Page 31 of Brawler
The jungle seemed to hold its breath.
Just like that, the heat between them twisted into something else entirely. Danger pressed close, breathing down their necks. The shift was brutal, jarring. One heartbeat ago she’d been reeling from the weight of his body, from the raw awareness sparking between them. Now death prowled the shadows, and she realized with a shock that stole her breath that she’d never truly been threatened before. Her normal world had vanished.Her life was in his big, strong hands, the only safe place between her and the darkness.
Then he was gone, slipping from on top of her like smoke, moving as silent as a ghost.
Cold rushed over her skin, unnatural in the jungle heat, as if every drop of blood had abandoned her surface and fled to the core. Emily froze, pressing herself into the damp earth, willing her breath to quiet. She had to give him this. He was right. He was the warrior, and warriors made the lethal choices. If she was dead, her research was dead with her.
A sound reached her ears, soft, agonized, so quick she wasn’t sure she’d truly heard it at all. Her heart jolted, the unmistakable sound of a suppressed firearm cracked soft, final. She drew her arms and legs in tight, making herself smaller, invisible.
A snap of movement. Boots appeared at eye level, close enough she could see the scuffed leather, the mud caked thick in the tread. Not Brawler’s boots.
Her heart rocketed into her throat.
Drops of blood spattered the leaves, bright even in the moonlight. The man collapsed, body thudding hard.
She gasped, eyes flying up.
Brawler loomed above him, knife dark and slick in his grip. His chest heaved, arms corded and glistening with sweat. In the pale silver light, he looked carved from something dangerous, elemental, terrifying enough to chill the blood. Then he was gone again, vanishing into the shadows.
Emily’s relief was short-lived.
A rough hand shot out of the dark, clamping around her arm, yanking her upright. She stumbled with a strangled cry as a stranger leered down at her, face twisted with threat. “A little mouse in the jungle,” he hissed in Spanish, hot breath foul against her cheek. “I think you and I could have some fun.” His palm slammed over her mouth, dragging her back against him.
Panic flared, sharp and primal. Not about to be another damn statistic, she jabbed her elbow hard into his gut. He grunted, loosening his grip.
“Brawler!” she screamed, her mouth suddenly dry.
The man’s snarl twisted into rage. He spun her, backhanded her across the face, pain cracking through her skull.
Before she could fall, a dark blur of muscle and teeth exploded out of the night. Beast hit like a missile, red-gold fury, jaws locking around the man’s arm. He screamed, thrashing, but the dog dragged him down, snarls ripping the jungle silence apart.
“Release!” Brawler’s command cut through the chaos, deep and compelling.
Instantly Beast obeyed, snapping back to his handler’s side, muzzle wet and eyes blazing.
The man tried to scramble, but Brawler was already there, dropping like a hammer, his knee grinding between shoulder blades, knife flashing. Emily turned away, breath choking in her throat as the gurgle of death faded into silence.
She looked back as he pulled out his sidearm, sent a round into the man’s head, then holstered the weapon with precision. She turned away, unable to be as unmoved.
A touch on her shoulder made her flinch. Then relief crashed in so hard her knees nearly buckled.
He’d just killed, how many, she didn’t know, and he hadn’t taken a scratch. Moonlight cut the hard planes of his face beneath the black lenses, making him look less like a man and more like some night-forged hunter sweeping the jungle for threats. His chest heaved once, then went still, the air around him humming with violence barely leashed. Brutal. Skilled. Relentless. Her goddamned savior.
Emily let out a shaky, desperate breath. For one inexplicable moment she was just a little afraid, awed, and turned on. Herbrain went haywire, short-circuiting in the chaos. He wiped the blood on the body, sheathed the knife, those big, powerful hands capable of petting his dog, handing her an SD card like it was no big deal, like she hadn’t been freaked out about it, and then this…this mayhem.
Some part of her registered that this man was dangerous… but now she knew how dangerous. Her body reacted strangely, hot and aching, and she couldn’t be sure if it was just the adrenaline or if it was something deeper, older. In the deepest part of her, where that primal woman lived, the one evolution had honed to recognize the fiercest male, she wanted him. Wanted to know how all that harnessed aggression would turn on her…on her body, her senses, her fragile common sense. How would this man take her apart? How would he fuck her?
Before she could get her mind around all those thoughts, realize the absurdity of them in this situation, he moved, taking her arm. She gave a startled cry as his hand locked around her, solid and sure. Then he was running, carrying her through the night, lethal grace and raw strength propelling them both into the dark.
Brawler kepther moving too fast for words. That was just as well. The last few minutes had been fucking brutal. Business as fucking usual for him, but completely outside her realm of experience.
He dragged her into heavy brush, shoved her behind him, rifle angled forward. Waited. Listened. Tried like hell to separate the ragged sound of her breathing from the jungle’s constant song. His gut told him this dance wasn’t over.
Emily was hyperventilating. He heard every sharp pull of air, the stutter in her chest. He couldn’t fix it now. The fuckers he’d killed tended to run in packs, but they were amateurs, sloppy, cocky, stupidly not hiding their presence. Easiest damn day… He should have been cold, methodical. Instead the image of that last fucker’s hand on her kept sparking in his head, a red haze pressing his vision. It took every ounce of training not to lose his shit then. It was taking everything he had not to lose it now.
He swore under his breath. Hell,no, they weren’t out of this, not yet. Voices carried faint through the vegetation, low, urgent, angry. Orders barked. Answers demanded.
He shifted, scanning. Beast was coiled, nose testing the air, ears pricked, not yet giving a warning. The jungle was a bitch that way. Thick, wet, insidious. Sound bent around the canopy, carrying voices where they didn’t belong. Sight was strangled to ten feet, twenty at best, before everything blurred into green-on-green. No clean lines, no angles, just a thousand places for an enemy to crawl close. It set his nerves humming, seismic waves crawling under his skin.
