Page 17 of The King's Man
“You said I was better than—"
“I said youlearnedbetter. I said youtrainbetter—with more diligence. And that I admire your skill—and I do! But that is about your character and your strength as a woman. You are not a man, Dee. And you never will be. I know that better than any of them.”
He smiled again and I almost gave in—when he looked at me like that I felt like the most desirable woman in the world.
But his words…
“You’ve been lying to me,” I breathed. “Seducing me.”
“I’ve been kind to you because I like you—don’t make that an accusation.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head and backing away from him again. “No, you’ve been lying. You’re just like the rest of them.”
“That is such utter bullshit—but you’re only proving my point. Emotional—you can’t think without those blasted feelings getting everything tangled up. A man would look at this problem logically. Could you defend yourself against the Baker’s son when he grabbed you? Or a stablehand? Yes, of course. And I’d stand by and watch you put him on his face, and applaud it when you did. But a man would recognize that your body will never have the strength or power needed to overwhelm a true warrior. And for that reason alone a man would never take you onto the battlefield. You would have to be watched and protected, rather than relied on.” He took a step closer, drawing himself up. “Your willingness to insist on this only demonstrates how ignorant you are of the truth,” he hissed.
“You said—”
“I said what you wanted to hear so that you’d let me fuck you, Diadre. There. Are you happy now? Will you rush off and cry and tell me never to speak to you again because your feelings are hurt by the truth?”
My mouth opened to tell him exactly that, but I stopped, mind whirling, confusion and self-doubt spiraling through me.
I was offended, and hurt, and feeling used.
But he’d twisted that into weakness. How could I stand my ground, argue his points, without affirming exactly what he was saying? I felt… trapped.
He caught my hesitation and pushed his advantage, walking up on me, sliding his hands to my waist, lowering his voice. “Don’t ruin this for us, Dee,” he whispered, suddenly soft. Suddenly sweet. Dropping his head to kiss my neck in that spot that I loved. “What we have is so special—and I do admire you—”
“Because you want to fuck me,” I said baldly.
And the shameless bastard lifted his head and smiled. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Now who’s being ignorant?” My voice shook, but I swallowed and held my ground. “Don’t touch me. Ever again.”
He rolled his eyes and his hands dropped from my waist. “Here we go. I knew it was too good to be true that you could possess the mind of a man on these matters—”
“No, Walt. I will never possess the mind of a man, and thank God. Thank God, because it means I’ll never be likeyou,”I hissed. And then I struck.
A fist, straight to his undefended stomach that shoved the air from his lungs and snapped him in half so I could grab his shoulders and bring my knee up to finish the job.
But Walt was a soldier. A fighter. An officer. Several inches tall, half my weight again… And he had over a decade more experience and training.
Even with watering eyes and no air, his hands were lightning quick and when I brought my knee up, he caught the leg and twisted it, yanked it aside, throwing my balance off so that I was forced to cling to him to stay upright.
I cursed, hands clawing in his shirt, hissing—but my heart hammered with sheer panic. Walt’s rage was a forest fire. It peeled his lips back from his teeth, tore curses from his throat in guttural snarls, and left fingerprint bruises where he grabbed me.
We wrestled. I struggled. And at first, I thought I might get free.
A well-placed palm to his nose when he straightened, and he cried out and jerked away, letting go of my leg, though he almost threw me backwards in the process.
“Bitch!” he snarled, turning his back on me and grabbing his face. “I can’t believe you fucking—”
Panting, sweating, panicking, I kicked the back of his knee so his weight tipped and he cried out. But he was hunched over, and before I could get a decent hold on his shoulders, he roared and whirled on me.
I punched and kicked, writhed like a cat, struggling so hard I saw stars.
But even though I hurt him again and again, he used his weight against me. He took my blows and wasn’t deterred, though he ducked his head and swore over and over.
When I clawed his face with my nails, he bellowed and grabbed that wrist, then the other and twisted his ankle around mine and took us both to ground.
