Wicked
Page 22

Not giving him time to recover, I spun on one foot and caught him in the stomach with my other foot. Ren's grunt told me that it hurt, and I snapped forward, aiming my fist for his face—his really nice face. What a shame I was going to have to bloody and bruise it.
He moved like lightning striking, catching my wrist and using my momentum to spin me around. An arm gripped tightly just below my breasts. "Whoa, Ivy, you need to chill."
I so didn't need to chill. I shoved my free arm back, catching him in the stomach again, but this time I could feel exactly how hard that stomach was. His abs didn't even budge. I went to do it again, but he did something that was going to piss me off until I took my last dying breath.
He shoved one leg between mine, hooking his foot around my ankle. One second I was struggling against him and the next I was falling forward.
"Crap," I muttered.
Ren didn't let me freefall. Instead, he controlled my weight and where I was heading. Before I knew it, I was on my stomach and he was above me, his knees on either side of my hips, and his hands wrapped around my wrists, pinning my arms to the mattress. My cheek pressed into the bedspread, and from my not-so vantage point, I could see that the bedroom door was open.
How quickly he incapacitated me yet again was humiliating, and I was too damn angry to be that afraid. "If you don't let me go, you're going to regret it."
"Jesus, is this going to happen every time we meet?"
"If you keep doing shit like this, then yes!"
He shifted so that his breath danced along my cheek. "I'm not trying to hurt you."
"You're practically crushing me." I tried bucking my hips, but he squeezed his knees in, stilling me. "I swear to God, if you don't let me go, I'm—"
"You're really feisty, aren't you?" He chuckled, and that ticked me off even more. "Look, I didn't come here to fight you. I need to talk to you."
"This is a really funny way of talking." I tried to twist my arms, but all I managed to do was make the position even more uncomfortable. "How did you find me?"
"Looked at your file in David's office."
My fingers curled into the bedspread. "He's going to kick your ass."
He chuckled again. "Nah, I don't think so."
God, he was so lucky I couldn't get my hands on him right now. "If you looked at my file, then you would've seen my phone number. You could've tried, I don't know, calling me like a normal person."
"I did call you," he replied, and again his breath stirred the hair along my temple. I hadn't been close to a guy since . . . since Shaun, and go figure, it was a dude breaking into my apartment that was the one. "You didn't answer."
For a moment I couldn't remember where my phone was, but then I remembered it was in the kitchen, next to my laptop. I started to fire back, but Tink suddenly appeared in the open doorway, and what the? He had one of those skillets just large enough to cook an egg in, and he was holding it over his head like a battle-axe. I was kind of surprised that he could carry the pan, but Tink was buff for a little guy. He had a six-pack—a brownie six-pack. His face was contorted in a silent battle cry as he started into the room.
Wide-eyed, I shook my head. As much as I appreciated the effort, his interference would not end well. That small as hell frying pan was not going to do any damage. Thankfully, Tink froze and lowered the pan. A second passed then he zoomed out of the doorway.
"Are you calm yet?" Ren asked.
Calm enough to shove a spike through his startling green eyes. "Okay. So you admit to being creepy and looking at my personal information, but how did you get in here?"
"I don't think taking a tiny peek at your file is that creepy." His hands shifted, and I jerked as his thumbs moved along the insides of my wrists. God, if he started that thumb thing again, I was going to lose it. "But to answer your question, the balcony doors off your living room were unlocked. So, technically, I didn't break in."
Unlocked? Dammit. That had to be Tink. "You didn't break in, but you had to have scaled a wall to get to that balcony,"
"Actually, I scaled the vines."
Damn, that . . . that took talent. I refused to admit I was any bit impressed. And he was doing that thumb thing again, slow tracing circles that created a deep, unsettling feeling that had to do with him being a creeper. "So you looked at my stuff, scaled my wall, let yourself into my house, then came into my bedroom and sat on my bed. And watched me sleep? That's got creep factor written all over it."
"I thought girls liked being watched by some random dude. Here I had it wrong this whole time," he replied.
Tink appeared in the open door again, his wings rapidly moving, and in his hands he held a . . . slingshot? Oh sweet baby Jesus take the wheel. Where did he get a slingshot? Off of Amazon? That didn't matter. The brownie had taken the time to paint his face. One half was red, the other blue. He looked like he wandered off the set of Braveheart. I mouthed the word no at him.
He threw up a hand, and I think I saw a middle finger.
"Are you talking to someone?" Ren's grip loosened as he rocked back and turned to the door. My heart stopped, but Tink zipped away before Ren could see him.
"No," I said.
Ren paused. "Huh."
His knees widened, letting up on my hips, and with the lax grip on my wrists, I took advantage of the distraction.  Yanking my arms free, I rolled as Ren cursed. I sat up, wincing as that really pulled at the stitches, sending a bite of pain across my midsection. Gripping Ren's shoulders, I flipped him onto his back and straddled him as I reached under my pillow, grabbing the iron stake I always kept there.