Free Locked Out (Locked In Love, an Alpha Billionaire Serial)(Volume 2) by Myra Song

 
    continues from “Locked In.”
     
    Elise
     
    A figure in head-to-toe black is standing and staring at me.
     
    It is just the two of us in Locke’s gallery hallway. My chest hurts because my heart is trying to leap out of it.
     
    He is in a ski mask. Despite my fear, my brain kicks into overdrive. This man is about five-eleven with broad shoulders. He’s built like a kicker on a football team: big enough to take a hit, but still lean. Elegant, really, in his muscular physique.
     
    I know it’s muscular because the clothing he’s wearing leaves nothing to the imagination. The black shirt and pants cling to him like a second skin.
     
    The man in black is in a mask, too. Like a ski mask, but made from the same thin material as his other clothing. Even his shoes are five-toed, like those trendy running shoes.
     
    I’d put him at around one hundred ninety pounds. If he’s as athletic as I think he is, he can overpower me.
     
    I jump when he speaks. “You shouldn’t be here, Little Bird.”
     
    A thrill runs through me. This is no ordinary thief. An ordinary thief wouldn’t have stood, waiting for me to notice. He’d have hid, or ran as soon as I glimpsed him. And now I’ve heard his voice, though it sounds like he’s dropping it on purpose. It sounds ice cold and filled with mirth.
     
    “You shouldn’t be here, either,” I croak, my fear clogging my voice.
     
    He shrugs and begins to walk toward me. “That depends on who you ask.”
     
    “Stop right there!” My feet slide apart, but my body can’t decide whether to run or attack.
     
    It doesn’t matter. He charges me. I torque on my left knee, tensing my abs and bringing my right fist around for a hook, aimed at his jaw. I telegraph the movement and he takes the bait, grabbing my right wrist.
     
    Here’s a secret: I’m left handed. My instructors used to go crazy when I’d do this. They’d shout and curse and often, kick me out or fail me. I think it’s because they were mad that it worked. Every. single. time. Because if I let my attacker grab me first and think he has the advantage?
     
    I can blindside that son of a bitch.
     
    My left hand shoots in, an up cut. Only instead of aiming at his face, I’m shooting my knuckles into his windpipe.
     
    It is possible my instructors were actually mad because I’d hit their throats a little too hard.
     
    My eyes are narrowed and I lunge up, putting the momentum of my body into the move--
     
    But, to my shock and horror, the thief easily deflects it. Instead, he uses my momentum against me. It’s too fast to see, but he manages to kick, lift, and flip me. There is a shredding noise and then my back hits marble, winding me. My head would have, too, had the man in black not caught it.
     
    It is a weirdly chivalrous moment, and it stuns me.
     
    Cool air breezes over my legs. My dress is torn. The close-fitting silk and mermaid cut were only enough to contain my curves. The dress was not made to withstand hand-to-hand combat.
     
    The tear reaches up high, high on my thigh, and if my legs had flailed at all during that flip I know the thief will know I’m commando.
     
    Before I can catch my breath, though, or even blush from the exposed skin, there is cool metal pressed against my temple.
     
    “Oh, no no, Little Bird. I’d love to continue, but that patrol will be back any moment.”
     
    The click of the gun’s safety being switched off rings in my ear and now I’m just scared stupid. Police Academy and work and training for Detective? They helped build a lot of confidence. Probably too much bravado. I was trained on how to stay calm, and stay smart , in most any situation.
     
    But when a gun is pressed to your head, you tell me how smart and calm you are.
     
    My breaths are coming in tiny wheezes. “Get up, quickly,” he orders in my ear. I do, stumbling a little until his iron grip on my bicep steadies me.
     
    “That hurts.”
     
    “We aren’t exactly on a first date,