Page 51 of Property of Whiskey

“Stay where you are.”

“Wasn’t planning on dancing.”

“Hands where I can see them.”

“They are.”

“Higher.”

Bullet glances toward me. “Y’all rehearsed this?”

“Bullet.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“Trying.”

Twila moves the gun fully onto him.

She widens her stance and tries to split the angle between us, smart enough to know exactly how bad the numbers just got.

That’s the mistake. Not because she ain’t trained. Because she’s outnumbered and knows it.

She’s trying to watch Bullet, me, Kaylee, the van, and the buildings behind us all at once. Too many threats.

One pair of eyes.

I move. Fast.

Twila hears the first step and starts turning.

Too late. I hit her low around the hips. She goes backward with a curse, and we slam into the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of both of us. Her gun hand stays high and away from our bodies instead of letting the muzzle sweep either one.

Good fucking training. I catch her wrist before she can bring the weapon back around.

“Get the fuck off me!”

“Drop it.”

“Go to hell!”

“Already live there.”

She drives a knee toward my balls.

I twist just in time.

Barely.

“Goddammit, woman.”

“Move ‘em faster next time.”

She bucks hard beneath me.

Strong. Sexy. Stronger than most men expect.