It’s time for another intense #SatSpanks snippet again and we’re back with more from my upcoming release ‘Early Sins’ the prequel for ‘Lethal Sin‘. I premiered the cover already, so make sure to check it out! If you’ve already read ‘Lethal Sin’ you may have been a little curious about Camille’s sordid past, about how she got involved in the assassin game, which ultimately puts her on the path to collide with Mateo in the first book. I was so caught up in Camille’s story myself that this prequel started flowing out. I’m not sure when I’ll have it finished (but hopefully out before the end of August). This scene is the continuation of several blog hops, if you want to catch up. Read: this one, then this one, and then this one. In this extended scene to conclude the series of bloghops Smith has Camille pinned on the ground after a vicious fight, and he’s forced her to recognize the fact that if people come after her they’re not just going to torture her, they’ll hurt her sexually as well. No one said training to be an assassin would be easy…

—

Her head was full of memories of her own screams, the nights she had begged from inside that closet to be let out, making promises if they would just give her water, feed her, swearing she’d be good. And there was no fucking way she’d ever be that person again, that weak, pathetic girl.

But, he’s right.

It was stupid to think someone else wouldn’t take advantage if they could. Sure, with everything she knew, everything she could do, the average asshole wouldn’t even get his hands on her. But someone trained? Someone that knew how to move, how to fight, how to kill? That was a whole different story, and she was literally face to face with it. Smith had her on the ground, pinned under all his strength, unable to move. If it were anyone else –

“Get. Up.” He ordered her, and her temper snapped.

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that with your weight distributed?” She shouted at him because she had tried it already, tried to twist free, but her wrists ached from the effort and she couldn’t buck him off while his heavy, muscled body sat on her thighs.

“You can’t. It’s why I pinned you like this, but I can’t do much in this position either, can I?” His head tilted, jade eyes boring into her, as she realized what he meant. Then he took a slow breath like he was preparing for something. “Session isn’t over, C. You fight me, understand?”

All she managed was a nod before his free hand landed over her throat, cutting off her air, and his knee drove between her thighs. An instant later she could barely breathe, stars sparking behind her eyes as his other knee joined the first and he spread her legs wide. Memories. Nightmares. Too many hands on her, too many times she’d been held down like this, her stomach tried to empty as panic edged in – but she shoved the darkness back, and made herself think. Smith had told her to separate, to evaluate, to survive.

Think, dammit. Where is he now?

His hips pressed against hers, his fingers tightening around her throat, and when she let go of the panic, a moment of clarity appeared in the mess of her mind.

He’s between your legs, and that means his weight has shifted.

Digging her heel into the ground beside her she lifted one hip sharply and pushed off the ground to throw him to the side. The force of it carried them over, his grip on her wrists breaking without the aid of gravity, and then she was on top. Grabbing his thumb she bent it back sharply and tore his hand from her throat, pulling in air before promptly landing an elbow into the side of his head.

The hiss of pain that came from him was short, because he was in full work mode – a cold-blooded, very well trained killer. Smith moved fast, landing a hard hit into her ribs, before winding his other fist in her hair to pull her back down, and they tumbled again. Him on top, between her thighs again, but he was still suspended a little above her and that gave her space to move. She planted her foot against his hip and kicked him off as hard as she could. Smith took a chunk of her hair with him as he was thrown off her, damn him, but she was free and she rolled backwards and got to her feet, backpedaling for distance as she pulled raw breaths through her aching throat.

Her hands itched for a knife, or a gun, everything inside her screaming for blood. Vengeance. The nightmares never ended like this, never ended with her standing above one of them, and it felt good.

She had fought. She had won.

Against Smith of all people. It was almost unbelievable.

Smith stood slowly, wiping his hands off on his pants before he rubbed at his temple. “That was good. You didn’t hold back.”

“You didn’t either,” she growled. The pain in her ribs, and the ache in her wrists, would take a day or more to fade, and she’d be covered in bruises for a week at least.

“I can’t afford to, C. They won’t give you any mercy, and you need to be prepared. So you survive.”

—

Camille is strong, and always has been, but this was one of the last pieces of the puzzle for her to be ready to run in the same circles as Smith. The darkest parts of that world, but it’s who she wants to be. A perfect killer, just like Smith. Keep coming back for more, because I can tell you that things are about to heat up between Smith and Camille! Until then, check out these other snippets on #SatSpanks!