Surge by Angel Payne

Author:Angel Payne
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781947222564
Publisher: Waterhouse Press

Chapter Five

Emma

“Call me Daddy.”

As I expect, my dictate is met by nothing but a bunch of grunts from Sawyer—who still hasn’t accepted the fact that my knee is parked in the middle of his spine and I’ve got his arm bent so far back, I could break it. Okay, so he knows I won’t—and my head agrees with the assessment—but at the moment, I’m not exactly thinking with my head.

I’m not totally sure what I’m thinking with.

And it’s freaking me the hell out.

Simply put, Flare wants to come out and play today. As in, Emma can just go book herself for a mani-pedi and let electric supergirl do alllll the work—only the mutant’s also out to completely redefine “work” while she’s at it. Flare doesn’t just want to be Team Bolt’s lead blonde today. She’s not settling for simply being the flame in my blood. She wants it all. The power in my muscles. The revs in my nerve endings. And yes, even the motivation in my mind.

Which scares me the most of all.

Who the hell am I kidding? There’s not a lot that isn’t scaring me in some way, shape, or form these days. Okay, fine; really only twenty-one—but when they just happen to be the first three weeks after a girl’s wedding day, she gets a drastic discount on the overly emotional express.

Even if the ride takes her down to the training-room mat, parking her knee in the middle of her husband’s best friend’s back, ordering him to say stuff he probably hasn’t even muttered for his girlfriend.

His girlfriend—as in my sister.

As in the figure barging into the training center with vexation to match her light-red mane, huffing in furious time to her resonant stomps. “Baby girl, if you let any more of the sunshine in, I’m going to align your Jupiter, your Mars, and steer your stars into the cooler!”

But not even ’Dia’s threat about tossing me into the lead-lined closet, installed into the ridge’s training center as a safety precaution at Reece’s order, makes me relent the pressure on Sawyer. “Daddy,” I rasp with gritted glee, leaning farther over him. “Say it, Folic Acid. Call me Daddy.”

My use of his military call sign has the guy growling and then lurching, but that’s it. My hold, informed by his diligent training and enforced by my fired-up strength, has been executed perfectly—a certitude I feel in the guy’s convulsing muscles, with the instincts one only gets from doing this stuff day in and day out for nearly four months—but I also want to hear him admit now.

So maybe I don’t just want it.

Maybe, just maybe, I’ve freaking earned this. Deserve this.

“Emma! For fuck’s sake.” Not that Lydia understands any of that. Yes, my sister is a trained athlete. Yes, she’s spent years honing her physical skills as opposed to the few weeks I’ve spent at it, but preparing for tennis matches is a hell of a lot different than readying for battle. With electric mutants. And possibly even

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