RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,95

comes on up ahead, casting a yellow glow out into the darkness. Riot House rises up out of the ink-black forest, appearing out of nowhere, and my frantic heartrate slows. So, they are home after all. A part of me is relieved by that knowledge, but the rest of me is frustrated that I’d even let myself ca—

A steel bar wraps around my neck, cutting off my air supply. “Scream and you’re fucking dead,” a vicious growl warns.

What the…what the fuck?

For a second, I am fear personified. My mind just…blanks. I can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t think…

The impossibly strong band around my throat tightens. “Little sneak,” the voice hisses. “Tiptoeing around in the dark, spying on people. Very bad, petite pute fran?aise. Very bad indeed.”

The blockade that slammed up inside of me shatters, falling apart. That phrase: little French whore. That’s what Pax called me when I walked into my very first class at the academy. I have no doubt that it’s him standing behind me, trapping me in a choke hold, and with that knowledge my fear evaporates. He’s not a monster. He’s not some supernatural creature, prowling out of the woods, looking for his next meal. He’s just a guy with an attitude problem, and I’ve been trained how to deal with those.

I slam my elbow back and up into his ribs. He’s so much taller than me that he’s had to bend himself over to grab me, which means I can get a lot of momentum behind the blow. Pax huffs out a surprised breath, winded, and I use the opportunity to my advantage. Twisting, spinning in his arms, I jam my knuckles into his throat, slamming them into his Adam’s apple, and his hold on me disappears.

“Fucking…bitch!” he roars. “Come here. Get your ass here right fucking now!”

He blinks, shocked, when I obey him without a second thought. Sure, I’ll come to you, motherfucker. I’ll be right with you. He exposes his teeth, anger burning brightly in his eyes, and makes a grab for me. I have him by the wrist, though. I yank his arm around, slamming my palm against his elbow, forcing the joint to bend the wrong way, and Pax reacts the same way all the big boys do when they’re about to get their arm broken: he drops to his knees, crying out in pain.

From there, it’s easy enough. I release his arm, but I’m not done with him just yet. The sole of my Doc Martin lands between his shoulders when I kick out, putting all my strength behind the blow. He topples forward into the leaf litter, cursing furiously, and then I’m on his back, anticipating what he’ll do next, already waiting for him to try and twist around underneath me. My fist’s raised, wound back as far as it can go, ready to break his fucking nose and end his pretty boy modelling career for good, when—

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” a polite voice informs me. A hand closes around my wrist, tight enough that I can’t wrench it free. Pax jackknifes, bucking me off his back, and I fly sideways onto the ground. Dash stands over me, his face a blank mask, his expression utterly unreadable. With only the dim light from the house spilling over his features, he looks like a statue of a man. An inanimate carving left out for the elements to claim.

“Crazy...little…fucker…” Pax pants, whirling around to face me. He’s about to lunge down and grab hold of me again, when a third figure materializes out of the shadows. Like a pale wraith, Wren stands over me with his hands hidden in his pockets, dark hair obscuring half his face. His crooked smile looks more than a little wolfish.

“Well, boys. Better break out the good china,” he rumbles. “Looks like we have ourselves an unexpected house guest.”

22

ELODIE

The coffee’s bitter and warm and sends a shiver of pleasure running down my spine. Dash sits on the very edge of the leather sofa, watching me drink from the cup with a level of fascination that makes it seem like he just woke from a three-thousand-year coma and he has no idea what coffee is. Or mugs. Or sofas. Or girls who know Krav Maga.

“That really was quite impressive,” he says, resting his chin in his hand.

“No, it was fucking dumb,” Pax snaps, massaging his throat. “She knew I was fucking around. She cranked that shit up to eleven for no reason.” He’s sitting on the