Page 141 of Blades Out
"Yeah." My voice dropped lower. Darker. "I am."
His eyes widened.
I didn't stop.
"Too old for her. Absolutely. Her boss. Technically. A predator?" I smiled—cold, vicious, empty of anything resembling remorse. "If that's what you want to call a man who knows exactly what he wants and takes it."
His breathing went ragged.
"And you know what makes it all worth it?" I pressed harder against his throat. Not enough to cut off air. Just enough to make him struggle. "Being so deep inside her tight, wet cunt that she forgets her own name. Hearing her beg me not to stop. Feeling her come apart on my cock like she was made for it."
His face went purple. Rage replacing fear. Exactly what I wanted.
"You sick?—"
He lunged. Twisted hard. Drove his knee up toward my ribs. I blocked it but the movement threw my balance. He shoved against my chest with both hands—stronger than he looked, desperate and vicious.
I stumbled back half a step.
He came at me. Fists swinging wild. No technique. Just animal fury and years of hurting people weaker than himself.
I caught the first punch. Deflected the second. The third clipped my shoulder—nothing. The fourth?—
He grabbed something from his pocket. Small. Metal. Brass knuckles maybe, or something improvised.
The next hit caught me across the jaw.
Pain exploded through my face. Vision blurred. Copper flooded my mouth.
My balance shifted wrong. Back foot slipped. Concrete rushed up to meet my shoulders.
I hit the floor hard.
He was on me immediately. Knee pressing into my chest. Weight pinning me down. That metal object raised high.
It came down. Connected with my cheekbone. Once. Twice. Blood sprayed. My head snapped sideways. Ears ringing. Vision swimming red and black.
He raised his fist again.
Then weight crashed into his back.
A blur of movement. Arms wrapping around his neck from behind. Legs kicking at his ribs.
Olivia.
She'd jumped on him. Clinging to his back like a wild thing. Fingers clawing at his face. Screaming wordlessly. All fear transformed into pure protective fury.
He roared. Twisted. Tried to throw her off.
She held on tighter. Her nails raked across his cheek. Drew blood. He swore viciously and reached back, grabbing for her hair. Got a fistful. Yanked hard.
She cried out—pain and rage—but didn't let go.
The distraction gave me the opening I needed.
I surged up. Drove my shoulder into his gut. Used his imbalance against him. All that weight on me became leverage as I twisted and threw.
He went sideways. Hit the wall. Olivia tumbled free, landing hard on her hip.
