Page 3 of Rune
That kind of beauty didn’t let you just walk past without shooting your shot.
She wasn’t really dressed for a party in black jeans, a black tee, and black sneakers. But I had a cousin who went full-on goth anytime she left her farm. So you just never knew with women.
“Party’s out back, baby,” I said, working up to shoot her the double-dimple smile that never let me down, until I realized she was shaking.
Sure, the guys kept the club at near subzero temperatures, but she’d just come in from outside, and it was hot as balls out there.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m looking for Rune,” she said, voice shaking as much as her body, but she was all honey-sweet sounding.
“It’s your lucky day then. You found me.”
This time, the smile started to spread.
Only to falter and fall as her hand shoved into the crossbody bag she had on… and came back out with a gun.
No safety.
Finger already on the trigger.
That shaky fucking finger.
“Whoa,” I said, voice deceptively calm as adrenaline slipped into my bloodstream and coursed down every limb, making my insides jittery and ready to move. My hands rose slightly to my sides, fingers spread, as I wondered just how close I was to one of the guns or knives we kept stashed all around the clubhouse.
Five feet? Six? Too far.
I didn’t believe for a second that this woman knew a damn thing about aim, but this close… it didn’t really matter.
My best bet was to calm her ass down. At least enough for her arms to drop a few inches.
“I don’t think you want to do that,” I said, shaking my head. Everything about her body screamed that this wasn’t like her, that she felt pushed to this.
“You’re wrong,” she said, but her eyes were darting like a squirrel in a roadway.
“Could be,” I agreed, waiting for her to glance back at the noise in the backyard so I could take half a step forward. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” Out front, bikes idled.
Someone was coming.
And if that door burst open, she could panic.
Panic and a shaky trigger finger weren’t a healthy combination. For me. And not for her, either, if someone walked in on her shooting my ass dead.
Over the sounds of the party, I could swear I heard the crunch of footsteps on the front path. Then, with their distinct deep voices, Dezi and Pagan.
Fuck.
I had half a minute to get myself out of this.
Luckily, there was a squeal out back—the blonde hitting the water again, no doubt.
I didn’t stop to think.
I charged forward, grabbed her hand on the gun, twisted both inward and against her own chest as my other arm went around her, crushing her to my chest.
There was a second of struggle.
“Fuckin’ play along,” I hissed as the door flew open.
