Page 40 of Crush (Deadly Hearts 1)

The fucker. How am I supposed to be all menacing when he is sporting a hard-on at my best attempt without actually hurting him?

“I don’t already know,” he murmurs, reaching out to grab my wrist slowly. He lowers the blade and I let him before I tense up and surprise him with my strength. Everyone takes it for granted that I’m a weak, little woman. They don’t know the lengths I go to keep in shape. Usually up at 3AM to work out, train for two hours, this has been lacking the last morning due to this asshole currently in my way. Doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing. After that day, no one and I mean no one touches me without my permission or they face the wrath of the Black Widow. I’ve already stabbed someone this week. Two won’t faze me.

“Whoa, okay, tiger,” he growls at me as I dig in harder with the blade. “Forgot who I was dealing with,” he adds quietly.

“Where is he?” I grit out.

“I honestly don’t know…yet,” he says with a sigh. “But I will, and then I am going in. This is what I’m here for.”

“No. You are here to have my back. I am here to take care of business. Jake thinks he can fuck with me by taking my boyfriend of an hour, then he has seriously underestimated me.” I drop the knife and turn back to my bag to throw more stuff into it. I kick off my shoes and reach around to unzip my dress. I slide the zipper down, but hands overtake mine and do it for me.

“Now, Princess?” Declan asks with a soft laugh.

“Fuck you,” I snap and turn when my dress falls to the floor. I take a moment, a quick, vain moment to see if David is looking at me.

He is.

He can’t take his eyes off me.

Good.

That’s good.

I bend down and pull out some black leather pants, a black long-sleeved t-shirt and a black leather vest from a drawer, along with some lightweight, but sturdy black boots that come up to my knee. Maximum protection without going in weighed down by TAC gear. It won’t stop a bullet, but it will slow down a blade.

I remove my thigh holsters and get dressed methodically while the three men watch me silently, then I strap the holsters back on, shove a black hunting knife in the top of my left boot and then zip up the bag. I haul it up, knowing how heavy it is and compensating my balance for the extra weight.

I brush past Declan and say, “Tell me the second you know where he is. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he murmurs and follows me out of the safe, slamming the door closed behind him.

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