Hell on Wheels (Black Knights Inc. #1)(50)

Peanut let loose with a soulful, drawn-out mereeow. His scarred black nose pointed toward the ceiling as his crooked tail flicked back and forth in agitation.

“Not you!” she admonished the cat in annoyance. “You!” she pointed a finger at Nate’s muscled chest.

“What’d’ya want me to say?” he asked, sighing resignedly. “If I deem the information too delicate for civilian consumption then, yeah, I’ll make sure it’s only seen by authorized personal, which you’re not.”

“But he was my brother!” she screamed at him, furious and frustrated and scared she just might lose this battle and then she’d never know what any of it meant. “I deserve to know just what the devil he was involved with.”

“No,” he stated with ultra-cool conviction. The Ice Man was back in full force. “You don’t. Besides, you already know too much.”

“Sheesh,” she pulled Peanut to her chest, comforted by his kitty warmth. “So what does that mean? Now you’re going to have to kill me?”

Did government spies/covert defense contractors really snuff-out snoopy civilians, or was that just in the movies?

Although, come to think of it, fiction was usually built, at least in part, on fact.

Well, crapola.

“Never,” Nate vowed, his already deep voice reduced to a guttural growl, almost savage. “I’ll never let anyone or anything harm you, Ali.”

Wow. She swallowed the knot of…something that’d sprouted furry legs and crawled up to sit in her throat. What did a girl say to something like that?

“Th-thank you?”

His jaw firmed, if that was possible considering it already looked like it was made of marble. “I promised Grigg.”

“Oh,” she said, and frowned.

What was that strange sensation in her chest? Disappointment?

“So given that,” he pinned her with a pointed look, “you’re stayin’ here.”

“Read my lips,” she told him sweetly, more determined than ever. She was sick and tired of no one trusting her. It ended now. Today. “No effing way. You want that zip drive? Well, you’re taking me with you to get it. I’m finished being left out in the dark. I can keep a secret, you know.”

If only Grigg had trusted her, told her the truth years ago, perhaps they wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

“Ali.” It was a warning.

“Yes, Nate?” she smiled and batted her lashes.

“You’re gonna give me the location of that zip drive if I hafta paddle your ass ’til it blisters.”

The erotic imagery momentarily seared her weary brain as something hot fluttered low in her belly.

Huh. How about that? Did she want to have her bottom spanked? She’d never thought she was into that before, but with Nate?

Yeah, maybe…

Then the import of his words sank in or, more importantly, the infuriating male arrogance and lack of respect behind them.

“What?” she demanded, standing and ignoring Peanut’s disgruntled growl when he slid off her lap and plopped to the ground with a heavy thud.

“Y’heard me,” he answered, one brow raised tauntingly.

Oh, that did it. She could almost forgive him for not telling her the truth about Grigg’s death. He might have sworn some sort of oath on the Bible, or the U.S. Constitution, or his mother’s grave, or whatever it was they made spies/covert defense contractors, or whatever the h-e-double-hockey-sticks he was, swear oaths on.

But one thing she could not, would not, abide was this macho male attitude, this arrogant highhandedness.

Oh no, he di-int!

She did a mental z-snap and channeled her inner badass.

With as much aplomb as she could muster, given she thought she might explode in a blast of righteous fury any second, she marched over to where he reclined oh so nonchalantly.

Her smile was feigned and feral as a jungle cat when she stopped in front of him. “I may have come to you for help, but last time I checked I’m not a six-year-old girl and you’re certainly not my father.”

“Thank God for that,” he mumbled under his breath, eyeing her I’m-gonna-kill-you expression with enough mild indifference she was hard pressed not to punch him in the middle of his damnably attractive face.

What was it about the man that made her thirst for violence? She was mild mannered by nature, but something in Nate Weller brought out the tigress in her. She wanted to bite and scratch and hiss…

“So it stands to reason, bucko,” she fisted her hands on her hips and leaned down to put her face mere inches from his, “that you can take your misogynistic threats and shove them straight up your butt.”

Your really fine, really hard butt! The one she usually wanted to take a bite out of, but currently craved kicking straight into next week.

When his lips twitched, her right bicep bunched in readiness to take a swing.

He seemed to read the intent in her eyes, because he democratically cleared his throat and managed to wipe the semi-smirk from his face. “Sounds painful. I’ll just forgo that, if y’don’t mind.”

“Oooh, don’t go getting a sense of humor now!” She was so irritated, she actually stomped her foot—and she was not the foot-stomping type.

“’Scuse me?” He actually seemed genuinely perplexed.