Page 14 of Sloth
“You understand the drill, Sloan?” Wyatt asked. “Just get him down. That’s it.”
Perhaps Wyatt had caught the murder in Sloan’s gaze as she eyed Max. She shot Wyatt a mischievous smile. She’d damn well do what she wanted,bras.
Max’s brows lifted at her attire. “You’re going to fight in that? I can wait if you want to change.”
“O ye, of little faith.” She wore jeans and a stretch camisole with a sports bra underneath. This outfit was a walk in the park compared to what they’d all fought in before. Full heavy combat gear, sometimes underwater.
So has he.
Shut up, inner voice. I got this.
Max shrugged. “Just don’t crack the shits when your movement is impeded.”
Both Wyatt and Sloan gave him a blank look.
“I meant, don’t get angry.” He grinned, flashing a dimple that probably made most ladies swoon.
Dimple. Dimples everywhere. Damn it.
“You Australians talk about poop a lot.”
Max snort-laughed.
It wasn’t supposed to be funny. Sloan circled Max, eyes narrowing. “The only person ‘cracking the shits’ around here will be you. So… I hope you’re wearing a diaper because you’re about to go down.”
“You know my thoughts about going down, Sloan.” He winked salaciously.
Grr. He was trying to rile her up, and it worked. A blush hit her cheeks so hard her eyes blurred.
It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be having fun. It was supposed to be him faltering over her wiles, not the other way around. The heat riding Sloan’s circulatory system increased. For a moment, she thought she’d somehow messed with the thermostat in the gym by mistake, but no one else was affected. She shook her arms out and then held her fists in front of her face, boxer style.
“Bring it, Maxi-Pad.”
A flicker of—something—behind his eyes, then it was gone. Max bounced deftly on his toes, fists hanging loosely at his side. The smug asshole wasn’t nervous in the least. Probably thought those bulging biceps were going to save him. Ha! Even if Sloan was a little out of form, she’d been trained by Mary—a small, fiery, un-powered assassin who was still the deadliest person Sloan had ever met.
Wyatt harrumphed and moved to lean a shoulder on the concrete wall, as far as he could get from the mat.
Just as well, Sloan didn’t hesitate. She took two steps forward and jabbed relentlessly, driving for Max’s face.
He bounced back each time, darting out of reach. “That all you got?”
A frustrated sound came from the base of her throat.
Mary always said, when fighting someone bigger, go for the vulnerables. Eyes. Groin. Throat. Incapacitate him from the word go. He was bigger so supplied the energy. She’d have to be smarter and control the force. All she needed was to get Max down on the mat and she was sorted, but you’d have to excuse her for wanting to make this last. She had a broken heart to defend.
Circling, she jabbed a few more times and took note of his reactions, cataloging each twitch, flinch, step, breath. They danced around each other, feinting, but never connecting.
“Come on, Sloanie. Show me some of that skill you’ve always bragged about,” he teased, but she only gave him a secretive smile.
When she was sure she knew his tells, she dropped her fists as a decoy. She intended to confuse him, to surprise him with a feint, and then go in for an uppercut—
Max rushed her.Shit.
He jack-hammered strikes to her head. She jumped back, arms out, blocking his fists with her palms before they hit her face. Damn that man, trying to use brute force against her. Trying to intimidate her. She knew how he played. She knew his battle strategy. They didn’t get to become one of the leadingCall of Dutyteams without learning how each other’s minds worked. He was a smash and grab guy. She preferred to use her brain. Anger spiked, turning her defense to offense. Spotting an opening, she planted her hind foot, bounced back, cut under his arm, pivoted and roundhouse kicked him in the face.
Max’s head snapped back from the force, a spray of saliva or sweat bursting in the air.
Agony!
