Wicked (A Wicked Trilogy #1)(23)

For a moment I couldn't remember where my phone was, but then I remembered it was in the kitchen, next to my laptop. I started to fire back, but Tink suddenly appeared in the open doorway, and what the? He had one of those skillets just large enough to cook an egg in, and he was holding it over his head like a battle-axe. I was kind of surprised that he could carry the pan, but Tink was buff for a little guy. He had a six-pack—a brownie six-pack. His face was contorted in a silent battle cry as he started into the room.

Wide-eyed, I shook my head. As much as I appreciated the effort, his interference would not end well. That small as hell frying pan was not going to do any damage. Thankfully, Tink froze and lowered the pan. A second passed then he zoomed out of the doorway.

"Are you calm yet?" Ren asked.

Calm enough to shove a spike through his startling green eyes. "Okay. So you admit to being creepy and looking at my personal information, but how did you get in here?"

"I don't think taking a tiny peek at your file is that creepy." His hands shifted, and I jerked as his thumbs moved along the insides of my wrists. God, if he started that thumb thing again, I was going to lose it. "But to answer your question, the balcony doors off your living room were unlocked. So, technically, I didn't break in."

Unlocked? Dammit. That had to be Tink. "You didn't break in, but you had to have scaled a wall to get to that balcony,"

"Actually, I scaled the vines."

Damn, that . . . that took talent. I refused to admit I was any bit impressed. And he was doing that thumb thing again, slow tracing circles that created a deep, unsettling feeling that had to do with him being a creeper. "So you looked at my stuff, scaled my wall, let yourself into my house, then came into my bedroom and sat on my bed. And watched me sleep? That's got creep factor written all over it."

"I thought girls liked being watched by some random dude. Here I had it wrong this whole time," he replied.

Tink appeared in the open door again, his wings rapidly moving, and in his hands he held a . . . slingshot? Oh sweet baby Jesus take the wheel. Where did he get a slingshot? Off of Amazon? That didn't matter. The brownie had taken the time to paint his face. One half was red, the other blue. He looked like he wandered off the set of Braveheart. I mouthed the word no at him.

He threw up a hand, and I think I saw a middle finger.

"Are you talking to someone?" Ren's grip loosened as he rocked back and turned to the door. My heart stopped, but Tink zipped away before Ren could see him.

"No," I said.

Ren paused. "Huh."

His knees widened, letting up on my hips, and with the lax grip on my wrists, I took advantage of the distraction. Yanking my arms free, I rolled as Ren cursed. I sat up, wincing as that really pulled at the stitches, sending a bite of pain across my midsection. Gripping Ren's shoulders, I flipped him onto his back and straddled him as I reached under my pillow, grabbing the iron stake I always kept there.

Before he moved, I placed the very pointy end against his throat, right over a very important artery. "Role reversal, bitch."

Ren let his arms fall to the mattress as he stared at me through impossibly thick lashes. "That move was really kind of hot."

I narrowed my eyes.

"You really are Merida."

"Who in the hell is Merida?"

One side of his mouth kicked up again. "The chick from the movie Brave with—"

"The frizzy red hair. Got it. Thanks. I'm seriously going to stab you."

"She didn't have frizzy hair," he argued. "And besides, she was hot."

I stared down at him. "You think a Disney character is hot?"

"Have you seen some of those Disney characters?"

"She was not hot. She's like the least hot of all Disney characters." I hadn't seen the movie, but I remember catching glimpses of it. The chick didn't even have boobs. Why couldn't he say I reminded him of Ariel or something?

Then again, Ariel was kind of stupid, giving up her voice for a dude.

His brows lifted. "She could kick ass, therefore she was hot."

My fingers tightened on the stake. Okay. So Merida was a badass, and I guessed that was better than saying I reminded him of Belle, the Stockholm victim, and now I was oddly flattered. "This conversation has taken a weird turn."

"Yeah," he drawled lazily, and then moved his arms. I tensed, but he didn't move to grab me. He lifted his head and pressed the vulnerable section of his neck against the stake, carefully folding his arms behind his head. "It has."

Annoyed at his lack of fear and concern, I scowled at him. "Comfy?"

His grin spread, turning downright wicked. "Very."

"Don't call me Merida anymore." Using my other hand, I pressed down on the center of his chest, then kind of wished I hadn't. Good Lord that was one hard chest. Did he have pecs? He totally had pecs. My gaze darted to his right arm, to the extraordinary tattoo for a brief second before I met his stare.

Ren appeared to consider my order. "Since you asked nicely, I won't do it again, but you can call me whatever you want."

"Are you hitting on me?" Shocked, I shook my head. "Are you for real?"

"My momma probably thinks I'm real."

I ignored that. "While I have a stake at your throat?"