Bullet Proof (B-Squad 0.50)

Shock silenced her as he carried her toward the elevator in the back.

"I promise, I won't hurt you," he said. "But you're not going anywhere until we know what's going on and I know you'll be safe."

Maybe it was because of the blood rushing to her head from being held upside down. Maybe it was because of the mystery drug running through her system. Maybe it was because her mind-melting orgasm had turned her brain into a box of rocks. Whatever it was, she knew in her gut he wasn't lying. He wouldn't hurt her—at least not physically. As for the rest, she just had to make sure she remembered the lesson she'd learned while training at Devil's Dip Gym and keep her guards up.

CHAPTER FOUR

Fucking A. What in the hell was going on?

Taz jammed the three button on the elevator while trying to understand why he'd just ripped Bianca's dress in half and carried her off like a damn caveman. This wasn't him. He'd made his fortune with his hands but he never used them outside of the ring...not like this. But the frustration and fear for her had screeched through him like a rocket powered with Nitro, bypassing any logical thought. So he'd acted on pure base-level instinct, which is how he ended up walking through the open elevator into his third-floor loft apartment with a naked—and suspiciously quiet—Bianca over his shoulder.

Once the elevator doors shut behind them he was at a loss for what to do next—not a feeling he was used to, which made the moment fit in perfectly with everything that had happened since he'd walked into Bisu Manor and spotted Bianca.

"Are you going to put me down or are you waiting for me to pass out from all the blood rushing to my head?" Bianca asked, and the wobbly catch in her voice was a shiv between his ribs.

He had her feet on the floor in one heartbeat then whipped off his jacket and hung it over her bare shoulders in the next. God, he'd screwed this whole thing up. The garage. Her dress. Coming on her ass. Did the drugs explain that? He had a sinking suspicion he couldn't blame all of his behavior on that. He'd wanted Bianca since she walked into his gym and captured his attention so thoroughly that his sparring partner knocked him on his ass with a piss-poor excuse for a right hook.

"I'm sorry. I—" Lost my ever-loving mind at the idea of her being in danger?

Shoving her arms through the sleeves of the jacket, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Okay, stop looking like you just kicked my puppy. I'm a big girl and I wanted everything that just happened."

If only. He might have had more than his fair share of knocks to the head but not enough to believe that. "That's the drug talking."

She smirked and shook her head. "Whatever lets you sleep at night, Taz."

Not likely. His bank account might say different, but he would always be the kid who'd celebrated too many birthdays in juvenile detention. That had been his life right up until he and his brothers had broken into Freddie Atlas's gym one night and everything changed.

Seemingly satisfied—if wrongly—that she was right, she wandered around his loft. There wasn't an inner wall in the huge space with its cathedral ceiling, except the oversized bathroom with its Roman shower and giant tub big enough for him to soak in after a brutal workout. After how he'd grown up, he'd had more than enough of enclosed spaces. Some nights he couldn't even stand the loft and had to throw open all the windows, even in the summer with the oppressive Texas heat.

Dressed only in his jacket, which nearly swallowed her small frame up, she circled the spartan living area and its brown leather couch, big screen TV, and scratched-up coffee table where he ate most of his meals not inhaled over the sink. That's where she strolled next, totally oblivious to the effect that seeing her so at home was having on him. She should look out of place. She didn't. Instead of being dwarfed by the space, she seemed to fill it, make it warmer, more interesting than granite and leather and hardwood had before. She stopped in front of the single photo in the entire place. A four-by-six framed picture, the last birthday gift Freddie had ever given him. The old man stood in the middle of a group of five light brown-skinned men, so obviously not of his own blood even if he was the only father they'd ever known.

Bianca picked up the picture and turned, but before she could ask about it and dig up answers he'd rather leave buried, he spoke.

"I need to text Keir." He strode over to the large kitchen island.

"Who's he?" She set the picture down on the counter.

"A brother." It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.

"How many do you have?"

"By blood? None." He held out his hand, not willing to go more into depth about the family he'd created or the one he'd been born into. "Can I have my cell? It's in the inside jacket pocket."

The smile she gave him as she backpedaled toward the living area made his cock thicken against his thigh. The drug or his natural response to her? Considering how often he really had jerked off thinking about Bianca Sutherland dressed in the plain black workout bra and matching shorts she wore to the gym, he wasn't about to lay the blame for his one-track-minded dick on the drug.

Letting his jacket part just enough to give him a peek of her amazing tits, she leaned against the back of the couch, which he couldn't help but notice was the perfect height to bend her over and fuck her from behind. "Why don't you come and get it?"

Holy hell did he want to—his stiff prick twitched at the idea—but he didn't trust himself. "We don't have time for this shit, Bianca."

"What happened to Kitten?" She rolled up the cuffs so the sleeves no longer swallowed her hands, moving the jacket and showing off glimpses of bare skin before covering it up again. "You come on my ass and all of the sudden it's back to Bianca?" She traced the jacket's lapel up past her cleavage before slipping her hand inside and taking out his phone. "Say it and I'll give it to you."

His mouth went dry, like set-up-a-lemonade-stand-and-make-a-million-dollars-in-five-minutes dry. It was a word. Just a nickname. What was the harm? "Give me the phone...Kitten."

She held it out but didn't take a single step toward him. The air in the loft electrified and he took a step forward like a man in a lust trance. He wanted to hear his kitten purr. He'd seen her come, now he wanted to feel her against his tongue, his fingers, his dick that was already wet with pre-come.

Get it together, Hazard. She doesn't really want you. It's the drug. Don't take advantage of someone weaker. Don't turn into him.

The reminder of his father was as good as taking the polar bear plunge. He fisted his hands and sucked in a steadying breath. The drug. They had to figure out what it was and how long it would affect them.