Beg Me Read Online Free PDF

And here I was in Thailand, the country that invented it. Terrific. I’m fighting a guy who knows a martial art where fanatics toughen their shins by swinging them against tree trunks.
    I was trained in karate, so instead of roundhouses, I was better at front snap kicks and proper straight punches. And now, since I was down on my knees, I sent a lovely one into his balls, just to teach him not to try that again.
    A flurry of elbows came at my face when we reengaged, and it was block, block, block, block, until I nailed him square in the chest. I heard his wind go, and then I popped him in the sweet spot just below the nose. But it wasn’t over. One, two, three, and as he fell on his ass, he reached into his jacket, and it was the first time I had met anyone who wore one of those cliché shoulder holsters for pistols.
    I thought only his partner had a gun.
    Wrong.
    A 9mm Glock was in my face, and
yes,
of course I didn’t know what it was at the time—I know very little about guns, except that I knew I certainly didn’t like the idea of being shot by one—and my heart was racing too fast, and I was thinking too fast, and the gun hovered, and I decided it was an appropriate time to panic. Yes. Now would be good.
    Adrenaline is wonderful. It makes you do amazing stunts like swing out your foot and bat a loaded pistol out of a guy’s grip, making it clatter on the ground six feet away. This would have looked really fearless and cool, no doubt, if I hadn’t emitted a cowardly, feminine yelp—something like the reaction you have when you see a huge spider in your kitchen. “Aaahhh!”—right before I did it. You get the idea.
    That was when the
really
strange stuff began to happen. Behind me, Ah Jo Lee was doing the hundred-meter dash for his life with the white guy behind him. Our second assailant was tall with dark brown hair and a dimpled chin and glowering eyes. Bad suit.
    I had told Lee to go to the cops, get to safety, because I assumed both assailants were running now that they’d blown their chance. Wrong again. The white guy had obviously doubled back down another street or something while I went chasing after Mr. Kickboxer here. It was a stupid mistake, but as a “consultant” in this line of work, I was a one woman band forced to make split-second decisions on my limited resources. Now my client was running for his life again, and the second bad guy…
    I watched him look straight past Lee at his partner and fire.
    He shot the Thai guy dead in front of us.
    I had all of a few seconds to scoop up the gun on the ground and do something with it, because now he was back to aiming at Lee, and the ugly object in my hand exploded and bucked with its recoil.
    Bad Suit let out a roar like a bear. Goes to show my proficiency with firearms. I’d been aiming at his chest. I hit him in the biceps. The wound made him drop his gun, and, still in shock like Jeff, I took a step forward, trying to make the Glock barrel stop shaking.
    “What the hell’s going on?”
I yelled. “Who are you and why are you trying to kill my friend?”
    “Fuck you!” he said.
    Charming. And too little to tell where he was from. At least I knew he spoke English.
    He had shot his partner. He had shot his partner instead of Lee first because Kickboxer was on the ground, easy to shoot. If he shot Lee in the back, he couldn’t dummy up another drug-buy-gone-bad scenario like in New York—
    “Jesus, kill this guy,” said Lee, panting hard.
    “Yeah, sure, Jeff.”
    “I mean it, Teresa, I can’t afford this kind of profile.”
    “I am
not
going to kill this guy for you, Jeff! Are you mad? We’ll call the police and sort it out. It’s not like you’ve done anything—”
    “Teresa, this isn’t London—”
    “Jeff, he might have answers for you!”
    “Creeps like this never do!” he shouted back.
    He was right.
    “Hey, hey,
hey!
” I said with increasing force, because Bad Suit had pulled something out of his jacket with his good