Free Chosen by Fate by Virna Depaul Page B

friends. No family. No one. You wanna try again?”
    “You have friends, Wraith. You’ve just forgotten them.”
    His softly spoken words and his use of her name—somehow she knew it was being used properly and not generically—gave her pause. What did he mean? Could he be referring to her past? Did this man know something about who she’d been?
    For a second, she felt her guard lower, then caught herself. She shook herself mentally. Staring at his profile, she told herself to be smart. Ruthless.
    Vigilant.
    He had an arresting face, all sharp angles and jutting strength, and a subtle British accent that matched the simple but expensive lines of his clothes. Everything about him—from the way he moved and talked—screamed thinly disguised danger. He was trained. Deadly.
    When he shifted and lightly tested the grip she had on his arm, she shoved him harder against the wall. “Try anything, friend , and you’re dead. Are we clear?”
    “Quite,” he murmured.
    “Spread your legs.” He did. With her gun still firmly in his side, she slowly released his arm and commanded, “Both hands on the wall.”
    He complied readily. “Anything else?” He sounded calm. Magnanimous, even.
    “Don’t move. Not an inch.” Swiftly, she began using her free hand to search him, starting with his legs and working up.
    “No,” he agreed, sounding amused. “Not an inch. But given where you’re headed, one inch isn’t the problem . . .”
    He hissed when she shoved her hand none too gently between his legs.
    “Damn it,” he growled, all sound of amusement gone from his voice. “Watch what you’re—”
    “Shut up!” She leaned harder into him, moved her hand inside his jacket and found the holstered weapon there. Again, she waited for him to move, to try and take her down.
    No way he was going to let her get his weapon, she thought. No way .
    But he did. He just stood there while she withdrew the heavy pistol. It was a Luger, as big and sleek and expensive-looking as its owner. Shoving the gun into her front waistband, she finished her search.
    “I’m not here to hurt you,” he said softly.
    “Uh-huh,” she snorted. “What next? You’re going to tell me you come in peace, right?”
    “I’m not—”
    Grabbing his hair, Wraith slammed his face into the wall, grinding it into the plaster and stone with enough force to make him grunt. “Don’t fuck around with me. You were watching me. Why? Who sent you?”
    “Again, a friend,” he gritted.
    Wraith cracked him on the side of his head with the butt of her gun, then spoke over his outraged growl. “Try again.”
    “Fine.”
    Before she could anticipate his movements, he knocked the back of his head into her face. Pain exploded in a profusion of black dots, momentarily blinding her. As she struggled to recover, the man kicked back, slamming her gun out of her hand before turning to tackle her. Instead of trying to break her fall, however, Wraith reached for his gun, which was still tucked into the front of her pants. When she landed, her head knocked against the unforgiving concrete. The pain almost made her black out, but she managed to stay conscious and keep her grip on his gun. Mercilessly, even with him on top of her, she shoved the gun into his crotch.
    They stared at each other, his face directly above hers.
    “You’ve got three seconds,” she said hoarsely, “to tell me who you are before I shoot your dick off.”
    Unbelievably, he lifted himself onto his elbows, glanced down at the gun she held on him, and grinned. He tsked and raised his gaze to hers. “And break hundreds of women’s hearts in the process?”
    She narrowed her eyes, the line immediately making her think of Caleb. Like this man, Caleb wielded a playboy’s charm naturally but deliberately, a front for the deadliness that infused every nerve of his body.
    She punched the gun harder into the man’s balls. “More like do them a huge favor. Maybe then you’ll think twice before you