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.”

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

down for a

I spit out, rubbing my shoulder. It fucking hurts. ” That’s

dive sideways. Too slow. His boot catches my ankle and

drops his knee

he whispers, face inches from mine./’It’s

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

snarl, slamming my forehead into his

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

1/3

Chapter 70

with the back of his hand. “Was wondering when you’d app playing

clinging to my sweat

a predator, flipping the knife casually while keeping those cold eyes locked on mire Ha

“What does that-”

lunges again. This time I’m ready–I drop low, pivoting on my heel as his blade whispers past my ear. My elbow connects with his ribs. Not hard enough. His hand

he murmurs, breath hot against my neck. “But still

on his instep, twisting away from his grip even as strands of hair

backing away, fists raised. My heart hammers against my chest, but something wild

“Maybe after

www

diving right, watching his

but there’s something else there – amusement? He’s enjoying this. The

at his face. He blinks reflexively – just enough time for me to lunge for the knife

he calls out, already moving toward me.

slash wildly, missing by inches as

I hiss through clenched

it easier

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