Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Who the fuck does he think he is? Sure, he might have been a good shot, a great one, in fact, but it’s the principle that counts. You don’t shoot at women you’re trying to fuck. Society tends to have a problem with that.
The fury ripples through my body, humming beneath my skin and not giving me a chance to even think straight. It’s electric and keeps me buzzed. I feel as though I’ve run a marathon and can’t seem to slow my body down.
A little healthy competition and stealing someone’s hit is one thing, but to use me as target practice?
Oh, hell no.
He thought I was pissed before, but he has no idea what it looks like when I actually am. He’s about to learn, though. Raiden Kane hasn’t even scratched the surface of what I’m capable of when I stop holding back. That thing I did with that blade through the cabin window and into Caldwell’s throat was a party trick I’ve been capable of doing since I was sixteen years old. He’s got no idea who he’s messing with.
My keys and phone land on the counter with a sharp crack, and I immediately begin pacing, wondering just how shit of a person I’d be if I set up a trigger bomb in his living room for when he gets home.
Arrogant, infuriating asshole.
He thinks this is a game, and sure, it might have started that way, but the moment our worlds collided and our carefully kept secrets were exposed, it became something more, something dangerous, and there’s no telling just how far this could go.
Fucking target practice! Does he have any idea who I am? Because if he did, he would think twice before screwing with me. The audacity. Does he assume I’m just some rookie hitman trying to make it big by stealing contracts and doing parlor tricks? He can fuck right off. Because if he truly knew that he had just used Crimson Blade for target practice, he would be running for the fucking hills.
Frustration has ruled my life since the moment he moved in next door. He’s smug and infuriating, but what’s more, he’s calculated, and I don’t know just how far that goes. Has all that cockiness been an act? Has he known who and what I am since the beginning?
Fuck.
My hands ball into fists as I pace through my apartment, circling the kitchen island like a caged animal. My pulse is loud in my ears, but my rage is louder.
He thinks he’s seen me angry.
He hasn’t.
I make another tight turn around the counter, muttering to myself when the front door explodes inward, wood cracking against the wall as the frame splinters.
I whirl with a gasp, my eyes wide as Raiden Kane storms in, his eyes blazing with that same rage that consumes me, his jaw set with determination, and his finger already pointed toward my chest.
“YOU.”
Oh, hell no.
My hand snaps out on instinct, fingers closing around the handle of one of my kitchen knives, and I don’t think. I throw.
Steel flashes across the apartment before he even has time to blink, and I’m already moving, vaulting over the island in one clean motion, chasing the momentum.
The sound of metal striking wood cuts through the apartment as the blade buries itself in the doorframe, whipping right past his ear and landing just a fraction behind his head. He doesn’t flinch. The fucker doesn’t even look back. Just keeps coming, locked in on me like I’m one of his targets.
We collide in the middle of my living room, his red-hot fury crashing into mine.
The impact knocks the air from my lungs, but I don’t give him the satisfaction. My fists swing, every ounce of my extensive training coming into practice, but so does his. He fights like he anticipated this, but I fight like I’m begging for it.
Pivoting around him, I slam my elbow back, landing a blow directly to his ribs. Then, without hesitation, I sweep his foot out from under him and knock him off-balance. But he’s too quick and takes me with him as our momentum leaves us spiraling sideways into the couch.
He’s stronger, but I’m faster.
We hit the cushions hard, and in one fluid movement, he pins my wrists above my head, both our chests heaving as he stares down at me.
“That was mine,” he growls, referring to the hit. “I had it.”
I bark a laugh as the fury continues raging through my body. “You didn’t have anything. From where I stood, it was anybody’s hit, and you were too slow. I don’t lose, Raiden. I took my shot.”
“You interfered,” he growls, his jaw tightening as I attempt to free my wrists from his lethal hold. “I had it handled.”
“Handled or not, you didn’t strike when you had your chance. I did.” My knee slams up between us, but he anticipates the move and blocks the hit before impact, and as our chests continue heaving against one another, the rage weaved through my soul begins to shift into something else . . . something different entirely. Something I didn’t expect. Hurt. “You lined me up in your scope.”