Page 8 of Ghost

He leaned close, baring his teeth.“I promise, I’ll kill you.You fucked up.I know how trained you are, and if you think for one minute I couldn’t spar with you and have you crying like a little bitch in five seconds, you’re dead wrong.”

The corners of her lips moved.A smirk.A challenge.Ripping his gaze from her tortuous blues, he let go of her throat and stood.

His fingers biting her bicep, he lifted her to her feet.She twisted free and sent a roundhouse kick to the side of his head.His teeth rattled from the impact.

Goddammit.

If the bitch wanted to fight, he’d fucking fight.He had enough rage in him to level her.When she went for another kick, he caught her ankle and pulled.Like a single domino, she pitched face-first toward the concrete.Jutting out his hand, he caught her chest inches before her nose connected with the cement.

He let her hang there for two breaths while he gathered himself, and then he pulled her up slowly so her face met his.

The fact she’d made that move with her hands tied behind her back revealed just how skilled she was.

Her eyes glittered.The first sign of emotion he’d witnessed.“That was just for fun.”

She pursed her lips and spat.

It hit his cheek, warm and wet.A new level of fury invaded his cells.He swiped his hand over his face, spun her around, and propelled her toward the stairs.

He should’ve received a goddamn award for not throwing her across the room.Turned out he had a lot more self-control than he ever could have believed.

The woman had a death wish.She wanted to push him over the edge.She saw his temper as weakness, and he wouldn’t let it slip again.

After hauling her ass onto the main level, he guided her into the garage.He grabbed a roll of duct tape from a shelf and shoved her abdomen against the side of the car.With his elbow pressed between her shoulder blades so she couldn’t pull any more tricks, he found the end of the tape.

Bending, he hooked the roll around her ankles and bound her.Next he went to her hands, wrapped her wrists together, then cut the stupid plastic zip tie that would eat at her circulation during the long drive.

He refused to acknowledge his hesitation to inflict pain on her.He had seven hours to sort through his thoughts and accept what needed to be done.

After flipping her around so her back connected with his car, he pulled a bottle of water from his bag in the back seat, tore off the lid, and held it to her lips.

Her brow furrowed in genuine confusion.Huh.Make that two emotions he’d elicited from her.Maybe not a robot after all.

“Drink.”

“What, do you carry around water bottles of poison?”

“No.I need you alive and talking when we stop.”

She didn’t open her mouth.

“Once we get in the car, I won’t pull over to see if you’re breathing.”

Reluctantly, she opened her mouth.He gave her a couple of sips, and damn if his dick didn’t get hard at the way her plump lips circled the water bottle and her cheeks hollowed out.

He tore the bottle away before she was done, screwed the lid on tighter than his own head, and tossed the bottle into the back seat.

Next, he fished his burner phone from his pocket, grasped her chin in his free hand, and snapped a picture of her face.

She gaped.“What the—”

As she jerked her head out of his hold so sharply she’d probably kinked her neck, he sent the image to Rami.

Fire sparked in her blue embers.“You’re a dead man.”

“You keep sayin’ that.”

Popping the trunk, he caught her elbow.Her body went rigid.Part of him—there was that fucked-up side of his brain again—wanted to reassure her.Tell her she’d only be in the trunk for seven hours.He did none of that.