thighs, then pulled down her pajama pants so hard the fabric gave a ripping sound. Then the first blow fell. The stinging burn slammed her brain instantly. Cutter wasn’t playing or training. That he hadn’t asked her to count worried her. His silence hurt more than thepunishment. As he struck, she felt disconnected from him. The loneliness was unbearable.

“Daddy?” she whispered, hoping he’d answer, give her a sign that she hadn’t lost him.

Two hard slaps came down at an even tempo.

Emily was beginning to despair.

“Daddy… I’m sorry.”

One. Two. Three strikes fell.

“Daddy, please!”

“Why, Emily? Why would you say such nasty things?”

The anger still vibrated in his voice, but at least he’d broken the terrible silence.

“I… Don’t know.”

He struck again. “You’re lying.”

Tell him the truth.

“It’s a crazy thing, an impulse I can’t always control. I had to push you. It’s the only way to know if you’ll stay with me.”

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