Carter Reed 2 (Carter Reed #2)(56)

“Carter,” she whispered.

“Stop, Emma.” She was breaking down, and I couldn’t stop it, any of it. Every day she broke a little bit more—every time I came home without her sister. She wasn’t eating. She wasn’t healing. This was because of me. “This is my fault. Never yours.”

“Carter.”

She wanted to fight. Fine. I’d teach her how to fight. I gestured to the punching bag. “Show me your stance.”

“What?”

“Show me. If that was me, how would you stand against me?”

“I…” Her eyebrows furrowed, and she tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

I moved around the bag to stand beside it and gestured for Emma to square against me. “I’m a Bartel. I’m coming at you. How would you fight me?”

She raised her little hands, already formed into fists.

“No,” I said.

“What?” She lowered her hands.

“Raise them up again.”

She did, and I swept an arm around her, tucking her against my side. I walked in a small circle, carrying her. She couldn’t kick me. Her arms were trapped against my body. Her only weapon was her teeth. She could bite me, but that wouldn’t kill me. After setting her down, I asked, “Do you know what you did wrong?”

“Besides doing what you told me to do?” she retorted. The tears and hysterics had ceased. The fighting spirit had come back to her, putting color in her cheeks again. She blew a short puff of air, cooling herself. Her hands went to her hips, and she struck a defiant pose. Her chin lifted. “Okay. Show me what I did wrong.”

She was challenging me. Good. “You failed my test just by being in front of me. If you’re going hand-to-hand with a guy, especially someone who knows how to fight and is bigger than you, you won’t win. You come sideways. You come from behind. You catch him off guard.”

“How do I do that?”

“Distract him.”

She looked down at her boobs and puffed out her chest. “With these? It’s you. Besides taking my clothes off, I don’t know how to distract you.”

“Not me.” I fought back a grin. “Though your girls look especially good right now.” They strained in her sports bra and sweat-soaked shirt. They perked up even more under my gaze.

She cursed. “Stop it. Teach me how to fight.”

“Know your opponent.” I tapped the side of my head. “Get in here. Figure out what he wants. If it is knowledge, attention, his ego stroked—whatever it is, you give it to him. And you get a weapon. As soon as his guard is dropped, you hit him hard. You put all your weight behind that weapon. You have to make the first contact successful. He needs to be knocked unconscious, or he’s ready, and he’s pissed. If you don’t have a gun, he’ll get you. That’s a guarantee. Don’t set yourself up for failure.”

She sighed. “That’s easier said than done. I don’t know the Bartels—”

“Yes, you do. What do they want?”

“Me.”

Ice plunged through my veins at her answer. Hell no. That wouldn’t happen.

“So use that,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even. “Use me. They want me. They want information. You can give that to them, but once the wall is dropped—”

She nodded. She was so eager. “I got it. Disarm. Weapon. Crack. Knock him unconscious. I can do that.”

I should have taught her some moves, maybe some kicks, lunges, how to twist and evade, but as I kept looking at her, the idea of teaching her faded fast and the idea of taking her to bed quickly replaced it. Fuck. I wanted her. Every day. Every night. She was mine.

Her chest heaved up and down. The rest of her body was soaked in sweat, and she’d even taped her hands, like I did. She’d gone through so much, and the idea that she was training to go through more knotted my own hands into fists.

She noticed my reaction. Her eyes lingered on my hands. “Carter?”

“You shouldn’t have to learn how to do this.” My voice dipped low and hoarse. It was my job to protect her. I wasn’t doing that job well enough. “I’m so goddamn sorry for this.”

“Stop.” Her shoulders dropped, and she came to stand in front of me. Her hands rested on my hips, and she looked up at me. Her eyes were warm and soft. Her lips opened, and she swallowed. I saw concern in her eyes. “Carter, I’m not in the life because of you. Stop blaming yourself. I came to you. Remember? My roommate was being raped. My brother was killed. I killed Jeremy Dunvan. Me. You wanted me to see past Ben’s manipulations, remember? I did. I saw the other side of the world, and I’ve gotten myself prepared. All of this isn’t because of you. You’re forgetting one thing. I wouldn’t have my sister if it wasn’t for you. She found me because the media is obsessed with you. I have you to thank for my sister.”

There was still a bruise at the corner of her eye. It was tiny and yellow, but it was there. It shouldn’t have been. “Emma,” I whispered, dropping my head to rest my forehead against hers. “I’ll get her back. I promise.”

“Stop.” Her hand went to my lips. “Stop.”

Her eyes darkened, and the need for her spiked in me. I reached for her without thinking and hoisted her in the air. Her legs parted as I peeled off her shirt and bra. She fit against me, like she was made for me. Grasping the back of her head, I pulled her lips down to mine. One touch from them, and I was in a desert. I needed more, just more of everything. My blood was damn boiling. As I backed her up to the wall, Emma arched backward, pushing her breasts against my chest. I reached out to lock the door, and after that, it was just her. All of her. All of me.