His Trouble Maker

JESSICA

What the hell?

Hlook around again. Neat me is an empty field with lots of flowers. Pretty white flowers. Moonlight pools over the clearing, making the damn flower glow like they’re mocking me.

“Move it, Jess” Riot said, pushing me to move. “You think your enemies will wait while you admire the scenery?”

I hate his condescending tone,

“This place is–”

“Perfect,” he cuts me off, dropping a heavy bag that thuds against the dirt. “Isolated. No witnesses.”

The bag unzips with a violent scrape. Metal glints in the moonlight–knives, I realize. My stomach twists.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” I mutter, but my feet stay rooted. “I don’t know how to use weapons.”

“And I didn’t sign up to babysit Grayson’s latest fuck–up,” Riot spits, pulling out a wicked–looking blade and testing its edge with his thumb. Blood beads instantly. He licks it off without flinching. “But here we are.”

He’s stripping off his jacket while talking, revealing arms covered in scars–some fresh, some old.

“You got two choices,” he says, tossing a knife at my feet while simultaneously lighting a cigarette. “Learn to fight or learn to run faster than bullets.”

W–What?

My eyes widened, watching as he drops his smoke, grinds it under his boot, and disappears into the darkness.

Just… gone.

I spin around, searching the shadows. The knife glints at my feet. I bend to grab it when a hand suddenly clamps over my mouth from behind. Another twists my arm up between my shoulder blades. Pain shoots through my joints.

“Dead,” Riot whispers against my ear, his stubble scraping my skin. “And I wasn’t even trying hard.”

me forward. I stumble, catching myself before I face–plant into the dirt.

up. “Never bend down for a weapon when there’s a threat

could have just told me that,” I spit out, rubbing my shoulder.

suddenly–I yelp and dive sideways. Too slow. His boot catches my ankle and

back just as he drops his knee onto my chest, knife pressed

again,” he whispers, face inches from mine./’It’s not cheating if you’re this weak,

crushes my lungs, but rage burns hotter than pain. I twist my hips violently,

I snarl, slamming

back just enough–I wedge my knee between us and kick hard into his stomach. He stumbles backward, knife still clutched in his hand, a

1/3

Chapter 70

wiping crimson from his face with the back of his hand. “Was

feet, dirt clinging to my

a predator, flipping the knife casually while

“What does that-”

ear. My elbow connects with his ribs. Not hard enough. His hand tangles in my

he murmurs, breath hot against my neck. “But

instep, twisting away from his grip

I growl, backing away, fists raised. My heart hammers against my chest, but

“Maybe after training. If

www

wish,” I spit, feinting left before diving right, watching his movements

track me, calculating, but there’s something else there – amusement?

dirt and fling it at his face. He blinks reflexively – just

already moving toward

slash wildly, missing by inches

I hiss through clenched

it easier for you to kill

hard, the knife flying from my grip. Before I can react, he’s flipped me onto my stomach, knee in my back,