Bone Deep(29)

He took two steps and was in her space, breathing down her neck. The T-shirt she wore was no match for the heat he generated. It slithered down her neck, pebbled her nipples and sank under her skin. She shoved her reaction aside.

“We will dance. Are you strong enough to stop me from killing you?” she asked mildly. She wanted to applaud her restraint but could not move, strangely frozen by his warmth, by how he made her feel.

“Let us see.”

She flexed her hands and struck between one breath and the next, striking him in his injured shoulder with her open palm and curving around his body to stand behind him. He went to a knee at her punch, caught his breath and turned in less time than it took for her to blink.

He was good. Controlled enough to take the pain and remain composed so as not to strike out in fear or rage.

“Abela taught me how to channel my rage, but I fear here with you, I am out of control,” she mused, more to herself than him. She was afraid she would damage him even as she refused to acknowledge how much it would hurt her to do so.

He turned and swept out with his foot. Bone jumped and avoided the move with ease. As soon as her feet touched the mat, he was on her, striking everywhere—head, neck, abdomen, legs. She blocked his blows and turned many right back on him.

He was pulling punches and it pissed her off. She grabbed his left arm and twisted, sliding under it before pulling up and back. He grunted but turned into her hold, breaking it.

He rushed her, taking her down with sheer brute force, the same technique he’d used in St. Petersburg, but she slithered out of his hold and kicked him in the side. He rolled with her kick and came to his haunches. She stood five feet away and began walking in a circle around him. He didn’t try to follow her with his eyes and she admired his strength. Most men would be desperate to keep her in their sight.

“I would say your control is a thing of beauty.” He was barely winded.

But barely was enough and her rage knew it.

“You haven’t offered up much of a fight. I need more,” she bit out.

“I’m afraid I will hurt you, and that is something I find myself surprised I cannot do. It is the only thing that saves you, I fear.”

She laughed. Threw back her head and laughed, the sound hollow and ringing through the room. “What does it save me from?”

His face hardened, the blue of his eyes darkening to a storm-tossed sea. “Me taking you to this mat and f*cking you until you can’t breathe, and I no longer crave the feel of you wrapped around my cock.”

Her heart knocked against her lungs begging for her breath back. There was nothing she could say—both her mind and body numb at the thought of him doing just that.

“You should hate me,” she whispered.

“It hasn’t happened yet, and believe me, I’ve tried. But maybe I can make you hate me enough that it’s no longer an issue,” he responded.

The heat in his voice singed her.

“You will hate me,” she assured him.

He inclined his head and the sadness of the gesture chased the numbness and replaced it with…pain.

Two more men entered from another door, and then there were three men to her one. She’d seen them in the courtyard earlier. They were part of Raines’ team and by the looks on their faces did not find her diminutive form a threat at all. This was his play then.

As the numbness had disappeared, so too did the pain. Red hazed her vision and she breathed through it, controlling the deceptive pull of the hate, making it hers thus making it a weapon.

“You cannot hurt me but you will let others?” she taunted him. “So much for your truth.”

He cocked his head and sighed. “I do not like the thought of anyone touching you—that was my truth. But you need a fight I can’t give you at the moment. Besides, they will be easy pickings for you, ubiytsa. They are here to tire you out for my grand finale.”

Killer, he called her. She sank low, her stance solid and balanced, one foot slightly in front of the other, both knees bent. Bone closed her eyes and waited, giving over to the rage.

She closed her eyes. “Let us do this.”

They struck as a coordinated unit and she ducked low, avoiding each of them as she turned and punched one in the head and the other in the side. Both men grunted and fell but got up immediately. They rushed at her again and it was more of the same, a punch, a kick, and she was back in the forest outside of Vadim Yesipov’s mansion, craving death and needing the release.

She turned her mind off and kept her eyes closed. Bone opened her ears and her mind, drilling past the obvious noises of feet over rubber. She allowed the beat of their hearts and their breathing to reverberate in her ears. So many times she had faced opponents. So many times she killed. The lust rose and ebbed, a black wave pulling her under. Soon she would not be able to stop.

She followed their footsteps, all the time aware of exactly where Dmitry was in the room. He became her anchor and it was unacceptable. She stilled, took a deep breath and centered herself.

She didn’t need an anchor. She had her hate and in the times when she couldn’t handle the fires of her hate, she had her sisters.

Her senses flared out. The men hadn’t feared her when they’d walked in but now the room was permeated with their sweat and panic. She reveled in it.

Bone tossed one man in a classic Judo throw and followed him down, pulling her punch before she crushed his windpipe. She didn’t know what held her hand—maybe it was the subtle scent of juniper and pine entwined with her quarry’s fear that stopped her. The second man took advantage of her stillness, grabbing her around the neck and pulling her to her back. He wrapped his legs around her waist, but her arms were there so she was able to leverage and twist, gaining his top and punching him in the head, in the chest and capturing his hand, crushing the bones with ease. He screamed and tried to push her off.