Page 15 of Possessive Mr. Pen

Plastic crinkles in his pocket as I straddle him from behind and almost—almost—capture him in a headlock.

The wily old bastard breaks away and lands a clean shot to my stomach, but I knee him in the thigh before he can rise, tangle my feet with his, and roll.

He twists mid-fall and lands on top of me instead of the ground.Gravel digs into my back as his weight knocks the wind out of me.I buck and roll until the back tire of my car stops me then scramble upright and square my shoulders with his.

Several tense seconds pass before he relaxes his stance and wipes his sleeve over his bloody mouth.I drop my arms to my sides and shake out my fists.

“Your grappling needs more work,” he growls.“So does your speed.And your—”

“I drew first blood.You lost, Uncle Ronan,” I say.

He quirks a brow, and even though our family resemblance—the bridge of our noses and angular jawline—is faint, I recognize the origins of my favorite mode of silent communication.

I follow his pointed glance down my body and curse.

With my pants holey from projectile pebbles, my shirt shredded from gravel, and grass stains covering almost every other inch of my clothes, I took more damage.

Which means he won.

The game of revenge isn’t about how many times you strike your opponent.

It’s about watching your enemies tear themselves apart trying to save face.

My ear stings.I worry my earring caught on something and ripped free but nod toward my uncle’s crinkly pocket.

“The gum and teriyaki are from me.Uncle Levi insisted on the hot and spicy,” I say.

He chuckles and starts toward the porch.

“Sounds like I’m overdue for a visit.How’s his gym?”

With his attention elsewhere, I rub my ear and release a silent breath of relief when I find my earring like normal.

“It’s changing,” I answer.

Uncle Ronan stops with his hand on the screen door and looks over his shoulder at me.Despite the demand for more information shining from his light brown orbs, I squat, retrieve the gardening tools, and rise before I answer.

“Not renovations, per se, but several of the self-defense ladies have new husbands who insist on throwing their money around,” I say.

“And Carter accepted?”

The incredulity in his voice tugs my lips upward in amusement.

“Begrudgingly,” I say.

My uncle grunts and disappears into the house.I respect him and consider him more of a father figure than the peacock I shook hands with in the glittering ballroom two days ago, so after putting the trowel and cultivator away, I retrace my steps and fix the things in the driveway affected by our tussling and from my mad dash around the yard before joining him in the kitchen.

After a quick shower and change, I grab a cup of coffee, join him on the back porch swing, and share a few pieces of jerky as I fill him in on what happened since I visited him last week.

As the sun reaches its peak, I finish my retelling and sit in relative peace as I wait for his response.

“Does the girl know yet?”he asks.

I nearly choke on my coffee at the unexpected question.He doesn’t agree with me stringing Hilary along, but he also understands she serves a vital role and is safer the closer she is to me, at least for now.

“She knows more than she did last week,” I hedge.

He crosses his arms over his chest.