Page 22 of Queen of Blades

He nodded. Fair, but really, she should be pissed at her dad. He should’ve known and acted.

Balling his fists, he tried to find an outlet for this rage that pulsed through him. The sparks of pain shooting through his chest from the slice weren’t helping.

Twisting slightly, he eyed the wound. The bleeding had stopped, but it still looked nasty. He should get it covered before it got infected.

When he winced, Harper’s gaze went to his wound, and she frowned. “Is it bad?”

Heading to the bathroom for some towels, he shook his head. “Nah. You stab like a girl.”

She put her foot out, and he hopped over it to avoid being tripped.

“Asshole.”

Snickering, he kept his retort to himself. “Don’t do anything stupid. The bathroom is right by the door. If you try to leave, I’ll stop you. And the windows are sealed shut.”

If looks could kill. She crossed her arms and long, beautifully inked legs and scowled.

She was even more beautiful when she was pissed.

Paul winked. “Glad we have an understanding.”

Monitoring the door, he ducked into the restroom momentarily to grab a towel and wet it. Swiping at his side, he hissed as the sting shot through him. Yep, definitely a stab wound.

Exiting the bathroom, still cleaning himself, he was about to sit on the bed when a knock sounded at the door.

Both their heads jerked in that direction.

“Room service,” the muffled voice said.

“One moment,” Paul answered.

That was far too quick. His hackles rose, and he reached for his gun. To her credit, Harper stayed back as he approached the door. Glancing through the peephole, Paul noted someone in hotel attire carrying a tray.

It still didn’t feel right.

Snapping his fingers, he got her attention. He pointed to the bathroom, directing her to get out of the line of fire. If it was innocent, no harm, no foul. If it wasn’t, she wouldn’t be hit with a stray bullet. Better safe than sorry.

Staring at him with knitted brows, she hesitated momentarily. He snapped again. Rolling her eyes, she stomped in his direction. What was her problem? He was trying to protect her. Would it be too much for her to move her fine ass a little quicker?

Finally, with Harper stowed away, Paul carefully turned the knob, his gun at the ready.

He’d barely opened the door before it flew back. Momentarily pinned between the door and the closet, Paul kept quiet as the man, dressed as a bellhop, entered the room, pointing his weapon ahead of him.

Pain radiated from the back of his head where it had smashed against the hardness behind him. Paul gritted his teeth, shoved the door closed, and pointed his gun at the man scanning the room.

“Fucker,” he called.

Leading with his gun, the man turned, but Paul shot first. A silencer was a good idea. Too bad he hadn’t thought of it. Blood splattered from the back of the man’s head. As he fell back, the fake bellhop squeezed the trigger.

Harper screeched, drawing Paul’s focus to the right.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded. “Get back in there.”

Gripping her shoulder, he shoved her back inside the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. The room wasn’t safe. He hadn’t told her to come out. This insane woman had a death wish.

Paul had to clear the room and get them the hell out of here fast. His gun was loud, so it wouldn’t be long before shit hit the fan. Goddammit, he should’ve been prepared for this.

Cursing at himself, he stomped over the body to get a good look. He needed to know who else was after Harper. Who wanted the bounty?

---