Love the Way You Lie (Stripped 1)

A knock comes at the door. I close my eyes, wondering how many minutes this will buy me. It will be one of Byron’s men, of course, maybe with a perimeter-check update. Or maybe they’re delivering coffee. The men in his employ are nothing more than lackeys on steroids.

The man by the wall doesn’t stop watching me, doesn’t stop stroking.

Of course Byron wouldn’t bother himself to get up, not when someone else could do it. That leaves the man touching me. He looks disgruntled to have to stop, but he’s not going to complain out loud. With one regretful pinch of my nipple, he stands and goes to the door. He’s not afraid here, surrounded by his own men, protected by a goddamn battalion’s worth of firepower in one tiny broke-down motel. He doesn’t check the peephole, he just swings the door open—and takes a bullet to the chest.

I stare at him, unable to comprehend what happened. Byron stares too, frozen for one sweet moment of victory. But from his position he can s

ee out the door, and whatever he sees makes him snarl. He pulls out his gun and dives for the bathroom, taking cover as the shooting starts.

The man by the wall is the slowest to react. I guess stroking your hard-on can slow a guy down.

But he is also the most lethal. The least human.

When he realizes they’re under attack, he doesn’t even bother putting his dick away. He just whips out his gun and starts shooting, without a visual, his erection waving, unprotected. I yank at the straps tying me down. This is my chance to get away. I don’t know what’s happening—if this is some kind of fighting within the ranks—but I have to use this.

The bonds are too tight. No matter how I pull them, they only get tighter.

My muscles burn under the strain. Every yank makes the bruises and welts on my stomach and breasts ache. I’m trapped here in the middle of a fucking gunfight, completely naked. Even more exposed than the guy edging along the wall, gun at the ready, dick out.

He steps out to make his shot and takes a hit. His body ricochets back, falling to the ground. He’s been clipped at the side. Blood sprays. The attacker steps into the room and gives him another shot—this one to the knee.

The man steps forward, and the light from the bathroom hits his face. Kip.

His eyes are wild. He’s a goddamn gladiator like this, more animal than human, more fierce than merciful. He takes in my nakedness on the bed. Then he looks at the man writhing and gurgling on the floor at his feet. It’s not hard to see what’s happening here, and Kip reacts quickly—faster than I could have. He shoves his boot against the man’s exposed, limp dick and turns his heel. There is an awful, high-pitched primal sound of pain that is abruptly cut off by a final gunshot to the head.

My mind can barely catch up with what he’s done. He’s taken on two of Byron’s men—and won. No, he must have taken on even more of them, the ones patrolling outside. The ones who had been incapacitated, or dead, when he strolled up and knocked on the door, catching these men unaware.

He’s incredible. He’s a monster. I’m going to throw up. And with nowhere to go, no way to move, I’d choke on my own vomit.

Kip isn’t safe yet though. I try to tell him. “Bathroom,” I yell, but it only comes out as a wheeze.

It’s all right though. He seems to already know. His gun is pointed toward the open door, waiting to take his shot. But Byron didn’t get to be where he is by accident. He’s not only a fucking good criminal. He’s also a cop. “You don’t want to do this, Kip,” he calls. “Turn yourself in now and it will go easier for you.”

Kip shakes his head. “This is much easier.”

“You may have gotten through them, but you’ll never take me. You won’t make it out of this room alive.” There’s a pause, and his tone changes. “Unless we work together, like the old days. I know you have a thing for the girl. We can work it out. You can have her.”

Kip glances at me, and for one awful moment I wonder if he’ll go along with whatever horrible thing Byron plans to do to me. Then Kip’s eyes darken at the welts on my skin, and I know he would never do anything to hurt me. He’s here to save me. But Byron must have expected me to distract him, because he takes the opportunity to pop out of the bathroom and fire off a round.

Kip dives to cover my body with his, shooting back.

The thing about a bullet is, it doesn’t feel like fire after all. Maybe I’m numb from being tied up too long. It feels like ice instead. I’m hit, I realize. Hit in the side.

Be careful, I wish I could say. He doesn’t fight fair. No one does. Not Byron, not Kip. Not even me.

I fought as dirty as possible, keeping Clara away from Byron, keeping her safe—and I succeeded. This is the jungle, and only the fittest survive. Though I may not be very fit anymore, because I feel myself fading. Falling. Thank goodness for the rope around my wrists. Otherwise I’d sink down beneath the ground.

Instead I’m suspended, waiting.

There’s shooting back and forth—all around. That much I can tell from the blasts to my eardrums. But Kip is trapped. I’m the one tied up, but he’s the one in a vulnerable position—right in front of me. He can’t duck behind the bed where he’d be safe. I think he can’t even storm the bathroom because that would leave me exposed. The only cover he has is the second bed. He’s using it to protect himself—and shooting whenever Byron tries to aim out, so he’s forced to retreat. It won’t last for long though.

He’s going to get himself killed, and it will be my fault. Mine. I can’t let that happen.

I force myself back to reality. I’d been slipping before. The pain and shock of it had let me drift in a kind of unreality. But now I’m fully aware of every bruise and cut on my skin, acutely aware of how much I hurt. I pull my hand where it’s tied—nothing happens. The rope may have more give, but it’s still tight enough I can’t pull my hand out.

I pull again, harder, twisting myself, as the bullets ricochet off the wall. One lands in the mattress underneath me, snapping a coil with a loud twang. Any second now one will hit Kip. He’s still blocking me. Still protecting me.

The hole is too small. It’s like I’d have to break my hand to get it out.