Bulletproof - Xavier Neal Page 0,21
or enough perspiration aspires.”
“Negating the adhesive.”
“And properly knotting rope is much more difficult than most people think.”
Despite knowing it’s not a good time, I can’t stop myself from investigating, “How do you know that?”
If I wasn’t staring at the side of his face as hard as I am, I’d miss the tiny twitch of a smile. “Experience.”
The combination of the word and his gruff voice cause my pussy to weep at what is absolutely the wrong fucking time.
Being chased away from my office by tranq happy psychopaths is not a good time to get a lady boner.
Thoughts of him being hit by darts prompt me to ask, “How long until you pass out then? You were triple hit.”
“No penetration.”
Is he fucking with me now?
Purposely picking sexual-sounding phrases?
Does he think it’ll soothe the whole stress of someone wanting to kidnap me?!
“We need to get to guest parking,” Bronx announces at the top of the hill, “which is where my vehicle is located.” His eyes swing over to attach to mine. “You know how to get there from here?”
“Is that a real question?”
His forehead furrows in confusion. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because I’ve only worked here the past seven years!” I thoughtlessly jerk my body up to a standing position. “Because any basic idiot can navigate their way around a few fucking parking lots even when they rarely spend time in them! Because-”
Bronx flings himself in front of me split seconds before a dart can nail me in the chest. His body lands on top of mine, forcing my back to hit the hood of the vehicle we’re stationed beside on a hard thud. He groans from the impact of the projectile while I shamelessly moan over the delicious amount of pressure I’m under.
How his scent is enslaving all of my senses.
How easy it would be for him to just lean down another centimeter or two and smash our mouths together.
His bottom lip lowers and like a horny moron mine mimics it. Unfortunately, due to us not being in a predictable action movie, he doesn’t kiss me. Or promise to kiss me later. Or swear to save me from everything. Bronx simply scolds, “No more fucking yelling.”
“My bad!” I hiss in return.
“Kick!” He demands prior to gliding out of the way.
Without hesitation, I launch my foot forward, nailing a would-be assailant right in the testicles. His groans of displeasure are short-lived due to the bullet that pierces his brain. He topples on top of my toes stealing a sharp gasp out of me from the unexpected touching of a fresh corpse.
Not my first time per se, but still not an everyday occurrence for me.
“So, we’re not keeping anyone alive?”
“Them alive leaves a chance for you to be taken.” Bronx’s brown gaze burrows into mine on a snarled, “Basic. Fucking. Math.”
Okay, fine!
I probably deserve a bit of the snark since I keep delving it out, but it’s just my nature.
Zap the subject, first.
Study the effects, afterward.
He retakes possession of my hand and playfully huffs, “Now, will you please lead the way, Magellan?”
Almost as quickly as he was angry, he’s not.
The swift shift in temperament is foreign, and if I’m honest with myself, refreshing.
Most people that I manage to piss off hold a grudge for a lot longer than it takes for personal guilt about possibly misspeaking to set in.
Is it just his clients he changes quickly for?
Maybe just me?
Wait.
Why would it be just me?
He doesn’t even know me!
Studying a few files and possibly ogling a few photos – I say possibly because I’m unsure if he was looking down my top earlier or if I was simply wishing he would try – doesn’t mean he actually knows anything about me other than a few routines and the cocktail dresses that I forget to get from the drycleaners because I don’t wear them outside of being told to by Brandon.
Sadly, that’s still more intimate information than most people know about me.
Getting us from the cleaning services parking lot to the one for guests, which is just on the other side of the security station where they first check-in, is done uneventfully. Upon our separation from the slightly more secluded side of the building to one with higher traffic forces any lingering aggressors to fall back. My kidnapping most likely wasn’t meant to raise red flags, so trying to snatch me from a populated area probably isn’t an approved plan.
Around the time, Bronx is preparing to drive us out, past security, emergency alarms begin glaring, impeding