Page 33 of Brawler
“You’re okay, Shortcake,” he said, playing on her radiating need to be reassured, and for once, he wanted to be that guy. Right here, right now.
He was incredibly grateful; the alternative didn’t even compute in his head.
Her wide eyes lifted, and his chest sank. Pale face, trembling hands, shock tearing through her, and he’d put half of it there himself.
“You killed that man twice,” she whispered.
“I killed him once,” he said evenly. “The headshot was insurance. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he wasn’t. But he wasn’t going to get back up and touch you again.”
Her eyes flinched, but he didn’t look away. He let her see the certainty in him. He knew what he was doing. He always knew.
The truth, though? He’d been gone for a minute. Her scream had set the haze in his head, and he’d wanted that bastard erased from existence. He’d seen it in her eyes, the way she’d looked at him like he was a monster and he knew it was true. Lethal. Deranged. Whatever name she gave it, it was what he was.
It gutted him anyway.
She was trembling, smeared in another man’s blood, smeared in his, and he was the reason she’d seen any of it. Not his fault, not really, circumstance had dropped them off the cliff, spun the firefight into a goatfuck. But consequence didn’t give a damn about fault. She was in his arena now, in a world he knew without having to think about it, and he’d be damned if she was touched like that again.
But regret? No. Never. Not for the kill. The world was split simply for men like him…win or die. With her, there was only one option.
He had to be better than anyone. Always better. Goddamn better, where she was concerned.
As he walked things got worse. Damned if he couldn’t feel her behind him, her fatigue, her fear, her horror, bleeding into him like an open wound. It made him mad dog wild with confusion, frustration, an overload of process, and new intel he couldn’t shut out.
Overstimulation squared, transmuted into something else, like she was some wild forest sprite with the alchemy of knowing exactly which buttons to push and when.Different. Achingly, beautifully different.
Her pixie energy that didn’t make him want to fuck and run, but to dig in, to break her down to her smallest pieces and learn how she ticked. To channel his brother’s math obsession into an Emily obsession. To OCD his way into her pants.
Fuck. He was thinking nonsense and falling into a hole he was digging deeper with every thought he couldn’t make sense of.
So he picked a fight.Hell, it felt like the onlytacticaladvantage he had left.
“Move, Strawberry Shortcake. This isn’t Strawberryland. Tired isn’t going to keep you alive. Dig deep.”
Emily released an incredulous laugh. “I don’t know what’s more disturbing. You know where she lives or that you think anything about trudging through the jungle with you is anything close to berrylicious.” He felt it, the defiance snap through her posture. He knew his tone was goading, harsh, but he was in a different kind of overload, something new, something he hadn’t processed yet.
“Keeping me alive? I thought that was your job.” Her eyes narrowed, and the dig landed clean. Her anger hit him like a charge, fueling him. He ate it up, needed it to keep himself moving, to stay in his lane. He didn’t have the time or headspace to cradle the bruises on her cheek, the blood on her shirt, the blow she’d taken. That was a hell he couldn’t prevent. His reaction now was simple. Stay the course. Her pixie barbs he would endure.
He whirled on her, snarl quick and hot. “Fuck me. So, Dagger’s twins love Strawberry Shortcake, the character, and I know a few things about her.” He pointed his finger at her, hating those damn bruises so much he could chew glass. “It is my goddamned job because you couldn’t refrain from cataloging a freaking paw print?” Her hair seemed to fuel the flames, glowing in the moonlight like twilight fire. “Keeping you alive is carved into my heart, so your cooperation would be appreciated. You don’t move or breathe or speak or fucking blink without my approval.”
Her brow rose, chin jutting as she stepped into his personal space, and damn if the air didn’t thin. “Is that so, Mr. Neanderthal? How about I have something to say? Do I pinch you, boot you in the ass, throw stones like Soon-to-be-Dr. Neanderthal, or raise my fucking hand?”
Christ. He wanted to kiss her again. It blindsided him. He fucking loved her spunk, her sarcasm. It was golden, swirling around him like glitter burn. For one dangerous second, he was ready to chuck everything, drag her into the nearest hidey-hole, and fuck her until he couldn’t breathe, until she called out his name and it echoed off his soul.
“You’re blaming me!I should have known.” Emily’s voice cracked sharp, riding the edge of hysteria. She was still caught in the whirlpool, adrenaline burning off into aches in her muscles, her heart pounding like it wanted out of her chest. What the hell was his problem? He just turned his back on her, shoulders bunched, jaw locked, grumping at her like a locomotive building steam.
Dagger’s twins.Why the hell did he have to throw that out there? She wasn’t about to melt in the middle of a goddamn firefight, not from the thought of this giant of a man kneeling in the dirt to play with children, to care, to love. She wasn’t going to let that image crack her open.
He turned back around. “What do you know about survival in your academic world? Playing at data collection while danger tracks you like a big predator, making you its next meal, worm food. If we hadn’t come along, you wouldn’t even be here.”
Her throat burned. “Go ahead, discount me as some stupid egghead who doesn’t know a damn thing about survival. But I’ve seen it raw and up close.” He scoffed and turned away, and something broke in her. She moved around him too fast, stopping him in his tracks. “I’ve seen it firsthand. My sister, going slowly blind, her world getting dimmer and dimmer, and there was nothing she could do. Nothing anyone could do. There was only survival…for her, for us.” Her voice caught, and tears burned and threatened. He lifted those goggles and pinned her with an intense stare, cutting through the shadows. He swallowed hard, something breaking in those quicksilver eyes, something she wanted to explore, but he’d blown this up, and she’d lost her shit. Her hands shook, but she still grabbed hisvest and shoved him with all her fury. He didn’t move an inch. Stupid, muscle-bound bastard.
“For your information,” she spat, chest heaving, “I’ve been trying to tell you something since I ended up on your assault-burn.”
“Shortcake,” he warned, his voice tortured and inflamed.
Heat rose like there was a buried fire beneath them. Why did she have to remind him and herself about that infamous hard-on?
She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about how it felt to be on that body.
