"Let. Me. Go!" Her teeth were bared, fury iridescent in her dark green eyes.
Totally aroused, he arched into her and sucked in a breath… only to freeze. Her scent carried no sultry sweetness of a female who wanted sex. She was not attracted to him at all. She was pissed off.
V let her go immediately, rolling away, though making sure he had the coat with him. The instant she was free she shot off the bed like the mattress was on fire and faced off with him. Her hair was tangled at its blunt ends, her shirt wrenched around, one pant leg shoved up to her knee. She was breathing heavily from exertion and staring at her coat.
When he went through it, he found one of his straight-edged razors.
"I can't have you armed." He folded the coat up with care and put it at the foot of the bed, knowing she wouldn't come near him if she was paid to. "If you attacked me or one of my brothers with something like this, you could get hurt."
A curse left her on a hard exhale. Then she surprised him. "What tipped you off?"
"Your hand going to find it as Butch brought in the tray."
She put her arms around herself. "Shit. Thought I'd been more discreet."
"I have some experience with concealed weapons." He reached down and pulled opened the drawer to his bedside table. The razor made a dull thud as he dropped it inside. After he shut the thing in, he triggered a lock with his mind.
When he looked back up she was doing a quick sweep under her eyes. Like she was crying. With a quick twist, she turned away from him and faced into the corner, her shoulders curling in. She made no sound. Her body did not move. Her dignity remained intact.#p#分页标题#e#
He shifted his legs over and put his feet on the floor.
"If you come anywhere near me," she said hoarsely, "I will figure out some way to hurt you. Probably won't be much, but I'll take a hunk out of you one way or the other. We clear? Leave me the hell alone."
He propped his arms on the bed and hung his head. He was gutted as he listened to the nothing-at-all sound of her tears. Would rather have been beaten with a hammer.
He had caused her this.
All at once she wheeled around to him and took a deep breath. Except for the red rims around her eyes, he would never have guessed she'd been upset. "Okay. You eating on your own or do you really need help with the fork-and-knife stuff?"
V blinked.
I am in love, V thought as he looked at her. I have so fallen in love.
As class progressed, John felt like holy hell on the end of a shovel: Achy. Nauseous. Exhausted and restless. And his head hurt so badly he could have sworn his hair was on fire.
Squinting like he was facing headlights instead of a blackboard, he swallowed through a dry throat. He hadn't written anything down in his notebook for a while and wasn't sure what Phury was lecturing on. Was it still firearms?
"Yo, John?" Blay whispered. "You okay, my man?"
John nodded, because that was what you did when someone asked you a question.
"You want to go lie down?"
John shook his head, figuring it was another appropriate response, and he wanted to spice things up. No reason to get stuck in a nod rut.
God, what the hell was wrong with him. His brain was like cotton candy, a tangle that took up space but was mostly nothing.
Up front, Phury closed the textbook he'd been teaching from. "And now you get to try out some firearms for real. Zsadist is on deck for the shooting range tonight, and I'll see you tomorrow."
As talk sprang up like a gusty wind, John dragged his backpack onto the table. At least they weren't doing any physical training. As it was, getting his sorry ass out of this chair and down to the range was going to be enough of a production.
The shooting range was located behind the gym, and on the way there it was hard not to notice how Qhuinn and Blay flanked him tight as bodyguards. John's ego hated it, but the practical side of him was grateful. Every step of the way he could feel Lash's stare, and it was like having a lit stick of dynamite in your back pocket.
Zsadist was waiting at the range's steel door, and as he opened it he said, "Line up against the wall, ladies."
John followed the others in and settled back against the whitewashed concrete. The place was built along the lines of a shoe box, all long and thin, and had more than a dozen shooting booths facing outward. The targets were shaped like heads and torsos and hung from tracks stretching down the ceiling. From the master station each one could be manipulated remotely to vary distance or provide movement.
Lash was the last trainee in, and he marched to the end of the line with his head up high, like he knew he was going to kick ass with a pistol. He didn't look anyone in the eye. Except for John.