Page 8 of Marked By the Devil

If she continued alternating this walk and run down the alley, she’d eventually reach an intersection she could try to run down and escape me. Capturing her where someone could see would complicate matters when I intended to keep this as simple as possible.

She had to have heard me rushing after her, because she started to run.

Panicking.

Terrified.

She’d held out long enough, but now that I’d lunged for her and had her in my arms, I wasn’t letting her go.

It was over.

No matter how hard she resisted.

“Let me go! Let me⁠—”

I slapped my hand over her mouth as she bucked to get away. We crashed together, and I rolled to avoid crashing into the corner of some busted-up rebar and concrete blocks piled together. Landing on my side, I took the brunt of the drop. But she didn’t sink down on me and weigh me into a bad position.

She was too light, nimble and slender and athletic with the press of her faint muscles in her legs and arms. But she wasn’t small. Shorter than me and manageable from the difference in size alone, she wriggled and fought.

My arm flew back with the hard landing, and without my hand over her mouth, she prepared to scream for help. Her chest rose, pushing her huge tits against my forearm. That deep inhale was her preliminary step to letting a scream loose.

“Shut up.” I jammed my hand back over her mouth, but this time, instead of letting my palm close over her face, I rotated my wrist to force my hand in like a gag. So she couldn’t scream or bite me.

Because she would. She had that fighting spirit, the will to go down swinging and protesting until her last breath.

Her muffled pleas and curses and whatever else she might have been trying to say fell on my deaf ears. She couldn’t alert anyone to the fact that I’d caught her. I wasn’t in the mood to hear her excuses or tolerate her talking back.

I held her tight despite her valiant efforts to break free. She wasn’t just fidgeting and struggling for the sake of not surrendering. I felt the push of her against me, the trembling desperation like a caged, rabid animal as she tried to jab her elbows and flip me to get free.

She knew.

She knew how to do this, like she’d been taught the basics of combat and self-defense.

It was a trivial thing to notice, but since I’d just been involved in helping to teach Mila self-defense, I could tell the difference. This woman, this person who’d run from the scene when a shot had been made on my brother, had been trained before.

A cop?

I had to know. I had to get everything I could out of her to determine when she needed to die for her part in that failed hit. But not like this, with her fighting and not giving up at all.

Moving my hands up toward her neck, aiming for the pressure point that would knock her out, I strained to keep her close and swiftly apply accurate pressure to stun her.

Her skin was soft, too delicate for her to have lived a hard life. But I ignored the smooth, satiny feel to knock her out.

She gave way, slumping as she went unconscious, and I heaved out a deep breath as her head rolled against me. Auburn hair made a halo on my chest, but I didn’t have long to rely on my mechanism of a sedative. I picked her off me as I sat up, and with her limp over my arms, I furrowed my brow and got my first look at her.

What the fuck?

I didn’t know what to expect, but this twinge of desire that shot through me was bullshit. She was connected to an attempt on my brother’s life. I couldn’t be…

I grunted as I stood with her in my arms.

I wasn’t attracted to her. Objectively, I had to admit she was stunning. High cheekbones, almost porcelain skin. Freckles smattered over her nose and cheeks. Her long lashes so dark and thick, but that hair… She stood out, those almost fiery flames of pure glossy silk draping over my arm.

She was out, but I couldn’t know for how long.

In this professional look, a short-sleeved white blouse, thin jacket, and slacks, she looked like she’d come out of an office.

I jostled her, ready to carry her away, and that was when I felt the bulge.