Page 121 of Adam
I launch at him, swinging harder than I should.
Oh, bitch, I’ll absolutely outdo myself for you tonight.
His fist smashes into my face so hard my ears ring, driving me into the floor.
Damn, he has balls.
“Stay the hell down!” he barks, punching me again. “I’m sick of your face already!”
He’s over me, raining fists.
“Damn, Leslie, buy me dinner first!”
I snap up, hook my legs around his arm, and twist. In a blink, I roll us, flipping him under me.
“Hi,” I grin, wild-eyed. “Miss me?”
Now it’s my turn to play.
I slam my fist into him.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
“Aww, don’t die yet,” I coo, punching him again. “We’re finally having fun.”
He snarls, landing a powerful one across my face. “You talk too damn much.”
“And you hit like a bitch,” I snap, headbutting his nose. “C’mon, Wes! Don’t get shy now.”
He growls like a pissed-off dog, grabs me, and hurls me farther than I thought his dumb arms could. We stagger back to our feet—blood everywhere, can’t even tell whose is whose.
“Good,” he pants, spit and blood mixing on his chin. Then he kicks his gun toward me. “Now shoot me.”
I snort. “And I’m the one with a death wish?”
“He knows I’d never let you go any other way,” he barks.
I bend down, grab the gun, and point it at him.
“And he’s gonna believe I didn’t kill you? With that stupid face?”
Wes scoffs through the blood. “Shoot me!”
I do it. I pull the trigger and nail him in the other shoulder—far from his heart, but close enough to make damn sure he knows I didn’t fuck up the shot.
Then the mansion’s sirens erupt, shrieking through the halls.
Now we’re playing.
Wes slams back into the wall, barely holding himself up, blood pouring through his fingers.
“You’ve got about two minutes,” he pants, staring me down.
“You’re so generous,” I taunt.
