Breaking Point (Article 5 #2)(12)

I pictured a metal chain, one link after another. Staring into his brown eyes I answered, “At the weakest link.”

“Between my thumb and my fingers is a breaking point.” His thumbs rubbed the sensitive skin of my wrists. “Break out.”

I took a deep breath, and then as quickly as I could, twisted my wrists and pulled them together, right through the gap in his grip.

I beamed. “Now what?”

“Now you run,” he said, grinning back. “But if you can’t, go for soft spots. Eyes, ears, mouth, neck…” He gestured lower and I averted my gaze. “Like I said, you’re quick. Don’t think twice. Hit a soft spot and get out.”

He grabbed my wrists again, and this time I didn’t hesitate. I twisted out, then turned to run, but before I’d made it two steps he’d caught me, his forearm pressed lightly against my neck so that if I moved forward, I’d choke. My hands went straight to his hold, trying in vain to pull it down. His muscles flexed against me, but didn’t tighten. My back rested flush against his chest, which was warm and solid, and pressed more firmly against me with each breath.

“Tuck your chin,” he whispered. I could feel his lips move against my neck and shivered.

Giving up on moving his arm, I did as he said and burrowed my chin into his muscle. When I’d succeeded on sliding beneath his hold, I could breathe easier, though still not escape.

He told me I could kick back with my heel, drag it down his shin, and stomp on his foot, but when I tried he sidestepped out of the way, pulling me like a rag doll with him.

“Get as much air as you can,” he instructed, “then, all at once, shove your hips back and lean forward. It’ll throw me off balance.”

I breathed in as deeply as I could, and pushed back against him.

It didn’t work. We straightened, struggled, and then at some point became still. Every inch of my skin heated. I could scarcely breathe, feeling his heart pound against my shoulder.

“Not fast enough,” he said, voice thick.

Though his hold loosened slightly, his forearm stayed pressed to my throat, but the other hand holding it in place lowered, fingers inching down my waist to drag across my stomach. I gasped.

“You can get away any time you want.”

I could, but I didn’t want to. His nose nuzzled my neck, then drew up behind my ear. My knees weakened, and my eyes drifted closed.

Someone broke through the stairway. The door clanged so hard against the metal stop we both bolted apart.

Sean. He closed the distance between us, his hair disheveled and a wild look on his face.

“Lincoln radioed from the Square,” he said. “You should hear this.”

One unsteady breath, one last look into Chase’s eyes, and I followed.

*

SEAN didn’t hesitate. He flew down the stairs, leaving us scrambling in his wake, the worry over what had happened increasing with each step.

“You two picked a great time to disappear.”

“What is it?” I called after him. “What happened? Is someone hurt?” I pictured the faces of those that had left this morning.

“Not us,” he said. “Them.”

“What?”

We’d reached the fourth floor, and instead of answering, he pushed through into the hallway. It was like stepping into a party. People were cheering; even Riggins had taken on both brothers in a play wrestling match.

He paused when he saw us. There was a strange look on his face as he approached, almost curious, but for the ever-condemning speculation in his glare. I blushed, wondering if he knew what Chase and I had been doing upstairs, and braced for him to say something nasty.

“Where’ve you two been?” he asked.

“Not now, Riggins,” warned Chase. To my surprise, Riggins nodded slowly and backed away.

Billy elbowed in beside us, face flushed. He was carrying Gypsy, who was practically screeching from all the noise. “Can you guys believe it?” The cat sank her teeth into his wrist and he wailed, then dropped her on the floor. She darted away between our legs.

“What’s going on?” Chase was not entertained.

Sean led us through the crowd to the surveillance room, where Wallace was pacing from one corner to the other. If not for the grin plastered across his face I would have thought him seriously distressed.

Chase grabbed a radio from the coffee table and tuned it to the right frequency. We held it between us and cupped our hands over our opposite ears to drown out the noise. It was the FBR channel, and a male voice crackled through.

“All units to Market Square. There is a code seven in progress, repeat, code seven. Four soldiers down. Fire taken from above, single action, long-range sniper assault. All units cleared to return fire.”

“They’ve been repeating the same message for the last hour,” said Sean.

“The sniper?” I felt the blood rush from my face. “What’s a code seven?”

“Code seven is a civilian attack on a soldier.” Chase’s expression was grim. It seemed like he and I were the only ones who found the event sobering. “Any word on our people?” he asked Wallace.

“Not yet,” Wallace said. His grin had faded. “They’ll come home when they can.”

I closed my eyes. “They’re probably right in the middle of this.”