Page 27 of Three
“See? It’s you he’s afraid of.” I told him so.
“He’s out of his mind,” Hunter mutters before moving away and disappearing down the hall.
Malcolm starts giggling. Yeah, Grizzly is probably right.
“Do you know why there’s a target on your head?” I ask him, but he’s too fascinated by the rings on his fingers and the cheap bracelet around his wrist. I slap him hard on the face and crouch down to look him in the eye. “Do you know August Baker?”
Malcolm seems to think about it. “No. August,” he pronounces the name, using what I can only assume is a German accent. Then he laughs.
“Au-guuust! August!” His laughter soon takes on a hysterical edge. He doesn’t look bothered by the fact that two big men are interrogating him. Well, now only me. Where did my grizzly go?
“Serena, let me know if Hunter Bear leaves the house.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Darling, please stop calling me that.” My voice has taken on a pleading tone.
“But you created me, therefore you are my daddy, aren’t you?” Her reasoning has no faults, but…
“Who the fuck are you talking to?”
I spin around, and there's Hunter, big, dark, and sexy. It’s amazing how my brain cannot do his magnificence justice. Every time I see him again, I realize how lousy my memory is.
“My AI.”
He frowns, and I find it so fucking hot. How can a frown be hot? Now that I think about it, Mr. T was one of my favorite jerk-off fantasieswhen I was a teen. Good times. I’m in serious need of revisiting my adolescent crushes.
“Malcom is out. Did you find anything interesting in the other rooms?”
He shakes his head, and I start moving toward the ajar front door.
“Let’s grab a coffee,” I propose, but his next word halts my steps.
“Why?” He sounds suspicious.
“Well, don’t make me feel like I’m drop-dead fucking gorgeous!” I sarcastically respond, looking back at him.
“Two people…” It’s all I hear from Serena before the front door suddenly bursts open and two men wearing black ski masks, dark clothes, and combat boots rush in. The first one comes at me holding in each fist a tiger claw three blade knife—Wolverine claws, I prefer to call them. The weapon slashes the air a few inches from my chest as I bend my torso backward to avoid it. He comes at me with his other hand, this time tearing the sleeve of my leather coat. I feel a light sting as the blades graze my skin, and my senses are switched on by the adrenaline pumping inside of me.
“This is my Morpheus coat, you moron!” I scowl at him. Morpheus. Another old crush. I kind of see a pattern here.
On his next attack, I evade the man’s claws, twisting my body to the side, and after taking hold of his thick wrist, I shove the blades into the wall. He pulls on his hand in an attempt to unstick them from the white plaster, leaving himself completely defenseless.Big mistake.
A well-placed kick breaks his kneecap, making him grunt and his leg almost give out. He finally lets go of the blades in the wall as he tries to keep his balance, putting his weight on his right leg. I deliver a left hook to his side while my right slides his sweaty ski mask off, thenmy left delivers another hard punch under his chin that forces him back.
I send a quick glance Hunter’s way. He has the other guy in a headlock, choking him.
“Ready to tell me who you are and why you kicked the door down when it was already open, Jean-Claude?” I ask the fucker panting in front of me.
He’s unsurprisingly the reticent type and doesn’t give me an answer. But he glances Hunter’s way before turning his attention to me. I know he isn’t going to talk, but that glance told me everything I wanted to know. There’s no point in keeping him alive.
Also, he stinks. “The deodorant you’re using is definitely not working. If you even use any, Pepé Le Pew.”
He spits some blood on the floor and glares at me. No sense of humor or hygiene. Need to ask Sari if that has some grounds for an experiment.
He pushes away from the wall and swings his clawed hand at me again, urging me to move backward. But in his condition, the movement lacks precision, and it’s easy to evade. I grab his forearm as I shove him hard, using my bigger bulk. I force his hand near his throat, his claws drawing a few drops of blood.
“Tell Satan I’ll keep ’em coming,” I utter before piercing his throat with his own weapon and letting him go. His eyes widen as he takes a step back and then collapses stiffly on the floor.
