Page 127 of His Ruthless Match
I heard a faint noise, like a shuffle, coming from the balcony. My heart skipped a beat. I froze, the spoon clattering onto the counter.
“Jareth?” I called out, my voice shaky.
No answer.
I turned slowly, scanning the apartment. The living room was dark, the shadows long and strange. And then I saw it—a figure, crouched low on the balcony, a crowbar in hand as they worked at the lock.
My breath caught. For a moment, I couldn’t move. The intruder hadn’t seen me yet, too focused on forcing their way inside. Panic gripped me, my pulse roaring in my ears.
And then I screamed.
Jareth burst into the kitchen, his hair dripping wet, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs. His eyes locked onto the balcony, taking in the situation in an instant. His entire body tensed like a predator ready to strike.
“Stay back,” he ordered, his voice a sharp growl.
I pressed against the counter, too terrified to argue as the intruder shattered the glass and stepped inside. He was wiry, his movements quick and purposeful. He didn’t speak, his gaze locked on me with a chilling intensity.
But he never got the chance to act.
Jareth was on him in a blur, so fast it didn’t register until the crack of bone echoed off the kitchen walls. He slammed his fist into the intruder’s jaw with enough force to whip the man’s head sideways, sending him crashing into the splinteredremains of the doorframe. Wood cracked. Hinges groaned. The man rebounded like he hadn’t even felt it.
He drew a blade.
The flash of steel caught the overhead light, and then he lunged, aiming for Jareth’s throat.
Jareth pivoted on instinct, dodging the strike with a smooth, practiced ease. One hand caught the attacker’s wrist, twisting sharply. There was a pop, a scream, and the knife clattered uselessly to the tile.
But the bastard didn’t stop.
He lunged again, desperate, throwing a sloppy punch that barely grazed Jareth’s jaw. It was enough to draw blood.
It was also enough to piss him off.
Jareth caught the man’s arm mid-swing, his fingers closing around the elbow joint like a vise. “You picked the wrong fucking apartment.”
Then he slammed into the wall. The drywall split with a vicious crack, plaster dust raining down like ash as the man’s body crumpled against it. He let out a strangled groan, but still tried to claw his way free.
Adrenaline roared through my veins. My pulse was thundering in my ears. I scanned the kitchen, breath short, stomach twisting. My fingers curled around the edge of a ceramic fruit bowl, and in the next instant I hurled it.
It shattered against the wall inches from the intruder’s head, ceramic shards skittering across the floor like shrapnel.
“Stay back!” Jareth barked, not even glancing back at me.
The man let out a guttural snarl and surged forward, scrambling on hands and knees through the glass-strewn floor. His hand closed around a jagged shard, and before Jareth could stop him, he slashed.
A streak of red bloomed across Jareth’s side.
My stomach dropped.
But Jareth didn’t so much as wince. He seized the attacker’s wrist and twisted. A sickening crunch followed, and the shard fell. The man screamed.
“Who sent you?” Jareth growled, his face inches from the man’s. His voice was ragged now—gravel laced with steel.
The attacker gasped, blood dripping from his chin. No answer.
“Who. Sent. You.”
Still nothing. Jareth’s jaw locked.
