Play With Fire (The Men of Fire 1) - Page 22

I find myself comparing him to my very own fireman, strong arms, wide chest, and a smile that can make any girl scream. Damn.

Feeling Zoey drop down at the end of the couch, I lift my legs to make room for her and rest them on her lap. She pinches my leg, which makes me jump. “Oww, are you right? That hurt?”

“Good. That’s for not waiting for me to watch this.” She grabs the remote from the table and starts rewinding the show.

“What are you doing? I was just getting to the best part,” I screech, reaching for the remote, but she puts it just out of my reach.

“Good. I haven’t seen this one yet, so we have to start it again.”

“Watch it when I’m done.”

“I can’t. I didn’t record it,” she explains before hitting play and instantly falling victim to Bjorn’s wicked charms. “God, look at them. They are so fucking hot.”

“I know,” I sigh. “So hot.”

Conversation falls silent as we watch our show, and to be honest, I really don’t mind starting it over. It’s just that good.

We get lost in the episode and lose track of time when a bright flash out the front window has me jolting up in my seat and bringing my attention to how much time has passed. Terrified, I look over at Zoey, who’s fast asleep on the couch, trying to wake the dead with her snoring.

“Zoey,” I whisper, shaking her shoulder and trying to wake her up. It’s no use. She wipes the drool from the corner of her mouth and rolls over to get comfortable. Great, she’s no help to me. Looks like I’m on my own.

Getting up from the couch, I grab the first thing I can get my hands on; Dad’s old baseball bat.

Perfect.

I tiptoe to the window like a ninja to see if I can see anything or anyone outside. Why is it always in times like these you wish you attended self-defense classes? After tonight, you can bet your ass that I’ll be signing up next week, and I’ll be dragging sleeping beauty along with me.

What the fuck am I going to do if there is someone out there? I have no idea, but I do have a bat, and I can swing that fucker really hard. I might not know how to hit a ball with it, but when it comes down to protecting my home and my babies, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do.

I get to the window, holding my breath. I really don’t know what I’m about to do, but I’m about ready to shit myself. Ever so slowly, I move the blinds over so it doesn’t alert the bad guys outside that I’m on to them.

Peeking through the small gap, I glance outside, but so far, find nothing. That’s strange. I can most certainly hear something, but I just can’t see anything. I creep towards the front door, trying not to make a sound. Though, I don’t know why I bother seeing as though Zoey is making more noise than a small army.

Just as my eyes connect with the door, a feeling of dread begins to consume me, and all the tiny hairs on my body stand up.

But then I see it.

My front door is open, and I know with absolute certainty that I locked that door. I always lock that door.

Holy. Shit.

I see another bright flash that comes with this weird zapping noise. There’s a strange metallic smell like melting metal and burning paint that has the blood draining from my face. This is really happening.

What. The. Ever. Loving. Fuck?

Fearing for my life and for my children, I grip the bat with both hands, my body shaking with fear. I raise the bat high above my head while trying to calm myself down. I should be calling the police, but I’m terrified of walking away right now. Anything could happen, and that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

My hands are shaking from the adrenaline running through my body. This fucker doesn’t know what’s about to hit him because this bad bitch has just been watching a solid two hours of Vikings.

Shit is about to go down.

Anytime now, Zoey could wake and help back me up. Strength in numbers and all that shit. But if this doesn’t wake up Zoey then nothing will.

Taking a deep breath, channeling my inner Lagertha, I reach for the door handle and swing it open so hard that it bounces off the wall as I step outside onto the porch. Then just to let the fucker know exactly where I am, I let out a battle cry worthy of an Oscar.

A large body crouches in front of me with a mask covering his entire face, freaking me the hell out. The faceless attacker, who seems to be doing unwanted house calls at this time of night, jumps to his feet, throwing his hands up.

Tags: Sheridan Anne The Men of Fire Romance
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