Page 14 of Brawler
Emily yelped and dove left, ducking under a fallen log just as his hand swiped for her.
“Goddammit, Shortcake?—”
She popped up on the other side, grinning through her panting just to spite him. “Too slow, Rambo!”
He came around, blocking the narrow trail, arms spread like he could net her with sheer reach. She juked sideways, darted around a tree trunk, and slipped past him before he could close the gap. Her hair whipped his chest on the way by.
He spun, cursing under his breath, and lunged again. She ducked low, boots churning mud, veering just out of reach.
For a moment, just a moment, she felt like a kid again, dodging tag in the yard, laughter bubbling up despite the terror still burning in her veins. She was outmatched, yes. But she was quicker. Smarter.
The sound of his growl followed her through the trees. “This isn’t a damn game!”
“Then stop playing catch!” she shot back, vaulting over a slick log and sliding down the embankment on the far side.
Leaves exploded as he thundered after her, that dog of his circling like a wolf, waiting for the moment she’d trip.
Yet, against all odds, Emily Shade was still ahead.
She darted left, then right, ducking under a vine-slung branch that would’ve clotheslined a taller man. Behind her, she heard a growl that was pure frustration, not animal.
“Shortcake!” His voice boomed low through the trees. “You can’t get away from his nose!”
Emily glanced back, breathless but grinning. “Then I’ll tire him out!”
As if to contradict her, the animal loped easily beside her, tongue lolling, tail wagging like this was the best game he’d ever played. Every time she veered, he adjusted, keeping just far enough to herd her, never pouncing. He was enjoying himself.
“Traitor,” his owner snarled at his dog, crashing through the brush. “She’s not a damn chew toy!”
The dog gave a sharp, happy bark, as if to imply,says you.
Emily zigzagged like a rabbit in tall grass, slipping just out of reach while he bulldozed through vines like an angry tank, slipping past another tree trunk just as her pursuer’s ham-sized hand swiped air behind her. She shot him a wicked look over her shoulder. “Too slow again, jumbo!”
“You’re done,” he snarled, rattling through the trees, low and dark.
“Not even close!” she threw back, leaping a root and sprinting down a deer trail.
Behind them, chuckles drifted through the brush as the rest of the team kept pace, shadows moving between trees.
“Lock that sprite down before she gives away our position,” their leader drawled, sounding like a Texas twang, equal parts command and dry amusement.
“Sprite?” The guy with the curls peeking from beneath his helmet snickered. “More like wild Tinkerbell.”
“She’s running circles around him,” rumbled the man with the sharp cheekbones, half impressed.
The one with the jokes and those fine brown eyes, wheezed between laughs. “Bro, she twice-feraled you already, and now she’s running laps. That’s your wife.”
“Shut it,” her former captor barked, vaulting a log. His voice cracked with the effort, pure irritation and, damn, something hotter than irritation.
Emily dodged again, slipping through a tangle of vines that forced him to rip and tear through them after her. The dog bounded through like a deer, ears flicking, utterly delighted.
Every time she thought she’d lost them, he was there. Big, broad, and relentless. But she had speed, size, and spite on her side.
God, infuriating as it was, she’d never felt more alive.
He lunged, but the jungle had other plans. A low-hanging branch cracked him square across the chest and whipped him flat on his back in the mud. The grunt that burst out of him rattled the leaves.
Emily doubled over, hands on her knees, laughter spilling out sharp and bright. “Oh my God. You’re supposed to be the big bad soldier?”
