Page 29 of The Sharpest Edges

He rarely, if ever, wants to hug anyone. Only now, feeling her so close to him like this, her fingers curling into the back of his shirt and her breath warm on his collarbone, it’s enough to make him a convert. Slowly, her trembling dwindles as he runs a hand up and down her back. He is tentative and slow, always waiting for the moment when she’ll realize she’s made an awful mistake in allowing him so close, ready to back off and leave her be, but she is receptive and supple, soaking up his affection.

He didn’t realize how starved for contact he’s been until he had her in his arms and now he’s certain that he needs only this chaste touch to be the happiest man on this godforsaken planet.

She lifts her head to meet his eyes, and the sight of her beautiful face sparks arousal deep in his nerves, spreading like wildfire until he begins to harden in his pants. Fuck, he wants her. Wants to lift her onto the bed and part her thighs, push into her until she’s clenching around his cock and whispering sweet words into his ear. He wants to know what her face looks like when he’s inside her and maybe his thoughtsare written all over his expression because hers darkens in response, and her tongue snakes out to wet her lips.

“Dean,” she says carefully, reaching up to palm his cheek. “I don’t know how long it’ll be until I can do this again. So…”

She moves toward him at a snail’s pace, maybe offering him a chance to say he doesn’t want this, but nothing could be further from the truth. Instead of making her come to him, he meets her halfway, dipping his head and gathering her up with both arms around her waist until she’s on her tiptoes.

Their upper lips brush in a touch so slight it’s barely there at all, but then she warms his mouth with her own in a gentle press that leaves no room for doubt. It’s cautious and filled with the same fear he harbors himself but no less sweet than he dreamed it would be. No less brief either when he pulls back to check her reaction.

They watch each other in a game of hooded-eyed chicken, waiting for someone to call this off but now that he’s tasted her, felt her, he only wants more.

When they connect again it is far less hesitant. This is what skydiving or bungee jumping must feel like. They’re taking a leap that could easily bring tragedy but trusting a thin line to keep safe. There is something so delicate about her that he worries he’ll be too rough no matter how gentle he tries to be but she welcomes the tease of his tongue into her mouth, presses her body to the hard outline of his crotch, and gasps into his kiss when he trails a hand down to squeeze her ass.

He’s so damn nervous. Everything between them feels precarious, so easily broken by a wrong move and all he makes are wrong moves, but being with her is easier than it has any right to be.

Only a loud thump on the door can remind him that theyare in the middle of a riot. Judging by the shaking hinges on the frame, Jaxson has recruited a few others to pound against it.

They spring apart and Dean moves past her to search the drawers, looking for anything sharp and coming up empty. They’re not allowed weapons beyond the front lobby and that includes non-security staff. “Anything we can use in here? Anything heavy?”

“No, but—” She opens a bottom cabinet stuffed with medical supplies and pulls out a small spray can. “It’s for the wasps. We get so many in here.”

She somehow got them to allow her a can of wasp spray and he’s guessing that shit would fuck someone up if they got a face full of it.

“You keep that,” he replies. “Stay behind me.”

The locks are made to withstand reasonable amounts of force but this is an old building with old doors and despite the steel safety lock across the middle, Dean has doubts about the frame holding up.

He rips the metal rail off the bedframe, ready to beat whoever walks through next.

13

Chapter 13

Ava’s not sure she’s ever been this afraid.

When John was still alive, she feared for her life. Every time he squeezed her neck a little too tight and her vision would black out, or hit her harder than usual and she’d lose consciousness, was all proof he could go too far and kill her.

One thing he had going for him, though, was consistency and predictability. She could never train herself to be brave enough to run, but eventually, the terror of seeing him drunk and angry became a new normal. She knew what set him off, what soothed him, how to keep herself alive even if she’d come out of every encounter a little more broken than before.

Ava never stopped fearing John, but she learned to function despite the horror of her reality.

The type of fear she’s experiencing now is brand new, raw, and unfiltered. She can’t compare it to how she felt when an inmate sliced her open from collar to rib. That had been quick like a tornado, catching her off guard and leaving little time to react or let terror fester before it was over.

This riot is a slow-building storm, and she has plenty of timeto think about all the what-ifs. Worst-case scenarios pop up in her mind’s eye while she stands behind Dean, watching the door shake and groan while the thump, thump, thump of men throwing their weight against it vibrates the structure.

If it gives they are both fucked. Plain and simple.

She can’t be sure the promise of escape would be enough to make Jaxson bypass them and head straight for the window. Not anymore. They’ve thrown a wrench in his plans, forced him to lose precious time trying to break into this room, and he’s crazy enough to get sidetracked making them pay for that. Any escape attempt has little chance of success after losing the element of surprise and he could take out those frustrations on her and Dean.

Dean. At least she’s not alone. He came straight for her, said he’d keep her safe, and his promise could almost be enough to make her believe it’s possible, but they are two against many and they’d never stand a chance.

So often she would sit in this room on her breaks looking for ways to defend herself if the worst happened again. They aren’t allowed to bring weapons past security. She can’t even hide a bottle of pepper spray, but when researching alternatives, she learned that wasp spray does even more damage, and it was easy enough to convince management that they had a bug problem.

‘How am I supposed to work with all those wasps in the infirmary?’She complained, knowing full well that no one would bother to confirm the truth of it.

It was only a backup plan in case of an emergency, far too big a can to keep on her person, but this qualifies as an emergency, and holding the spray in her grip like a weapon offers a slight sense of security.

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