Page 54 of Savage Hearts
His eyes flare. So do his nostrils. He can’t believe my nerve.
Neither can I. But apparently, imminent death brings out my inner ninja, who wants to bitch slap everyone in sight.
We breathe angrily at each other until he growls, “You’ve got a big mouth for such a little thing.”
“And you’ve got a little brain for such a big thing. Even if you do kill me, do you really think you’ll get out of this place alive?”
He snaps, “Your bodyguards don’t even know I’m here.”
“That’s what you think. I already hit the panic button next to the bed. You have ten seconds to leave before they charge through the door, guns blazing.”
Through gritted teeth, he says, “There’s no panic button.”
“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
He makes another growling sound. This one comes from deep within his chest. It’s low, rumbling, and dangerous, like the warning of a bear.
He’s infuriated by my attitude. But he also isn’t strangling me, so I think the sass might be a good distraction.
“How’d you get in here anyway? This place is a fortress.”
“Do you always talk this much when you’re about to die?”
“Yes. I find pre-death conversation relaxing. Answer the question.”
His hand tightening around my throat, he snarls, “You’re not in charge here, little bird.”
I really wish he didn’t smell so good. Or look so good. His attractiveness is unnerving. I gaze up into his blazing green eyes, wondering how it’s possible my sister and I have such terrible taste in men.
It’s a good thing we never met Ted Bundy. Charismatic, violent killers are apparently our thing.
“I realize I’m not in charge, but I’m curious. You seem to be able to walk through walls.”
“Hence the nickname.”
“What does the name Hangman have to do with walking through walls?”
He frowns down at me. “My nickname’s Ghost.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
He pauses to think. His hand is still wrapped around my throat, but its grip has slackened slightly. “Hangman?”
“Yeah. I figured you must be good with a noose.”
“No. I have no idea how to tie that kind of knot.”
“Oh.”
“But I did once strangle a man with his own intestines.”
Feeling queasy, I say, “How creative.”
“Thank you. I thought so.”
We stare at each other. I become acutely aware of his bulk hovering over me, of the heat of his skin burning through his clothing, of the feel of his rough hand on my neck.
“Ten seconds are up. Where are your bodyguards?”
