Hell on Wheels (Black Knights Inc. #1)(52)

“It’s part of my charm,” he said, one corner of his fabulously male mouth twitching.

She rolled her eyes. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

Lifting a finger, she lightly touched alarmingly solid bone beneath the harsh bristle of his whiskers. “I’m sorry I hit you. Does your jaw hurt?”

“Yes.”

She winced in sympathy. “Sorry,” she said again.

“Don’t be. Y’did a fabulous job.”

“I did?”

“Yep,” he rubbed at the spot on his jaw and grinned like a loon. “You led with your shoulder. Just like Grigg taught you.”

“Don’t sound so pleased,” she scolded, still a little astonished she’d actually hit him… again. She’d never laid a hand on anyone in her entire life—the punches she and Grigg had thrown as kids didn’t count—but somehow she’d managed to hit Nate Weller twice. “Knowing how to throw a punch isn’t necessarily something I’m proud of.”

He made the facial equivalent of a shrug. “Next time aim for the nose. It’s a lot more difficult for a man to defend himself with a broken nose. Causes the eyes to water so much it makes it nearly impossible t’see. Not t’mention the blood chokin’ you as it runs down the back of your throat.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you. Not really,” she admitted.

“I know.”

“Nate?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m going with you.”

She watched as he searched her face and almost whooped with victory when he sighed and slowly nodded.

“Okay, but y’do exactly as I say when I say it. No questions. No hesitation. And you’re wearin’ Kevlar. It’s gonna be hot as hell, but that’s my condition.”

“Yes, sir,” she snapped him a salty little salute.

He frowned before he growled, “Get up.” Nearly dumping her on the floor as he suddenly stood.

“Whoa!” She stumbled but managed to catch herself before she face-planted. “What the heck was that abo—Oh!” Her cheeks heated as she saw the hard ridge outlined behind his denim-covered fly.

“Yep,” he muttered, “oh is right.”

“Well why can’t we just—”

He cut her off, slashing his hand through the air like a karate chop. “Leave it alone, Ali. I don’t want to have this reaction t’you, so if you really wanna come with me on this little mission, you’ll just leave it alone. Y’got that?”

Yeah, she got it. Loud and painfully clear. And now here she was, somewhere in Kentucky, hiding out from a mysterious government agent who’d threatened her at gunpoint, sitting on an old paint bucket in the quickly warming garage and trying not to hyperventilate.

She hadn’t really expected any trouble on the trip.

Crimeny, she really was na?ve. No wonder Grigg had kept her in the dark for so long.

The sound of a footfall outside had her tightening her grip on the little Colt.

Silently standing, she took the shooting stance Grigg had drilled into her. Right arm extended, left hand supporting the edge of her right palm, head tilted ever so slightly so her right eye lined up with the gun’s sights.

All that cloak and dagger stuff in the movies was obviously real, and somehow—because she’d been a complete idiot and insisted on coming along—she’d landed herself right in the middle of it.

Hopefully in real life the ditzy blonde wasn’t the first one to bite the bullet.

She quivered when she realized that last bit didn’t necessarily have to be a euphemism.

“Ali?”

At the sound of Nate’s deep voice, she plopped down on the paint bucket and released her pent up breath in a loud whoosh.

Good heavens, she was so not cut out for this.

“I’m comin’ in,” he said softly. “Don’t shoot me, ’kay?”

“I make no promises,” she told him shakily, prying her finger away from the Colt’s trigger guard.

She shook her head when she heard him chuckle. The man was too strange. Of all the times to break out that elusive laugh, now was not it.

He poked his head around the side door and gave her a sympathetic smile when he saw her wilted condition.

“It’s gonna be all right, sugar,” he told her, pushing the rest of the way into the garage. Walking over to his motorcycle, he began to breakdown his weapon with sure, concise movements.

Sugar. He’d taken to calling her that. She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or irritated. She certainly didn’t feel like sugar, not today. Today, she felt far too…unmoored to be something as fine and delicate as sugar.

Syrup, maybe. All messy and sticky and slow moving.

Yeah, she could probably go along with being called syrup.

“What’r’ya thinkin’ ’bout?” he asked her while precisely stowing the pieces of his vicious-looking sniper rifle into the foam cutouts of his gun case.

What was she thinking about?

She was thinking about her brother’s death, about his lies not just to her but to the men of Black Knights Inc. She was thinking about the fact that someone was after her, had been after her for months. She was thinking since Grigg’s death her world had turned upside down. She was thinking about what a fool she’d made of herself with Nate, how he’d rejected her despite his body’s obvious clamoring to do just the opposite because he didn’t want to have a physical reaction to her…