Ted simpers as he leans forward and wraps his fingers around the neck of his bottle. “You’ve got some big balls, Huss. I’ll give you that.”

Huss turns his grin on me. “What do you think?”

“No.”

“No?”

I push myself onto my feet and tower over Huss. He doesn’t back down and I don’t expect him to. As a Special Forces officer I know he’s seen scarier men than me. If he wasn’t already so beat up I’d shove his own foot up his ass.

“No, and if you utter another word—or even think about the possibility of me sharing Emily’s body with you—I’ll hang you from a tree by your nut sack. Understood?”

He blinks his stupid gray eyes at me, the light of a challenge flaring in their depths.

“That’s it? You won’t even consider it? I just want to dip it in—just the tip. I don’t want to take the broad from you. What’s the harm?”

How many times has she put up with these kinds of men in her life? How many times has she settled for something quick—something without substance? It’s no wonder she goes into a state of panic whenever I talk about our relationship. She’s not used to having someone who cares about her wellbeing.

I care.

I care so fucking much and she doesn’t let me show it.

Because of her experience with people like Huss—people who take, and take, but never give. The life I could give her—the houses, the cars—all the fucking ice cream in the world—and she won’t even hear me out?

Because of people like him!

Quickly moistening my lips, I hand my beer to Ted who rushes to his feet.

“Jai, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. He abuses his pain meds.”

I wave him off. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt him. I’m just going to—” I slam my fists into Huss’s stomach. Air is forced from his lungs and he curls over in pain, clenching his torso. “Teach him some manners.”

Handing me my beer, Ted warps an arm around Huss’s shoulders and shoots a glare in my direction. “Dude, he was in a car accident.”

I shrug. “I didn’t hit anything important. He’ll be fine in five minutes.”

“He is not a team player.” Huss coughs out, groaning with the pain of his ribs.

“Apparently not.” Ted mutters, escorting Huss over to the couch I was sitting on. “Lay your stupid ass down till you catch your breath.”

I turn away from them and saunter into the kitchen. On the wooden kitchen benches fifteen shots are laid out in various cups and lids and I slip onto a bar stool as Joel pulls his white tee over his head, covering the ink on his torso.

“Was that really necessary?” He asks, adjusting the fabric around the belt of his pants.

I ditch the bottle of beer and opt for a shot instead.

“Absolutely.” I say as I grab the blue lid filled to the brim with clear liquid. Vodka. Its scent is so strong I can taste it before it touches my lips.

I tip the shot down my throat and glance down at the shiny blue lid in my hand as I inhale sharply. I never did like Vodka.

“Emily. Finally!” My brother cheers, his mood a drastic change from the previous days. “Have a drink with us.”

I lift my stare to the hall, where the staircase meets the kitchen, and—holy hell.

A single sleeved tight, black dress clings to her subtle curves, accentuating the shape of her luscious body.  I glance at the small, rectangular cut outs that run from the top of her hips, up the flanks of her body that expose the milky flesh of her sides, before it comes to a stop underneath her arms. The fabric clings to the soft curves of her body, electrifying every nerve in my system. Throw in some subtle make-up, thin, nude heels, and long, dark hair that’s pinned back...who is this girl? She’s a far cry away from the tired nurse I met weeks ago. The way she looks...she’s fit to drape the arm of a billionaire.

Which make me wish I hit Huss harder.

What I did to him wasn’t punishment enough for being so disrespectful to someone like her.

I should separate the tip of his cock from his shaft and glue it to his face so every time he looks in the mirror he’s reminded of what a dickhead he is.

“What are you drinking?” Emily asks me, pulling her face into a curious pinch as she steps closer.

“Everything.” I say, slipping my lid on to the bench.

For the first time since entering the room she takes one look at me and a visible bout of nausea rolls through her. It controls her features for the briefest second before she catches it and hides it behind a killer fake smile. What is that about?

“Avoid the small multicolored glasses.” I inform her. “It’s Joel’s homemade concoction and it will have you on your back before we make it out the front door.”

Joel chuckles as he scoops up his beer and leaves the kitchen, abandoning us with each other.

God. She looks good. What does she smell like? Fuck. What does she taste like?

With a defiant smirk and a purposeful kink in her eyebrow, Emily reaches out and wraps her slender fingers around a small, multicolored glass.

“I suppose I won’t need this to put me on my back...not when I have you to do it for me later.”

She surveys the liquid before returning it to the bench, opting for a shot of vodka instead.

If she’s not careful I’ll have her on her back, stomach, knees—fucking hands. I’ll have her any way, every way. I will tear her dress from her tight little body and tie her to the bed with it. I’ll gag her with her own panties and fuck her ass while she wears those skin color shoes. I’ll hit it so good she’ll never need the dick again. I’ll satisfy her for life—and that’s a goddamn promise. Unaware of my violent and sexual thoughts, Emily smiles at me before she tips her shot down the hatch.

Swallowing, she clenches her teeth with a hiss. “That’s awful.”

“Better than the stuff we were drinking underground.”

Her smile grows wider as she tips her head to the side, her hair cascading down the length of her bicep. I want to pull it. I want to wrap it around my knuckles while I fuck her from behind.

“I don’t know. I kind of like the taste of whiskey mixed with the nasties of the sewer.”

I laugh once. God, she’s amazing.

I want her closer.

I want her against me.

Shifting, I angle my body away from the bench and slap my thigh. “Come here.”

I want her close enough to smell. I want to see the perfect lines of her lip liner and the shimmer in the swirl of blush on her cheeks. I want to admire it while I can because later I’m going to smear it over her face with the tip of my cock.

Emily leans forward, gripping the edge of the bench and locking her arms at the elbow. “All the way over there? In these shoes?”

“They’re not comfortable?”

She shrugs. “They’re not too bad. I mean, they’re no Louis Vuitton, but they do all right.”

Note to self; get the girl some damn Louis Vuitton shoes.

I arch a brow. “And you packed them because...?”

The soles of her heels clack against the floorboards as she rounds the bench. Most people favor the sound of rain as it patters against a tin roof.

Not me.

I love the sound of high heels. Nothing sounds better than a woman dressed to the nine’s, her feet encased in tight, slender materials, as she marches her way to wherever she’s going. Heels symbolize Power. Sassiness. Sexiness.

Heels are my fucking undoing.

Especially on her.

It makes sense, I mean, Superman has kryptonite and I have...I have women’s shoes.

Emily saunters the last few steps before resting in the space between my legs.

“Let’s just say I didn’t pack them for dancing.” She utters, her long, black lashes seemingly never ending.

God, give me the strength to hold off on my threat of gagging her with her own underwear. At least until we get back. What is she wearing under that fabric anyway? Lace? Silk? Or maybe cotton, like the pair she had when we were in the tunnels?