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EMERY
How am I still standing?
I should be asleep. Or maybe just straight-up unconscious. After six years without an orgasm, I just had two in the last hour.
And still, I can’t relax.
I tried to go to sleep, but my body buzzed with energy. My mind was a whirlpool of worries and fears and fantasies. It was too much.
So I’m back in the forbidden gym, trying to make sense of the weapons cabinet in the back corner.
I didn’t notice it the last time I was in here, but there’s sparring equipment, fencing swords, throwing knives, and…
“Are those nunchucks?” I mutter to myself.
I grab the wooden handles and test out the weight in my hand. The only time I’ve ever seen nunchucks was in a movie. I didn’t think people used them in real life. Strictly for Power Rangers and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
I clumsily twirl the weapon back and forth, getting a feel for it. Then I pivot with a whispered “Hiyah!” and lash out with a wild swing.
I’m imagining someone’s head in the space that the nunchucks are about to annihilate. Malcolm’s, maybe. Or Adr—
Nope, I’m not imagining that.
It’s him.
Adrik’s eyes widen as the weapon hurtles towards him. For one moment, I’m sure I’m about to kill him.
But I should’ve known better.
He ducks just in time. The weapon scythes harmlessly through the air where he just was. I scream and let go, and the weapon goes clattering into the far corner of the room.
I swear my heartbeat is audible to Isabella several rooms over as Adrik stands and straightens the cuffs of his shirt.
“You missed,” he drawls.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were—” I cut off the apology. “Actually, you shouldn’t have snuck up on me.”
“This is my house. I can go wherever the hell I want,” he snaps. “You, on the other hand, should be in bed.”
I feel my face heat up. I turn away, pretending to study the weapons cabinet. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“So you decided to knock yourself out with tools you don’t know how to use. Smart.”
I spin around and glare at him. “Oh, as if you know how to use these.”
“You don’t think I do?”
“What use does a billionaire have for fighting?”
He waves me forward. "Come on if you want me to show you."
I narrow my eyes. "Fine. I was worried I wouldn't get a second chance to break your nose."
"Now, why would you want to do that?”
"Because it doesn't match." I grab another set of nunchucks from the cabinet and whirl around. "Your face is perfect, but the person beneath is an asshole."
He smirks, which only makes me more determined. "Stop telling me how you feel and show me."
As soon as he's done talking, I wrench my arm back and lash out at him. I'm positive I'm about to split his cheekbone wide.
But the next instant, Adrik is gone.
I can't change my momentum, so I clumsily follow through, and then scramble to find Adrik.
He's behind me now, still smirking. "Cute. But not quite good enough."
"Asshole!"
I swing again with every intention of breaking him wide open.
Adrik sidesteps, lets me stumble forward, then ensnares my wrist in his hand and wrenches it so hard that I drop the nunchucks to the floor.
He spins me in so I’m pressed against his chest.
“Remember when I was inside of you?” he hisses in my ear. “Of course you do. You’re never going to forget.”
I scream in frustration and try to jerk my elbow back into his ribs, but Adrik is too fast. He sweeps his leg around and knocks my feet out from under me.
I hit the ground hard. He follows me down.
“Gotcha,” he laughs in my face.
“Let go of me,” I spit.
He does the opposite.
His lips part, and he leans closer. So close that my eyes flutter, ready for him to kiss me—even after everything. Even after the way he left me naked and alone in the dining room.
Then, true to form, he changes course, hops up, and leaves me again.
“This should be a lesson for you,” he says from where he towers overhead.
“What’s the lesson?”
“Don’t fuck with me.”
I roll my eyes to bury my frustration and stand up. “Noted. Now, care to fuck off?”
“As we discussed, kiska, it’s my house.”
I kick the nunchucks back towards the cabinet. “Fine. Then stay. But don’t distract me.”
I grab the wraps from the cabinet and start wrapping my hands. I only did it a few times in my boxing class, so I’m rusty, but trying to hide it.
“You’re screwing it up.” Adrik plucks the wrap from my grasp. “Let me.”
“I’m not completely incompetent, you know? I can take care of myself.”
He snorts. “You certainly try.”
“Are backhanded compliments the only kind you know how to give?”
“Stop bitching and give me your hands.”
He says nothing as he tightly wraps my knuckles on one hand and then moves on to the next. There’s nothing sexual about what he’s doing—not in theory, at least—but it’s sending zings of electricity through me regardless.
His hands are strong and tanned. There are tiny knicks and scars across his fingers, evidence of things I’d rather not think about.
I want to reach out and brush my thumb across them. Feel the texture of his skin, the heat of his pulse.
For fuck’s sake, growls the voice in my head. What else does this man have to do to show you that he is not worth lusting over?
He’s kidnapped my daughter, fucked me and abandoned me, and made me fear for my life while he interrogated me for things I never did.
Adrik doesn’t have red flags—he is a red flag.
And yet I can’t forget what it felt like to be bent over a table in front of him. Or what it felt like to be wrapped up in his strong arms on the dance floor the night we met.
Safe.
Wanted.
