Page 136 of Kneeling to Candy

Candy stands across from him in a defensive pose, ready to spar. Pride swells inside my chest, squeezing my heart.

My warrior goddess is fighting back. And it’s a fucking glorious sight.

Moved into action, I roar, charging forward.

O’Conall—cupping his junk for whatever reason—whips around in my direction. His eyes nearly bug out of his head, finding me barreling down on him. He lifts his gun, aiming at me.

The dick better have good aim. The only way I’m not taking him down is if he makes a head shot.

Before O’Conall can fire his gun, Candy rushes at his side, tackling him to the ground. His gun goes flying, sliding far out of reach on compacted snow.

“Candy, no!” I dig deep, pushing forward on the icy snow. Ziggy races behind me.

The two of them wrestle in the snow, trying to get the upper hand on each other. By the grace of Triple, Candy uses all the techniques he showed her on the mats. She winds up on top and lets loose the years of hurt and anger she endured under his rule. Her tiny fists pummel the crap out of him.

Against the odds, O’Conall wrangles her hands. Once he realizes he has the upper hand, he lets out a growl of frustration. He rolls Candy on her side, trying to flip her on her stomach.

I take a shot, missing his head by inches. It hits the mountain face behind them, pelting them with rock debris.

Unaffected by the near kill shot, O’Conall yanks Candy into the air. Her bare feet barely touch the ground as he holds her back to his front. I come to an immediate halt when I see the glint of a blade held against Candy’s slender throat.

My windpipes constrict at the new danger I find my woman in. A bit of my past comes flashing in my head—the bite of a steel blade sawing into my neck.

Instead of being gripped by fear, adrenaline floods my system, much like it had that night my attacker tried to kill me and I turned the tables on him. My heart races, yet I remain collected on the surface. There is not a thought in my head except one.

I. Will. Kill. This. Man.

O’Conall squints at me, like he’s trying to understand why holding a knife to my woman’s throat isn’t causing me to go into full panic mode.

“Stay back. Or I’ll hurt your precious Candy.” He spits her name like it’s the vilest word.

I make a mental note to remove his tongue from his filthy mouth and give it to my goddess as an offering. If I know my woman, Candy will laugh before setting it on fire.

With my gun raised, I inch forward and keep my focus trained on O’Conall. Beside me, Ziggy matches my steps—gun aimed at our enemy, slowly inching forward. Candy watches me—I can feel her dark gaze penetrate my armor. She worries.

“Stay still, Goddess,” I instruct in a warning tone, gambling a quick glance at her face.

Candy’s body goes ramrod straight. She grips onto O’Conall’s forearm locked across her chest. Her fixated stare tells me she’ll listen.

Returning my attention to O’Conall, I take another tentative step forward.

The evil bastard presses the blade against the delicate skin of her neck. She screws her eyes tight as a dark line of blood runs down her throat.

“Nu-uh. Not another step, or she’ll have a scar to match yours.”

Blood roars through my ears, hearing him threaten my woman.

However, Candy responds differently than anyone could have predicted.

Candy’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, getting more pronounced with each passing second, until she lets loose a sinister laugh, one that makes all of us halt.

Sobering, she twists her head enough to look at the dickhead’s perplexed face.

“Do it,” she dares, deadpan. “Slice my throat to match my old man’s, a carbon copy of my biker boy.”

“Goddess,” I whisper to myself, my heart tumbling painfully in my ribcage.

Taken aback by Candy’s blunt request, O’Conall lowers his blade enough to give me all the opening I need.

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