Oath Bound
Page 58
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Sera pulled the toaster over her head. The cord dangled against her back. When the moment was right, she swung the toaster down with another grunt of effort, straight into the guard’s shiny, bald head.
The guard grunted, then crumpled to the floor. I ripped the gun from his grip and clicked the safety switch. I exhaled slowly and took a moment to celebrate the fact that we were both still alive. And whole. Then I turned to Sera, latent anger and intense relief coursing through me in a complicated storm of emotion.
“What the hell were you thinking? You could have been killed.”
Her eyes widened and her triumphant smile faded. “I just saved your ass!”
“I didn’t ask you to!” I couldn’t make sense of the tight feeling in the pit of my stomach, as if I’d just survived some massive free fall that should have killed me, but my organs hadn’t yet adjusted to the landing. “You could have been killed.”
Sera frowned. “You already said that.”
“Because it keeps bothering me.” The words hurt coming out; the truth was still too raw. “Don’t ever do that again.” And suddenly I understood what was wrong with me. Why my heart was beating so hard I could almost hear it, even after the fight was over.
I wasn’t scared of Sera dying because it would have meant I’d failed to protect someone else. I was scared of her dying because I didn’t want her to die. Or leave. Or spill even a drop of blood. The thought of her getting hurt left me furious and terrified, just like the thought of Kenley in Julia Tower’s cruel hands. Except Sera wasn’t my sister, a fact I grew more grateful for with each passing second.
But her eyes still blazed with fury.
“Fine. Next time I’ll let the bad guy shoot you! Don’t cry to me when you’re bleeding out on the floor!” She started to turn away, already bending for the spray cleaner she’d dropped in favor of the toaster.
“Sera,” I said, and she stood slowly, mad at me again, for about the billionth time since we’d met. “Thank you for not letting the bad guy shoot me.”
Then I kissed her. Because I couldn’t fucking resist.
Eleven
Sera
Kris kissed me, and for a second, I forgot that we’d broken into one of Julia’s buildings—or was it my building?— taken down two of her security guards and could be assailed by another at any time. I even forgot how pissed off I was at how ungrateful he was for the fact that I’d just saved his bare torso from certain lethal perforation.
And I was hyperaware of just how bare that torso was, framed only by his shoulder holster—the strappiest accessory I’d ever seen a man wear. And damn, did he wear it well.
Then everything that was wrong with that moment came roaring back, and I shoved him away, trying not to notice how firm his chest felt beneath my hands. “Why did you do that?”
His brows rose, and a smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. Which I was definitely not staring at. “Why did you bash that man on the head with a toaster?”
“Because you needed help with him.”
“And now I need to be kissed. Wanna give it another shot?”
“No.” I was extraglad there was no Reader around to call me on my lie. “This isn’t the time or the place...”
His grin developed slowly, like a Polaroid from my mom’s old camera. “So, it’s not kissing me you object to—it’s the time and place?”
“I object to this entire conversation. We told Kori we’d destroy Ian’s blood.”
Kris nodded, but his smile wouldn’t fully retreat, and I didn’t entirely hate that fact. He looked at the man on the floor and kicked him in the side once, to make sure he was really unconscious. “Oh, good. He’s still breathing.”
I exhaled in relief. I’d never killed anyone, and though I would have done it if I had to, to protect someone I cared about, I was immeasurably relieved to have avoided the worst-case scenario.
Kris’s smile was back in full force. “He’s also covered with bread crumbs. As are you.” His gaze traveled south of my collarbone and I looked down to find that the front of my shirt—mostly the upper curve of my breasts—was indeed dusted with bread crumbs from the toaster I’d hefted. “I’m pretty sure I’m either supposed to drop you in a deep fryer or broil you on high for an hour.”
I picked up the toaster from where I’d dropped it, then set it on the nearest table. “Like you know the difference.”
Kris chuckled at his own expense. “Nice shot, by the way, with the spray bottle. You’re like some kind of ninja housekeeper.” He set the guard’s gun on the table next to my toaster. “There’s a joke in there somewhere. It involves a French maid’s uniform and a wide selection of deadly weapons disguised as ordinary mops and brooms.”
“Are you seriously making fun of me after I just saved your ass?”
“I’m not making fun of you. I’m just enjoying a little humor at your expense.” He knelt next to the guard’s arm and pulled a folding knife from his own pocket. Before I could object to the cold-blooded murder of an unconscious man, Kris pulled the guard’s sleeve away from his upper arm and sliced through the material.
I blinked in surprise as he folded the knife, then returned it to his pocket and ripped the man’s sleeve open wider, revealing two interlocking rust-colored rings.
“Binding marks?” My mother had taught me that much, but she hadn’t known the specifics, for good reason—she’d kept us too far away from the Tower syndicate to glean more than could be learned by watching the news and scouring the internet to make sure there was never any mention of Jake’s older, illegitimate child. “What does the color mean?”
The guard grunted, then crumpled to the floor. I ripped the gun from his grip and clicked the safety switch. I exhaled slowly and took a moment to celebrate the fact that we were both still alive. And whole. Then I turned to Sera, latent anger and intense relief coursing through me in a complicated storm of emotion.
“What the hell were you thinking? You could have been killed.”
Her eyes widened and her triumphant smile faded. “I just saved your ass!”
“I didn’t ask you to!” I couldn’t make sense of the tight feeling in the pit of my stomach, as if I’d just survived some massive free fall that should have killed me, but my organs hadn’t yet adjusted to the landing. “You could have been killed.”
Sera frowned. “You already said that.”
“Because it keeps bothering me.” The words hurt coming out; the truth was still too raw. “Don’t ever do that again.” And suddenly I understood what was wrong with me. Why my heart was beating so hard I could almost hear it, even after the fight was over.
I wasn’t scared of Sera dying because it would have meant I’d failed to protect someone else. I was scared of her dying because I didn’t want her to die. Or leave. Or spill even a drop of blood. The thought of her getting hurt left me furious and terrified, just like the thought of Kenley in Julia Tower’s cruel hands. Except Sera wasn’t my sister, a fact I grew more grateful for with each passing second.
But her eyes still blazed with fury.
“Fine. Next time I’ll let the bad guy shoot you! Don’t cry to me when you’re bleeding out on the floor!” She started to turn away, already bending for the spray cleaner she’d dropped in favor of the toaster.
“Sera,” I said, and she stood slowly, mad at me again, for about the billionth time since we’d met. “Thank you for not letting the bad guy shoot me.”
Then I kissed her. Because I couldn’t fucking resist.
Eleven
Sera
Kris kissed me, and for a second, I forgot that we’d broken into one of Julia’s buildings—or was it my building?— taken down two of her security guards and could be assailed by another at any time. I even forgot how pissed off I was at how ungrateful he was for the fact that I’d just saved his bare torso from certain lethal perforation.
And I was hyperaware of just how bare that torso was, framed only by his shoulder holster—the strappiest accessory I’d ever seen a man wear. And damn, did he wear it well.
Then everything that was wrong with that moment came roaring back, and I shoved him away, trying not to notice how firm his chest felt beneath my hands. “Why did you do that?”
His brows rose, and a smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. Which I was definitely not staring at. “Why did you bash that man on the head with a toaster?”
“Because you needed help with him.”
“And now I need to be kissed. Wanna give it another shot?”
“No.” I was extraglad there was no Reader around to call me on my lie. “This isn’t the time or the place...”
His grin developed slowly, like a Polaroid from my mom’s old camera. “So, it’s not kissing me you object to—it’s the time and place?”
“I object to this entire conversation. We told Kori we’d destroy Ian’s blood.”
Kris nodded, but his smile wouldn’t fully retreat, and I didn’t entirely hate that fact. He looked at the man on the floor and kicked him in the side once, to make sure he was really unconscious. “Oh, good. He’s still breathing.”
I exhaled in relief. I’d never killed anyone, and though I would have done it if I had to, to protect someone I cared about, I was immeasurably relieved to have avoided the worst-case scenario.
Kris’s smile was back in full force. “He’s also covered with bread crumbs. As are you.” His gaze traveled south of my collarbone and I looked down to find that the front of my shirt—mostly the upper curve of my breasts—was indeed dusted with bread crumbs from the toaster I’d hefted. “I’m pretty sure I’m either supposed to drop you in a deep fryer or broil you on high for an hour.”
I picked up the toaster from where I’d dropped it, then set it on the nearest table. “Like you know the difference.”
Kris chuckled at his own expense. “Nice shot, by the way, with the spray bottle. You’re like some kind of ninja housekeeper.” He set the guard’s gun on the table next to my toaster. “There’s a joke in there somewhere. It involves a French maid’s uniform and a wide selection of deadly weapons disguised as ordinary mops and brooms.”
“Are you seriously making fun of me after I just saved your ass?”
“I’m not making fun of you. I’m just enjoying a little humor at your expense.” He knelt next to the guard’s arm and pulled a folding knife from his own pocket. Before I could object to the cold-blooded murder of an unconscious man, Kris pulled the guard’s sleeve away from his upper arm and sliced through the material.
I blinked in surprise as he folded the knife, then returned it to his pocket and ripped the man’s sleeve open wider, revealing two interlocking rust-colored rings.
“Binding marks?” My mother had taught me that much, but she hadn’t known the specifics, for good reason—she’d kept us too far away from the Tower syndicate to glean more than could be learned by watching the news and scouring the internet to make sure there was never any mention of Jake’s older, illegitimate child. “What does the color mean?”
