Delinquents Turned Fugitives - Ann Denton Page 0,109
me off the forest floor, dragging me backward. I swung my legs, trying to get a heel to connect with one of his kneecaps, but Andros was fast.
He bent his head forward and I felt his hot breath on my ear. "Muller likes to toy with you before he brings you in." Andros's voice became a growl that raised goosebumps on my arms. I wasn't quite certain if they were from fear or something else as his arms slid across my torso. One went up to latch across my chest. Another went down and pinned my hips tighter to him.
I fought to ignore the sensual sensations crawling through me in reaction to his hold. I fought to focus on his words. His body heat, the scent of his cologne, the fact that both his gun and his massive dick were pressed against my back all tried to distract me, but I managed to choke out, "What do you mean toy?"
We were the most wanted fucking fugitives in the country. I was pretty sure I knew what he meant. But I needed to hear it.
Andros glazed over the answer and moved on to other topics. “I think you know. Remember how we agreed to tell secrets if you practice with me?” he asked gently.
I nodded, the motion making his finger slide up and down along my neck, over all the tiny scars from Claude. His touch was feather soft and part of me wanted to lean into it, but he wanted secrets. I forced my brain to process that instead of enjoying the sensation he was producing. We were going to practice fighting? That’s what this was?
“How many of these do you have?” His question was as soft as his touch.
My first instinct was to look away, to lie. But I didn’t let myself. I stared up into his blue eyes. He knew that I would have counted each and every one. He knew I would have written it down and focused a lot of anger on it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know exactly how he knew, because it meant someone had done something similar to him. But I forced myself to speak. Because I’d made a deal. “Seventy-two.”
He nodded. “Secret for secret. My first tattoo … ” he pointed to a bird with spread wings on his left arm. “I got it to cover up a specific spot on my arm, because when I was eight, before my mom died, one of her boyfriends grabbed me there and held me as he beat the shit outta me while she was at the store … because he was pissed she was taking so long.”
He might as well have taken a wrench to my heart and cranked it tight in the wrong direction.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not telling you any of this for a pity parade. I’m telling you because there are sick fucks out there. And per Malcolm’s research on the high-profile attendees, a lot of them will be at that funeral. If we get taken, you're the weak link—"
Rage. I wanted to push and shove him. "Just because I'm a woman—"
"Because we fucking love you," he growled. "And torturing you is gonna be the most effective way to torture us all."
Goddammit. He was right. I swallowed hard and felt myself go limp in his arms. Andros set me down gently and swiveled me around so that I faced him. He put a hand underneath my chin and pushed up, so that I stared into his blue eyes as his sandy hair fell down across his forehead.
"I'm the weak link," I repeated, forcing myself to hear it. I fucking hated that. But it was the truth. I’d gotten impulsive with the Claude thing. I wanted to go to this funeral, which logically was stupid. The fury at Andros morphed into a burning need not to be weak.
"For now," Andros agreed. "Unless you have the guts to change that."
The guys' faces flickered through my head. Z's mischievous smile. Malcolm's raised brow, challenging me to tell the truth. Evan's hand grabbing mine as he stared down at me and poured memories and love over me like gentle raindrops. Gray's proud look whenever he bested me. I tried to imagine their faces if something happened. Immediately, it felt like my insides had been dipped in acid. I nodded at Andros. "You're right. Let's do this."