“Christ, she has a knife!” The man bellowed as he pinned her flat on the floor.
He grasped her wrist, stopping the hand holding the knife, and pressed it hard against the floor beside her head.
“Let go of it, hellion!”
“No!” she spat.
“Let go!” His grip tightened to the point of pain, forcing her to drop the knife. His grip instantly eased and the pain vanished.
“Er… I say, Trystan. Let’s be quick about this,” one of the man’s friends said. “It looks as though we’re k********g this girl, when that’s not really the case. I don’t wish to be here long, lest we find ourselves in trouble. Our coach is ready.”
Trystan stared down at her, the hard angles of his face too perfect for any man, especially one as wicked as the devil himself.
“Listen, little cat,” he growled. “I bought you tonig
