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.”

face–plant into the dirt. When I turn, he’s on me again

bend down for a weapon when

out, rubbing my shoulder.

and dive sideways. Too slow. His boot catches

just as he drops his

inches from mine./’It’s

crushes my lungs, but rage burns hotter than pain. I twist my hips violently, catching him off–guard and

OFF!” I snarl, slamming my forehead

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

1/3

Chapter 70

is,” he says, wiping crimson from his face with the back of his

feet, dirt clinging to my sweat slicked

flipping the knife casually while keeping those cold eyes locked on mire Ha don’t last

“What does that-”

blade whispers past my ear. My elbow connects with his

he murmurs, breath hot against my neck.

stomp hard on his instep, twisting away from his grip even as strands of hair tear from my

away, fists raised. My heart hammers against my

bloody teeth. “Maybe after

www

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

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

his face. He blinks reflexively – just enough time for me

calls out, already

missing by inches

hiss

make it easier

the knife flying from my grip. Before I can react, he’s