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Whitney entered her father's house and fumbled around in the dark. She was tired from her late night ordeal. It was best to keep the lights off within the house. If Brent was looking for her, he would notice the house lights were on and suspect it was her. He wouldn't think to look for her in the most obvious place, making her father's house ideal. She closed the front door and felt her way through the dark living room. Whitney suddenly ran into someone. She let out a startled scream. Before she could defend herself, the person grabbed her arms. The lights suddenly came on and she saw Brent's two, oversized henchmen.
�You're in real trouble now,� the man informed her with a smug grin.
Whitney was forced into the study by the two men. She glared back at the men as they closed the door then glanced at Brent who sat behind his desk. He only wore his robe and sweat pants. Brent took a deep breath, raked his fingers through his hair, and looked at her while leaning back in his chair.
�I presume you were responsible for that explosion,� he remarked calmly with no expression.
�Which explosion?� Whitney asked and folded her arms across her chest.
Brent jumped from his chair and slammed his palms on the desk. �Don't get smart with me, Whitney! You knew I would find out. How could I hear an explosion of that magnitude and not check on you? Do you remember what I told you I would do if you continued to run out at night after your door was locked?�
Whitney remembered very clearly, but she also knew what she�d accomplished was worth his verbal lashing. She leaned on the desk only inches away from his face. She raised her brows with a wild look in her eyes. �Yes, and if you dare try it, I suggest you be afraid to sleep at night,� she growled lowly.
Brent slowly straightened. She thought maybe she frightened him into backing down, but his expression never changed. He slowly walked around the desk toward her. Whitney straightened and faced him. She didn't want him to get the upper hand in any situation. Brent removed his robe and cast it aside.
�Alright, let's get this over with right now,� he lashed out in anger.
She wasn't certain what he meant, but if it was a fight he wanted then she was willing to give it to him. Whitney removed her black, leather jacket and tossed it aside. She no longer wore her shoulder holster since one of his goons took it. Whitney wore a white tank top under her jacket that fit tightly against her body, outlining her figure all too well. Brent stared at her with a very unpredictable glare. She wasn't going to initiate a fight until she was certain he really wanted one, because this time she was going to play rough.
Brent's eyes scanned over her body quickly then met her eyes with the same harsh stare. �I'm not playing games anymore, Whitney. I've had just about enough of your attitude toward the rules and our deal.� Whitney continued to size him for her attack. �You can give it your best shot, Whitney, but this time I'm fightin� back.�
There was another moment of silence as they stared at one another. Whitney snap kicked Brent in the jaw. He flew backward into the chair that happen to be nearby. Brent wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and sprang back to his feet. Her quickness had caught him off his guard. Whitney clenched her fists. She had been looking forward to this moment for a very long time. Brent swung at her, but she blocked his fist with her own arm and immediately went into a round house kick, hitting him in the chest, and throwing him against the desk. Whitney regained her balance and held her ground.
�You're slow, old man,� Whitney snapped in a cocky tone.
Brent straightened. Whitney threw a direct punch. Brent blocked it and grabbed her wrist. He spun her hand behind her back, threw her face first against the desk, and held her there.
�Not as good with your hands, are you?� he growled lowly in her ear.
Whitney flung her free left hand behind her and grabbed him in the groin. Brent yelled out in slight pain but managed to get away before she did any serious damage. Whitney quickly spun around to face him. Brent appeared surprised. Whitney didn�t show any sympathy.
�Would you like to retract that last statement?� Whitney asked in a cocky manner.
Brent tackled her and threw her backward on top of the desk. All his personal things crashed to the floor with the exception of the computer. Whitney was dazed by the force of him landing on top of her on such a hard surface, but she managed to flip him and herself over, throwing him to the desktop with her now on top. The computer fell to the floor with a crash. Whitney pinned Brent's wrists to the desktop with all her body weight while holding herself propped on one knee just outside his legs. She coiled her right knee back with a direct aim for his groin. Brent gasped. Whitney stopped her thrust just short of his groin. She closed her eyes, muttered something, slid off of the desk, and collapsed in one of the nearby chairs.
Whitney drew a deep breath but kept her eyes closed. Brent slowly moved off of the desk and stood. Whitney was ashamed of herself. She couldn't figure out why she didn't nail him when she had the perfect opportunity. She hated him so much. Brent moved off of the desk and stood. Whitney opened her eyes and met his gaze. He had a tiny smile on his face.
�You bastard--� she growled lowly and rolled her eyes with anger toward herself.
�You couldn't do it,� he said with a satisfied smile. �You couldn't allow
yourself to seriously hurt me.�
Whitney couldn't stand to stare at his mocking face any longer and had to look away. �Don't rub it in,� she moaned lowly.
�Come on, Whitney,� he said warmly. �I think we both need some sleep. You had a long night blowing up things, and I took quite a beating.�
Whitney groaned lowly and stood. Brent led her from the study. Both his men, who had been waiting by the door the entire time, looked into the study at the disaster left behind.
Whitney paced the large, master bedroom while Brent slept peacefully. She eyed the lock on the inside of the door several times then passed the large glass doors by the balcony. The sun was already rising. The curtains held back the bright sunlight. Whitney approached the curtains and pulled them open. Brent stirred and moaned softly. His eyes opened and he looked at her.
�I�m sorry,� Whitney announced with a sly smile. �Did I disturb your sleep?�
Brent�s head dropped to the pillow. He buried his face. �Every fifteen minutes,� he moaned softly. �I�d think you�d be dead tired after a full night of terrorism.�
Whitney folded her arms across her chest and laughed. �Terrorism? Interesting choice of words.� She approached the bed and stared at the motionless lump. �Tell me, Brent--wouldn�t your life be a little more fulfilling if you didn�t have the alien patrols to contend with?� She crawled onto the bed and hovered over him. �It�s my terrorism that�ll save your investments.�
