Page 19 of Rogue
A sexy rumble comes from deep within his throat as he holds up his thumb for inspection. The pad is coated with dirt. Damn it. I immediately wipe the back of my hand across my cheek. “Don’t,” he says. “I like you dirty.”
Oh, holy hell. “Sure you do,” I mutter.
“You’re . . . you. Down-to-earth. Smart. Ballsy. Holding her own within this hard-core crew. Yeah, you’ve got a set of tits I’m dying to get my mouth on. And a fine, tight ass I’d love to leave my handprint on.” He leans over and flicks my cheek with his finger. “But don’t believe for a second that a little dirt is going to stop me.”
God, and in less than five minutes, I’m going to be throwing knives at this man? I knew the second I ruined my Bon Jovi T-shirt a month ago bad luck was coming. Reality check: “wanted dead or alive” is just a turn of phrase, folks. If Jaxson thinks he’ll come out unscathed from this . . . “Be serious for just a second. The point is I’m not holding my own. Why did you have to go and negotiate with Hayden on my behalf?”
“The key to being a good fighter is knowing your own limits. Do you honestly believe you’d survive round two in the ring with any one of these guys? Wake up, sweetheart. Half of the men here are killers. Former cons. Street punks. Soldiers who’ve seen action. Trained mercenaries used to blood on their hands. You’re clever and you’ve got gumption. But until you’ve been trained properly in all forms of weaponry, it’s best if you stay out of the battle ring.”
Jesus, I can’t believe Hayden agreed to this.
“Earth to Jaxson. I’m. Not. Trained. With. Knives. How is this any better, you getting hurt instead of me?” I demand.
He runs his hand across his jaw, his action taking his casual don’t-give-a-fuck smirk away with it. “It just is,” he replies softly.
“But heads up . . .” I continue, ignoring the funny feeling his words stir up inside of me as I try to put the threat back in threatening, “. . . call mesweetheartagain and I’ll gladly put a knife between your eyes. Understand?”
My glare doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
“Sure thing, fireball.”
I shake my head, exasperated. “I’m going to go talk to Hayden and tell him to forget your offer.”
He grabs my elbow before I can walk way. “Don’t.”
Exasperated, I tap my temple. “You insane in the membrane?”
“I’ll ask you the same question. Why’d you pick Francis to be on our team?”
To my dismay, Hayden chose me, aka “the bitch who caused the shits”, to be one of five team leaders, with the challenging responsibility of selecting men for her team and convincing them to follow her. For my team, I’ve picked Jaxson—yeah, surprise, surprise—along with Declan the Conversationalist, Diego the dark-haired stud, and . . . Francis, a.k.a. Worm. Yep, the first three are a no-brainer. Highly skilled, seasoned men who evidently have been through Hell Camp before. I’m starting to wonder if these three extremely capable men were part of the team that’d failed Hayden, which in an ironic twist of fate is the reason why he recruited me.
Clearly, Diego and Declan hate failure. Having won their matches, our team lost points an hour ago after Francis got cut up pretty badly inside the ring. Diego’s likely still cursing a blue streak. Declan favored me with a thanks-for-choosing-that-bleeding-worm kill-stare, then stalked off without a word. And while I was processing it all, horrified at the violence and frantically trying to help Francis tend to the cuts covering his arms, neck, and legs, unbeknownst to me, Jaxson strolled over to Hayden and negotiated this screwed-up alternative that’s saved me from the war ring.
I get the feeling our would-be TORC boss is expecting a few hoots and giggles at Jaxson’s expense. Seems they have a sketchy relationship to begin with. No surprise there, being they’re two polar opposites. Hayden’s the chess master, pulling everyone’s invisible strings. Guess that’s why he’s the boss, right? And Jaxson? He’s the smooth-talking operator who could piss off the Pope in one breath then, in the next, be the smug-faced recipient of some special Vatican homily. If anyone is equipped to yank Hayden’s chain, it’s Jaxson.
“I don’t trust the guy. Why chose him?” he asks a second time.
I sigh. I’ve been struggling with this same question myself. Pity? The fact that my choices were limited to Francis and Ball-Busted, which was really no choice at all. “I owed Francis a favor for giving me a heads-up about needing a weapon for the battle ring. He might not be the best fighter out there . . .”
“ You can say that again.”
“ . . . but he did right by me and I returned the favor. Never underestimate the power of loyalty.”
“Ah, loyalty. Is that what this is about?”
“Yes.”
“And you’d call yourself loyal?” he asks softly, his eyes thoughtful as they fix on me.
I feel my eyebrows furrow. I think about why I’m here, why I’m putting myself through this. After all, revenge in a weird twisted way is the utmost form of loyalty, right? “Beyond a doubt.”
He keeps staring, assessing the truth behind my words. Something crosses his face . . . a subtle flash of awareness, like he sees past the bullshit, seesme. I blink, and it’s gone just like that.
“Mutts are loyal. Pat them on the head. Throw them a bone. Show them a little affection.”
I snort. “Are you comparing me to a dog? That’s ironic, being such a horndog yourself.”
He smirks, not denying it. Knowing full well the highly arousing effect he has on womankind.
