Murder_ A Sinful Secrets Romance - Ella James Page 0,38

about a first degree black belt. I still feel impressed with her mobility. Finally, just when my left shoulder has started aching, I stop and show her some new tactics.

I show her a few pressure points I teach sometimes for use in street fights gone wrong: like when you lose a gun, or God forbid, run out of rounds. After I’ve shown her, I step back and raise my eyebrows. “Try one on me. Your pick.”

She presses her lips together, quiet and round-eyed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I arch a brow and give her a smirk.

“Oh—” Her funny smile blooms on her face— “so it’s like that, is it?”

Instead of answering, I lunge forward on the balls of my feet and shove her shoulders. She springs toward me, feinting for my neck, but balling up her right fist and striking me in the solar plexus instead. The bundle of nerves, just underneath the sternum, is sensitive as fuck if you hit it right. I know she did because my diaphragm locks up, and I can’t get a breath. I clench my jaw to keep from yelling—the natural foil to that maneuver—and I don’t step out of her reach until my head is feeling fuzzy. Then I snatch her wrist and twist her elbow so her body follows that motion; she hits the ground with her right side and flops onto her back.

I’m panting over her.

Her eyes are wide. “You’re insane!” She laughs, jumps up, and makes a grab for my inner elbow, attempting another new trick. She’s a righty, so she goes for my left arm, which doesn’t have sensation in that region, so I have to shake her off. She looks pissed. Her eyes cling to my left hand. “How can you keep your balance on that hand? Some of the fingers don’t work, right?”

I grin.

“You jerk.” She shoves me and I let her, laughing at her energy. She’s like one of those little yappy dogs: more show than actual threat, although I’d never tell her that.

“Truce.” I swing my hand out, faking a hand-shake, and when she grabs it, I hook a foot around her good ankle so she’ll have to use her injured one to fall. I haven’t taught her that, and I’m not positive she knows it, so I catch her on her way down, pulling her atop me.

She spins around to face me, her ass rubbing my crotch in such a way that I’m glad when she hops off my lap so she can face me fully. “Holy hell. Are you a gymnast or something?”

I stand, and hold a hand out for her.

“No thanks, mister. I don’t think I need your kind of help,” she teases. She hops up and brushes her rear end off. I keep my eyes locked on her face. “Barrett, that was seriously impressive. You’re acrobatic.”

I laugh. I’m breathing a little hard. “Out of practice.”

“God, I’m glad.” She laughs. “This was awesome! Just enough ass-kicking so it was fun without me feeling totally pathetic.”

“Next time I’ll show you more target areas around the neck and head.”

I swallow. Next time?

Fuck.

She’s grinning. She waves me toward her front door. “Come here. Come inside, absinthe or not. I got your cupcakes.”

“Serious?”

She beams like Betty fucking Crocker. Little tendrils of auburn hair float around her flushed face as she moves toward her door. “Made them last night—from scratch, by the way.” She winks. “Easy peasy.”

I decline the absinthe, take another Tupperware box from her, and ask to use her restroom before I go.

That night, when I’m in my chair drinking Red Bull, I navigate to my phone’s camera mode. Without opening the lens of the camera in her room, I punch the code for audio and listen to her snore.

TWELVE

GWENNA

For the next three nights, we meet at 6, at my house. Every night, I have something for Barrett. Brownies, fudge, colored rice crispy treats. In exchange for food, he helps me hone my trachea-crushing skills and learn the groin stomp. Which, mind you, he doesn’t let me practice anywhere near him.

The arrangement is working really well, giving me something fun to look forward to and something to do when he’s not here. My comfort level around him is evolving, too. After the second night, I forego my silly pre-workout shower and greet him looking like my regular self.

With some effort, I try to stop overthinking things and focus more on making him laugh, which I increasingly think he needs. I’m no expert, but after