Dead Drop (The Guild #2)(16)

“Slippery bitch,” the unknown man grunted as I rolled swiftly to give me space to get to my feet. Suddenly I was seriously unimpressed with the hotel bathrobe. It was not doing wonders for my range of movement, but I also wasn’t wasting time taking it off.

I faked to the left, then darted right, diving headfirst over the bed and hitting the floor as a suppressed gunshot rang out above me. Fucking hell, this prick wasn’t playing. The room wasn’t exactly big enough for a long drawn out fight, either, so I launched at the dresser to grab my own weapons.

He seized my hair in a vicious grip, hauling me backward with an arm wrapped around my neck, but my fingers had already latched onto a dagger, and my chin was tucked low to prevent a proper choke hold. I lashed out with the knife, stabbing at anything I could reach, but to my horror, he didn’t release me. The knife struck him deep in the thigh, glancing off bone and jarring my hand, but he just grunted and shifted his grip like he was about to snap my neck.

“Oh hell no,” I snarled, twisting and squirming out of his hold in a way that only my slighter size would allow. He aimed his gun again, but I kicked his wrist to knock it away. With a fraction of distance between us, I tried to search my mental database for his face.

Then again, if this was another of the Circle’s executioners, it would be part of the job to not be recognized as such. Fucking hell, Emmanuel Blanchet really wanted me dead.

“Look, buddy,” I tried to reason with him while ducking a scary fast punch aimed at my head, “this is all a misunderstanding. I don’t know why the Circle wants me dead, but I am loyal.”

“I don’t fucking care,” the guy responded, then somehow faked me out and slammed my face into the wall. Ouch.

Throwing my elbow back into his diaphragm, I twisted and slashed with my knife, slicing the back of his thigh. I was aiming for his hamstring, but judging by the fact that he hadn’t crumpled to the floor, I couldn’t have cut deep enough.

Shit.

The realization that I was outmatched punched me in the gut harder than my assailant, and I doubled over with an involuntary body response. Crap. I might actually be fucked this time, and not in a fun way.

No way in hell was I making it easy on him, though. I let momentum and gravity take me to the ground, pretending I’d lost my balance. As soon as my shoulder hit the carpet, I twisted to my back and slammed my knife up into the man’s groin, aiming for his femoral artery… or his balls. One of the two should do the trick.

But he just grunted and wrapped his hands around my throat. This time, I couldn’t tuck my chin or get a hand up, and he got a clean grab with his fingers circling my whole neck. Then he squeezed.

I tried everything I could think of to free myself, but it was utterly futile. My lungs burned and my vision blacked. Then all of a sudden, the pressure released and my attacker collapsed on top of me in a lifeless heap.

Coughing and spluttering, I dragged oxygen back into my screaming lungs as the big man was shoved off me to reveal Leon standing there looking like he’d stepped straight off the pages of GQ.

“What took you so long?” I croaked as he offered me his hand. I took it and he hauled me to my feet with far more speed than my swimming head could handle. I stumbled and fell against him, and then his lips were on mine.

His strong grip moved to my waist, holding me tight against him as he breathed life straight back into my lungs, kissing me with a desperation that shook me right to the core. I kissed him back just as hard, one of my hands gripping his neck and the other around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Danny DeLuna,” he growled against my lips as he tugged the loose tie of my robe undone, “that was too fucking close.”

I gave a laugh, then bit his bottom lip a little harder than necessary, tugging on it with my teeth as I looked up into his deep green eyes. “I had it handled.”

Such a lie. I was dead in seconds if Leon hadn’t turned up.

He knew it too. His gaze flashed and his grip on my waist tightened, spinning us around and shoving me down onto the bed. The bathrobe spread out beneath me, doing nothing to hide my nudity now, and Leon stared down at me like he wanted to devour every inch of my body.

“You did not have it handled.” His tone was hard-edged even as he unbuckled his belt. He was angry. At me?

“And that’s my fault?” I snapped back, propping myself up on my elbows and trying to keep my eyes on his face. It was hard. So fucking hard. Like other things.

Leon used his knee to spread my legs apart on the edge of the bed, lowering his pants just far enough to free his gorgeous pierced dick. He leaned over me, his hand stroking the bruised and cut-up length of my throat reverently.

“You have no idea…” he murmured, his voice dark and dangerous as he traced the stinging line where the garrote had cut my skin. His knees pushed my legs wider apart, and his hot tip brushed my throbbing cunt as he dropped his face to kiss the wounds on my neck.

I gasped at the tiny bites of pain as his stubble-beard brushed my fresh cuts, but I was also so turned on I was trembling. My hips rocked with invitation, silently begging him to fill me up. He understood, too, notching his pierced tip just inside my pussy as he brought his lips back to mine.

“No one,” he whispered against my lips, his fingers resting so gently around my injured throat, “I mean no one”—his fingers tightened fractionally, making me gasp in anticipation—“lays his hands on this throat, DeLuna. No one.” His cock slammed into me so hard I grunted, and Leon caught my lips in a rough kiss that I swore I could feel printing against my soul.