Page 5 of Fixed Asset

Cat lifted a hand and demanded, “Knife.”

I fished my PSK out of my pocket and handed it over.

With deft movements, she flipped off the lock, slid her thumb to the stud, and flicked the folder open. She bent forward to cut her ankles free while saying, “Your pivot screw needs to be tightened.” A moment later, she continued to bitch. “When was the last time you sharpened this? It’s criminal how dull your blade is. I should call Benchmade and report this blasphemy, have them recall your right to purchase—or better, confiscate her and restore her to her original glory.”

“I think I like this chick,” Fallon quipped.

I chanced a look at my teammate. A risk I hoped didn’t end bloody, now that Cat was armed. I wouldn’t put it past the crazy woman to stab me to prove a point.

Fallon, Pete, and Mase formed an arc off to the side—identical poses, arms crossed over their chests, boots planted shoulder-width apart. To complete the pose, they all had matching grins.

The peanut gallery.

Great.

Fallon’s lips quirked, and my gaze quickly skidded back to Cat.

My knife was no longer visible, the plastic ties discarded on the concrete. Cat pushed off the couch, lifted a foot, and rolled her ankle.

“Which one of you zipped my feet?” she asked.

“With that elbow and right hook you’ve got, not sure you’re gonna get a confession,” Mase told her.

Catarina smiled. Not the kind that was toothy and wide and conveyed happiness. No, this smile was a barely there smirk, but it lit her eyes. It was the kind of smug smile that made a man want to kiss the arrogance off her lips, taste the magnificence of her self-satisfaction.

Truth be told, I wanted to see that smile aimed my way when I fucked her. Then and now, I wanted her with or without the smirk. The bottom line of it was, nine months ago when I’d met her in Vegas, I’d needed to fight the pull of her. I even went so far as to not be alone with her. Our banter had turned flirtatious, and I hadn’t trusted myself not to take that further and see how she’d respond to openly filthy.

My guess? She’d give it back in spades, and she’d do it with this same smug smile. Thus started the fantasy of wanting to plant her astride me and watch that smile turn into awe.

Jesus fuck, less than thirty minutes in her presence and I was already back to mentally getting her naked. Technically, I hadn’t even clapped eyes on her in person before my palms started itching to touch her. That shit started when I caught her on CCTV bopping down Boulevard Morazán.

Then reality hit. She was taking a stroll in one of the deadliest cities in the world. And something else had kicked in—the need to get her safe. Not just safe, but under my protection.

I couldn’t deny I was a man with a strong need to protect and serve, skills I’d spent my adult life honing and fine-tuning. However, that essential part of me had never extended to any one person—it had always been for the mission, for the greater good, for the men and women who served with me. But there was something about Catarina that kicked those instincts into hyperdrive.

The thought of her being in danger sent my blood pressure skyrocketing to unreasonable heights.

And that was why she was off limits.

The woman loved putting herself in danger.

The fuck of it was, nine months ago, I’d fallen in love with her. Then in an effort to do the right thing, to allow her to be who she was without me dragging her down, I walked away.

I had a feeling the second time around was going to be even harder.

Chapter Three

The struggle was real, but I managed to peel my gaze from Jack to the other three men in the room.

One of these men had to be Mia Keniston’s brother, Saint ‘Pete’ Young. My guess was the tallest one, who shared Mia’s brown hair and brown eyes, but more than that, they had the same high cheekbones. On Mia they looked striking, on Pete they looked chiseled.

I moved to the side where the men were standing and took my chances, offering my hand.

“I’m Catarina Keys. Saint, right?”

The man took my hand in a firm grip. No smile. Assessing gaze of a former Team Guy.

“Pete,” he corrected, offering his nickname. “Nice to meet you.”