“Primping.” Whatever the hell that meant. “Have a seat. Cream and sugar?”
“Black. Thanks.” Purdy sat down at the kitchen table, spreading his legs wide and resting an arm on the tabletop as though he didn’t have a care in the world. But Kye noticed he’d positioned himself so he could see back into the living room.
Kye eyed the knife set as he looked in the drawer for spoons. Knives weren’t his thing and if Purdy saw him draw one out, he’d guess it wasn’t for cutting cream.
A faint cry of pain, cut off in mid-voice, managed to penetrate the sounds of a cheering crowd on the TV. Pretending he hadn’t heard a thing, Kye set a mug in front of Purdy and began to pour.
A second deeper groan—unmistakably male—jerked Purdy’s head in the direction of the kitchen door. “That doesn’t sound like—?”’
The shit had just gotten serious.
Purdy moved an arm as if to reach behind himself. That action had only one possible purpose. Gun.
No time to think, Kye swerved the stream of hot steaming fluid into Purdy’s lap.
Purdy cried out as the scalding coffee soaked his crotch. Before he could jump out of the way, Kye swung the full metal pot up, catching Purdy just under the chin, a fully caffeinated uppercut. As Purdy grunted in pain Kye threw his full weight on the man, letting the force push the chair over as he used both hands to grab Purdy’s right wrist.
They went over in the chair together. The crash splintered the chair back. Purdy cried out in pain. Maybe the broken wood had gouged him. But the man wasn’t going down easy. He was a seasoned fighter even if he’d been caught completely by surprise. Kye delivered a fist jab to his throat. Purdy got in a blow of his own, to the face, smashing cartilage. Kye felt his nose give. Hot stabbing pain shot through his facial bones. Not enough to stun Kye into freeing his opponent but enough so that for a split second Kye saw that black dark sky twinkling with stars that people write about. He swallowed and tasted blood. It didn’t matter. He grappled with the man beneath him, the difference in their weight alone enough to keep the man pinned. If only he could find the damn gun. But he couldn’t let go of the man’s arm or Purdy might beat him to it. Kye knew his advantage. He was bigger, heavier. All he had to do was keep the guy’s hands off his weapons until he wore himself out.
He heard voices as if from a distance. Had Yard called the sheriff? Fuckin’ A.
“Stop it! Stop moving now or I’ll set my dog on you!”
Yardley’s voice at Kye’s back came as a total surprise. He hadn’t heard the bedroom door open or her footsteps but when he turned his head slightly he saw her crouching in the doorway holding a thick leather leash with two hands. At the other end, straining like hell’s fury itself, was Oleg.
The military-trained K-9 growled and jumped repeatedly against the restraint of the thick leather leash, almost yanking Yardley out of her squat. His lips were peeled back over sharp fangs in a mouth with jaws spread wide to take a full-mouth bite of his target.
“For the love of fuck!” Purdy kicked out in Oleg’s general direction, panic making his eyes bulge. “Call him off!”
“Stop fighting me and turn over on your belly.”
“Fuck that.” Purdy tried to head-butt him. Kye ratcheted one of the man’s fingers back until he heard it snap. Purdy didn’t make a sound. Hardcore. But he had leverage now. He grabbed another finger. “Over on your belly. Now.”
“Can’t. You’re sitting on me.”
“Figure it out. I got nine more opportunities to persuade you.”
Cursing like he was trying to win a profanity contest, the man struggled onto his side under Kye’s considerable weight, and then flopped belly-down on the kitchen floor. “Fuck you” ended the tirade.
All the while Oleg was lunging and growling, sounding like the soundtrack of a monster thriller. Even Kye was beginning to feel the stress, but he didn’t have time to own it or even look behind him. “Yard. You okay?”
“Fine.” The word came out of her like a shot. Clearly, Oleg was taxing her, but she knew not to call the dog off too soon. The snarling rampage of canine fury at the end of the leash raised the blood pressure of every person in the room to astronomical levels. It proved too much for most civilians. They gave up. But there was still every likelihood Oleg would have to bite Purdy before he gave up.
Kye pressed his knee harder into the man’s back, his right hand gripping his arm back at an angle designed to dislocate it if Purdy struggled. Then he leaned in against Purdy, applying pressure to his arm until he groaned. “I’d stay still if I were you. That Czech wolfdog’s new here and not all that reliable.”
Purdy craned his head around to stare at the dog. “I hear them dogs are bred to kill men.”
“Is that so?” Kye leaned harder. “Yeah. He does look like he needs to bite something really bad. If you upset him it won’t be me. Got that?”