Chapter 2
Kira couldn’t believe she’d just asked Flynn of the Bad Blood Crew to slow dance with her at a club.
Flynn of the no-last-name, who hated everyone except his crew, and could kill a person six different ways before they knew what hit them. And who almost certainly didn’t dance.
She was always cool. Calculating. Every job she took on was planned out to the last detail. And this was the most important one she’d ever taken on.
But she hadn’t planned on the way she’d feel when she finally saw him.
He turned to face her, and her whole world tilted with vertigo. Nothing she’d heard about him had prepared her for how overpoweringly sexy he was. Tall—at least six-six, because she was six foot and her head only came up to his sculptured cheekbone, even with the heels on her boots.
And big. Taut, muscular chest, and arms that strained the shoulders of his button-down shirt. Leather vest structured to conceal the handgun in the shoulder holster; sleeves rolled up once. Far enough to show his strong wrists and muscled forearms, but not so far that he couldn’t hide a knife sheath underneath them.
His whole attitude screamed leashed, controlled violence and power. All except his hair—a wild tangle of black dreadlocks that said no matter how controlled he was, he’d be forever untamed.
His mouth was hard and firm, like he’d had to make a lot of tough decisions in his life. But it had a sensual curve to it, and a hint of a smile at the corners. Maybe a sense of humor there.
She hadn’t expected that either.
But it was his eyes that held her. Cool and assessing, but with fire in their depths. Fire, and an intelligence that was almost terrifying in its intensity. It was like he saw right inside her, past the carefully-constructed armor she used to shield herself from the world.
Past the walls she’d built to keep her emotions in, and other people out.
He spoke, his voice deep and gravelly like the growl of the lion she knew was inside him. “You’re the second woman to ask me to dance in the last ten minutes. I never dreamed I could be so popular without wearing skinny jeans.”
She glanced down. He was wearing cargo pants. The legs were baggy—the better to conceal weapons with—but the waist rode low, and she’d seen the way the seat clung to his taut, muscular butt.
Much sexier than skinny jeans. Unconsciously, as if drawn by a magnet, she took a step closer to him.
“You turned the first one down,” she said.
His gaze never left her face. “Technically, she turned me down. Maybe she’s not into guys who live in their mom’s basement?”
That almost made her smile, but she kept her game face on. “You don’t live in your mom’s basement.” He was even closer to her now. Had he moved, or had she?
“You don’t know that for sure.” His voice was low and sexy now, a deep rumble inside that massive chest.
“I’ll risk it. I like to live dangerously.”
His mouth curled into a half-smile. “So do I.”
He closed the distance between them, sliding one arm around her waist and running the fingers of the other one down the inside of her forearm, sending a shiver through her body. He took her hand in his enormous one and fitted her body against his, swaying with the music.
Murmuring in her ear, he added, “If you’re thinking about pulling any of those weapons on me, just keep in mind that I can get my hands around your neck and snap your spine in less than three seconds. And nobody in this place would notice a thing.”
Having her life threatened shouldn’t have been hot, but somehow it was.
“What weapons?” she asked innocently.
“Besides the pistol in the small of your back?” He moved his hand so it rested on the weapon. “That one’s a gimme, so it doesn’t even count.”
“Well, a girl’s got to protect herself.”
“Mmm.” He pulled her tighter against him, tucking her left hand against his chest and resting his cheek on her hair. With her height, very few men could do that. She was surprised and a little terrified by how much she liked it.
“Let’s see,” he said. His hips moved against hers, sending shivers to her core. “Spare piece in your boot top—probably a .22. Nice boots, by the way. Leather boots are fuckin’ sexy.”
She suddenly imagined herself with Flynn, wearing leather boots and nothing else. Heat flooded through her.
He pulled her closer to him, and she felt a rumble of laughter in his chest.
Bastard.
This was such a mistake. She’d completely lost control of the situation, but she had to see this through. She needed him—and if he was attracted to her, it would make things easier.
Wouldn’t it?
He let his hand drift down to the curve of her butt, then up to the back of her neck. “Knives up both sleeves,” he went on in that same low, hypnotic voice. “One down your back. And those pretty sticks in your hair aren’t just ornamental. They’re sharpened and weighted for throwing.”
Good catch. Most people didn’t notice that.
“I’m just wondering where you keep the vial of poison.” He let go of her hand and his fingertips drifted across the top of her bustier. “I’m thinking…here.” They moved down to rest just above her cleavage, warm and tantalizing. Her nipples immediately went hard.
Not poison. There was a tiny vial of knockout drops in there—but hey, close enough. Way too close, as a matter of fact. She was overwhelmed by his heat and his presence. Intoxicated and suffocated.
It was unnerving how well he had her pegged, in just two minutes. Like he understood the way her mind worked.
Breathe, Kira, she told herself. She wasn’t some panting human schoolgirl. She’d taken down some of the worst shifter criminals in the world. Some with the knowledge of the Shifter Council, some without.
Of course, some people believed Flynn was more dangerous than any of them. Paranoid, they said. Crazy. Terrifying. Able to deal out death without a hint of remorse—if he felt it was warranted.
Despite his reputation, she hadn’t expected him to have such an intense presence. He wasn’t the boy that she remembered. She’d always believed she could handle any man, but she suddenly didn’t know if she could handle this one.
“So,” he said, his breath warm in her ear. “What do you want?”
“A dance,” she answered.
He shook his head fractionally. “You want more.”
She did. She wanted everything from him—but now wasn’t the time. She’d only intended to meet him, to try to figure out what kind of man he was now. She’d never intended to get this close. But she couldn’t seem to pull away.
His warm fingers stroked the back of her neck, making her muscles melt. His lips drifted down her temple, skimmed across her cheekbone. She turned her head, lips parted, and his mouth brushed hers.
A jolt of electricity surged through her. Holy hell.
Flynn pulled back, staring at her, opening his mouth to speak. Then his eyes focused on something below them, on the main floor of the club.
“Dammit.”
She twisted around to look, and immediately saw them. Four men moving purposefully through the crowd, each taking a different quadrant. They were dressed in leather, like bikers, and they weren’t here for a good time.
They were looking for someone. And they were packing, every last one of them.
As if they could feel her and Flynn watching, the four men all stopped at once and looked up, moving in eerie synchronization. As she watched, one’s eyes flashed orange-yellow.
Hellhound.
One of the other men spoke into his wristwatch. She could read his lips. “I’ve got her. Left balcony, with the big guy.”
And then all hell broke loose.