Page 28 of The Vigilant

Her eyes went wide. “What?”

I’d run through a hundred scenarios—a thousand ways to get Sutton to explain what the fuck I witnessed last night and what was really going on with her. But in each and every one of them, she refused to talk.

She had this expectation of me—of why I was here, what I was doing, what I wanted from her—and those expectations infuriated her.

But when I broke that mold…when I cooked dinner and waited for her to eat. When I watched her slice and dice some random drug dealer in an alleyway and then didn’t demand answers…those were the times I got through to her. When I got through her anger.

And that was why, after a night of no sleep, I’d come up with the idea to bring her here—to the gym at the garage.

She wanted a fight. The need was laced into every word, braided into every breath, stitched into every movement. So, I was going to give her one.

She’d behaved like a beautiful marionette of rage, anger pulling on her strings, directing her movements, until there was something sharp enough to cut through them. And if I needed to be that blade, then so be it; it was the least I could do for Jon.

“We’re going to fight,” I repeated, and then grabbed a rolled-up spare tee from the small set of shelves. “Put this on,” I said and tossed it to her.

It wasn’t a fair fight when I was having to battle myself to keep from staring at her pierced tits. It was bad enough her shorts outlined the curve of her ass, but her nipple piercings…all they tempted me to think was that this woman—my friend’s fucking daughter—might enjoy sex the way I did.

And that was a goddamn dangerous thought.

“Why are we fighting? Is this some kind of joke?” Her fist tightened around the fabric.

Goddamn, this woman was always on the defense.For Jon, I reminded myself.

“Because you’re pissed as fuck at something—someone. Maybe me. And the fact you’re going to have to tell me about it is only going to make you angrier.”

At that, her eyes flashed, and I knew I had her. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

I chuckled low. “Yeah, Sutton, you fucking do.”

“Or I could just leave.” She threw the shirt back in my direction, but instead of catching the fabric, I lunged forward and caught her wrist. One yank sent her stumbling to the other side of the mat and then down to her knees.

Her head whipped over her shoulder, and her eyes glinted feral. I swore the tattoo on her back rippled as though the scorpion had come to life.

“If you can get past me, you’re welcome to leave,” I baited her. “If you can’t, you’re going to tell me why you carved ‘PIG’ into Jack Kang’s chest.”

I tossed the shirt back at her.

She looked at the shirt and back at me. “And why would I make this easy for you?”

I gritted my teeth as she chucked the shirt to the corner of the room and then lifted her arms in front of her, her hands balled into fists.

“You sure you can hit a girl?” she taunted as I mirrored her position.

Not a fucking chance was I going to actually hit her. I wouldn’t need to. But I wasn’t going to tell her that.

“Why would I make this easy for you?” I repeated her question.

Her lips curled. “Good.”

We moved slowly, inching closer to the center of the mat. Each of us feeling out the energy of the other. Sutton lunged for me first. Her strikes were smooth and swift, honed by all those years of training Jon had prided himself on.

But war provided a much different kind of training. One that had me easily blocking or sidestepping her blows.

“I thought you weren’t afraid to hit me,” she taunted.

“I’m not,” I returned, watching her steady herself and prepare for another strike. “You just haven’t given me a good reason to yet.”

Sutton snarled and charged at me again.

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