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So is something else.
On me.
“Try me. You stole my firearm,” I hiss. “What the fuck were you thinking? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? And what are you planning to do?” In the moonlight, her eyes should be big as saucers, frightened and agitated.
But they’re narrow and calculating.
Like a cat.
“You think you can escape and go get John, Stellan and Blaine? You stupid little -- ”
The bite comes out of nowhere as she sits up, her core muscles so fucking powerful she bucks me up an inch or so, and she’s biting my ear.
I see stars.
But I’m not getting off her. She’s driven me to this extreme.
The only way to protect Lindsay is to literally pin her in place with my body.
And there are two ways we can do this.
The hard way
or
The harder way
So I headbutt her.
I see stars again, but she lets go and squeals, then howls in pain.
“Why did you dooooo that?” she moans, pressing the bridge of her nose with her fingers, rocking in place.
Ignoring her version of please, I get off her. She won’t bite me like that again. I haul her up and use an arm-twist technique that immobilizes her.
“Gun.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She juts her chin up, defiant.
God, she’s so fucking rebellious and hot.
And a pain in the ass.
“You can be charged with multiple felonies for stealing a firearm from an active-duty military officer and a federal -- ”
“Prove it.”
“Prove you stole my gun?” I snort. “Your fingerprints are all over it.” She’s twisting in my hands but there’s no hope. I’ve held guys three times her size with this technique.
“Prove the gun exists.”
Wasn’t expecting that.
“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.
