Free TAG by Shari J. Ryan

arm swings down and his hand clamps around my wrist, twisting it and pressing it against my back. I attempt to swing with my other hand, but that one gets slapped against my other wrist. With one hand, he encapsulates both of mine, holding them against me in a way that prevents me from moving. With no effort, his now free hand reaches around me and pulls the knife from my hand. He pushes me forward until we reach his truck, still keeping my hands locked behind me. He opens the door and lifts me up with his arm while easily shoving me inside.
    He closes the door and locks it, crating me in from the outside world again. My eyes scan the door for the lock button, but I don’t see one. Fire is blazing through my nerves, and my rage is overpowering what control I have left.
    He opens his door so calm and casual and slides in while gently closing his door. “What the fuck was that, Carolina?” His fingers wrap around the steering wheel, and the whites of his knuckles glow through his reddened skin. “A knife? Seriously?”
    “You’re a liar. Just like the rest of them.” The words flow freely. I went too far. I realize this, but my anger is not something to play with. If he actually read my file, he’d know that. He’d know how screwed up I am. He’d know not to fuck with me. Yet, he did.
    We pull into our parking lot and I flip the door handle three times before I turn and give him a blazing look. “Let me out of this fucking tin can,” I growl. He reaches over me and flips the lock I apparently didn’t see under the door handle. The locks pop up; I open the door and then kick it fully open. I jump out and storm toward the entrance of the apartment. I’m somewhat surprised he let me go so easily, but I take the opportunity and run. Because that’s what I need to do right now.
    I’m done.
    I’m so fucking done.
     
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
    TANGO
    NOT SURE I EXPECTED a knife—a serrated bread knife of all things, to be pulled on me today, but I’ve encountered worse. She must have snatched it from the sandwich shop. I’m gathering she’s a bit more troubled than I was originally led to believe. Maybe I didn’t need to go through the trouble of making her think I haven’t shot a pistol, but the man in me needed to feel her touch. And I did. Her hands are small, soft and don’t match her personality. She smells like a flowery shampoo, and all I wanted to do was lose my face in her silky waves. I shouldn’t be feeling like this. This is my life and work, both meaning the same thing. I know better than this. But my problem is and always has been that I look for trouble, and I always love it—the feeling trouble gives me. And goddamn, this girl is nothing but trouble.
    She’s embarrassed; I can see that. I feel like I know her type. She’s lost within her own mind and doesn’t know what’s good for her. And I’m guessing that’s because nothing has been good for her or good to her in the past. Something’s gotta give, or this is going to turn bad real quick. I’m guessing if I’m not the thing that gives, the bad is going to be on my shoulders.
    She’s moving quickly ahead of me, trying to create the distance she apparently needs from me. It doesn’t take much to trigger her, clearly.
     
    CALI
    I bust through the front door and then my bedroom door. I’m out of breath after running through the parking lot and up the stairs. I had to wait for Tango to unlock the door since I’m essentially his prisoner now. Although, I didn’t have to wait long since he was on my heels the entire time, making me feel like a child. Now I’m gathering my things and shoving them into my bags. I sling my bags over my shoulders and head for the front door, ready to fight if needed. Ready to fire him if needed.
    As expected, I’m stopped at the front door where he stands—large, in my way, and taking up the entire doorway. “I can’t let you leave,” he says simply.
    “Get out of my way before I call my dad.” My jaw