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“Prove the what?”
“It’s not registered. All the metal’s been filed down. Bet it’s untraceable. Which means I can’t steal something that doesn’t exist, Drew,” she says, taunting me.
Teasing me.
Blood runs in a small trickle from her left nostril, looking like a black worm in the night.
“Do you mind?” She jostles her hands. “Can I wipe my nose that you just injured? Daddy is going to shit a brick when he finds out you’ve abused his daughter.”
“And when he finds out you stole my gun to go after three well-established, highly successful men to fulfill some sick, mentally unbalanced scheme you have for revenge against guys who did nothing more than meet your request for some gang bang sex, I don’t think your version of events is the one he’s going to believe.”
She moves to kick me in the balls.
I’m a nanosecond faster and swoop my foot across her ankles.
Lindsay drops. I let go of her wrist.
“You bastard,” she says from the ground, looking up at me, blood smeared and eyes wide and feral now.
“You think this is me being a bastard, Lindsay? Really? Because on a scale of bastard, this is downright courtly.”
“You bruise me and headbutt me and give me a bloody nose and you call that courtly?”
“You pretend to want me, give me a little intimacy -- ” My voice cracks on that word, damn it. “And then steal my gun and try to escape. You really aren’t in a position to demand anything from me behavior-wise.”
Her lips purse, nostrils flaring, and she grabs the hem of her shirt, pulling it up to wipe her nose.
A flash of dusky nipples greets my gaze.
I bite back a groan.
We’re both panting, angry, frustrated, feeling betrayed, and turned on as fuck.
Or maybe that’s just me.
“Lindsay. Give me my gun. I’m not going to stop asking.”
She plants the soles of her feet on the ground. She’s wearing black leather sneakers, black sweatpants, a black hoodie with a black t-shirt underneath.
Who does she think she is? An Emo ninja?
Her head dips between her knees and she just breathes.
Footsteps. Leaves rustling. And then --
“Sir?”
It’s Gentian.
“Call them off. Found her.”
He eyes me uncertainly. “And your -- ”
“And nothing. Target found. Do the rest.”
“Yes, sir.” Gentian runs off.
“You are just like Daddy,” Lindsay says, contempt so thick in her voice I could wear it as sunscreen in Afghanistan and stay pasty white. “You think you can order everyone around and they’ll do your bidding like good little robots. I spent four years of my life on that island because Daddy made his mission more important than me.”
