Maybe the sheer terror makes me reckless, but I snort with laughter. “It’s not about how hard your dick is, it’s about terrorizing and using your strength to hurt someone.”

He pulls back and frowns. “Huh?”

Logic and reason are wasted on this dumbass, Lilly. Kick him in the nuts.

I can’t work enough leverage to kick him, but I bring my knee up and narrowly miss smashing it into his crotch. He avoids the strike. Probably has a lot of practice avoiding kicks to the dick.

He grins, gloating that I missed.

Jake warned us about that, didn’t he? I should’ve taken a few more classes.

Shadow’s not squeezing hard enough to cut off my air. Yet.

The thumb is the weak spot.

Which way is his thumb?

Remembering Jake’s instructions, I push past my terror to jerk, twist, and duck, escaping Shadow’s hand.

“Hey!” someone yells from the end of the hall.

Nope. Not sticking around to assess whether they’re friendly or not.

I want to touch Shadow’s junk about as much as I want to swim in a pool of sharks. But I’m still sort of crouched down when he reaches for me again.

I pull my arms in, forming a fist with both hands, kind of like spiking a volleyball. I thrust up as hard as I can, aiming for his crotch.

Gotcha that time, fucker.

He screams and doubles over, backing away from me.

“Bitch!”

I scoop one of my shoes off the floor and whack him in the side of the head with it. They’re a solid pair with a hefty one-inch platform. It makes a satisfying thwack when it collides with his skull.

“What the hell?” someone else yells. Footsteps pound over the carpet. Great. I don’t trust anyone now. What if they all gang up on me and drag me into one of the empty rooms? Z won’t know what’s happening until it’s too late.

I turn and run and make it about five steps before colliding with Murphy. He automatically wraps his arms around me and I finally feel safe. He’s bigger and bulkier than Shadow. Plus, I trust him.

He tips my chin back, staring at my neck for a second. Lifting his head, he glares at whoever’s behind me. “Who touched you, Lilly?” His grave tone suggests someone’s about to die.

Too scared to say much, I whisper, “Shadow.”

Murphy growls. His gaze zips past me. “Don’t you fucking move, motherfucker!” he shouts. The rumble of his voice even louder with my face pressed against his chest. The soft, cuddly biker who builds swing sets for his baby daughter and makes bear sex jokes at family barbeques is gone, replaced by a threatening mountain of a man who’s ready to murder.

I’m a huge fan of this scary-ass, violent version of Murphy at the moment.