Page 72 of A Touch of Frost
Trapped, he turned to face Frost who holstered her gun.
“Frost!” I called.
But she didn’t take her eyes off her prey. I watched as her body slipped into battle mode and I was afraid.
Striker looked like a beast to her petite curves.
When I stepped forward, wanting to push my frame between her and the rage I saw in Striker’s gaze, Black Widow caught my arm and tugged me back.
“Not now, Jesse.” She warned.
“She can’t take him on herself.” I told Black Widow. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“You have to trust her,” Kandi agreed with Black Widow. “Give her a chance to work this.”
“Tink…”
“I know you want to protect her.” Black Widow hadn’t taken her eyes off the scene in front of us. “I know you do. But some battles you’re going to have to let her fight on her own.”
“The next one.” I told her while trying to step in again.
Once more, Black Widow tugged me backward. “No, that man shot her in the chest and left her to die. She has a score to settle, and she’ll never forgive you if you take that from her. Now, if things get out of hand, we step in. Otherwise, let her battle.”
“She is not a fucking Klingon!” I snapped. “She could die.”
“Jesse, trust her.” Kandi gripped my arm. “We’re her backup.”
I sighed and turned to look at them just as Striker attacked.
Frost dipped low and caught him twice in the ribs before twisting away from him.
Striker grunted in pain, but the hits didn’t seem to even slow him down. He charged again and once more, Frost slammed her fists in the same places she had before.
This time, Striker staggered blindly in one direction.
“Rumble, Lady Frost, Rumble.” Black Widow cheered.
It was Frost’s turn to attack—she brought a fist to the side of his throat then over his left pec. Striker lashed out, backhanding her across the face sending her falling backward into a wall.
I stepped forward.
“Jesse.” Kandi warned. “Not yet.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. It was hard watching her take on this man alone. I understood What Black Widow and Kandi said, but it killed me not being able to step in and take this man on for her—hell, with her.
Hand to hand was my thing—I could help.
At what point do I sayfuck what you thinkand step in?
The man in me wanted to think that Frost was a soldier and had been through worse.
Her lover in me wanted to torture the motherfucker—push Striker to the brink of death only to bring him back and do it all over again.
I wanted him to hurt worse than anyone else in history has ever hurt.
The fight went on for what felt like forever. I didn’t think I breathed the whole time. Frost was bleeding from the nose and the corner of the lips.
“Widow!” I called.
