Pausing in the bathroom doorway, I glance back over my shoulder and grin. “You coming?”
Raiden growls, and despite knowing how important it is to get out of here as quickly as possible, he can’t resist following me in.
Thirty minutes later, I stand in nothing but a towel, searching through my clothes for something to wear while shivering like a fucking idiot because neither of us was smart enough to turn the water off once it started to run cold. We were far too caught up in what we were doing.
Picking out the bestI’m about to kick assoutfit, I quickly get dressed while making sure to pull on one hell of a good pair of spanks. After all, having been without underwear for the past few hours while traveling over state lines in the world’s smallest helicopter, I suddenly have the overwhelming urge to never go without again.
Raiden takes off to his apartment to find something to wear, and I can guarantee that he won’t put nearly half the thought into his outfit that I just put into mine. It’ll likely be a blind reach into his closet, and he’ll wear whatever he picks up first. Though it’s not as though he has many options. It’s all black tactical pants and black shirts that are generally too small, but something tells me he likes the way his muscles bulge out of the fabric.
Men!
Not having the time to do my hair, I put it up in a claw clip before striding out to the living room and looking over the things that are most important to take with me—Spikezilla and Needles, and their backup homes, of course.
I take them over to my entryway table, and as I turn back to look at the home I’ve lived in for the past few years, a heavy sadness comes over me, realizing this will likely be the last time I’ll step foot in this home. It’s bittersweet, because on the other hand, I’ll now be starting a life with Raiden, and that excites me more than I could ever know.
With my two babies ready to start anew in the South of France, I go to scoop them up when I remember that massive purple giftbox that Raiden had given me, and despite the two of us being more than capable of getting the job done without the added advantage, I can’t bring myself to leave them behind. Hell, anything that holds any kind of sentimental attachment to Raiden isn’t something I’m willing to part with.
Hurrying toward my bedroom, I take a sharp turn to the left andbarrel straight toward my closet doors, flinging them open to find the giant purple giftbox staring back at me. My fingers close around the sides of the box, the cardboard rough against my palms as I yank it free and turn back toward the hallway, having to walk sideways to get back out through the bedroom door.
I laugh to myself. I can only imagine what he’s going to say when he sees me coming out with this box, but there’s no changing my mind now.
Putting one foot in front of the other, I take the box back out to the kitchen counter to where it lived for the first few weeks after its arrival, and just as I go to release it, my front door explodes inward.
The sound is deafening.
Wood splinters outward like shrapnel as the doorframe tears apart, and I yelp in surprise as the violent crash echoes through the apartment.
Heavy boots thunder across my living room floor as three men pour inside, black tactical gear blending with the shadows, suppressed rifles already sweeping the room.
“Fuck.”
CHAPTER 28
KIARA
The purple box slips from my fingers and drops off the edge of the counter, spilling vibrators and monster cocks across the floor as my body pivots on instinct. My eyes sweep the room in a fraction of a second, already calculating distance, angles, objects.
I have no easily accessible weapons. Nothing but the contents of my apartment and three trained killers rushing toward me.
Sure, it’s not exactly how I intended to do this, but we’re here now, so I suppose we’re doing this the hard way. Consider it the ultimate test of my skills, exactly what I’ve trained for all these years.
Diving deeper into the kitchen, I act on instinct, not allowing them the extra seconds to point and aim. Tearing open the first cabinet I find, my hand closes around the handle of my frying pan, and I hurl itacross the room with every ounce of strength I have.
The metal spins through the air like a missile before smashing into one of the assassins’ faces with a bone-rattling crunch. Blood spurts at the same time that his head snaps sideways, and his body drops instantly, the rifle clattering against the floor.
One down, two to go. But now I’ve lost my quick element of surprise.
The second assassin charges forward, faster and closer than I’d like as I sprint around my kitchen island, moving like lightning, too fast for him to get off a clean shot.
My hand locks onto the back of the nearest dining chair, and I whip it backward, slamming the wooden frame straight into his chest. The impact sends him stumbling into the coffee table, the glass cracking beneath his weight, right where Spikezilla and Needles were sitting only a few minutes ago. But he doesn’t stay down—men like this never do, they enjoy coming back for more.
Ripping the broken chair leg free from the splintered frame, I swing as hard as I can, barely giving him a chance to find his balance before the wood connects with the side of his skull. A sickening crack fills the air as his eyes roll back and he collapses across the table.
But I barely spare him a glance, all too aware of the third assassin quickly closing in, and before I can figure out a game plan, he fires.
I dive, and the shot snaps past my shoulder, plunging into the wall as I hastily scramble behind the couch, adrenaline flooding my veins. The footsteps are closing in, and as I search for something to save mylife, I find the frying pan I’d just used to take out the first guy, and my hand snaps toward it, grasping the handle without skipping a beat.
The assassin rounds the couch, rifle already lowering toward me, and I explode upward, the frying pan driving straight into his throat, and I scoff as he drops hard. “Not today, asshole.”
