Pussycat Death Squad Read Online Free PDF Page A

several traditional martial arts to suit our strength, which is mainly in our legs. We do more kicks and leg locks.” She shrugged. “We've never really named it, but we generally call it WIT, which means 'whatever it takes.'” She changed the subject. “When would you like to begin training? We've been here all morning and would like to take some time to eat. Also, it will soon be time for afternoon prayers. After that we will be ready. We are quite adept at various methods of hand-to-hand fighting. Of course, it is our job to protect Colonel al-Fariq. In our country, women don't serve in combat.”
     
    Lelia knew she was rambling, but his intense stare was disconcerting. She'd never seen that expression on anyone's face before, but he looked as though he'd dearly love to kiss her or…eat her. Either way, she was stunned to discover that she wasn't necessarily opposed to either idea. Warmth licked up under her skin as she flushed in response to his heated stare. Despite being unnerved, she found it impossible to look away.
     
    “You've received the itinerary? I apologize that we're a bit behind. Staff Sergeant Stark and I were rather late in receiving the assignment. Weapons training was to begin this morning. It's my understanding that all of you are qualified in small arms?” Patrick made the statement a question, though she knew Colonel Brown had given him a fairly comprehensive résumé of the Guard.
     
    “That will be good.” She glanced at her watch. “Perhaps two hours? Would you like to meet us at the firing range?”
     
    “You know where it is?”
     
    “Yes. We've been given a tour of the base, so we are quite familiar. Also, Colonel Brown assigned drivers to us for the duration.”
     
    “Very good; then Staff Sergeant Stark and I will meet you in a couple of hours. Enjoy your meal.”
    * * *
     
    “Man, what the hell was that?”
     
    “What are you talking about Stark?” Patrick looked over at his companion as they walked toward the chow hall for lunch. “I was simply sparring with Sergeant Assad. We are supposed to be training together.”
     
    “That wasn't sparring. That was just inches from dry fucking. You were looking at that poor girl like she was your last meal. I half expected you to grab her by her braids and drag her off somewhere. You scared her half to death. Hell, you scared me, and I don't swing that way. There had to be fifty people in that gym, and you two didn't even know we were in the goddamned room.”
     
    “You wouldn't be my type.”
     
    “Yeah, you always liked your women the way you like your coffee: black.”
     
    Patrick smirked at his companion. “Shows what you know. I've never limited my dates by race. That would be stupid. That woman would be hot no matter what color she was. But I'm still not going there.”
     
    “If you say so, but from where I'm standing, you've already been there and can't wait for the return trip.” He shook his head. “Man, you're in big trouble.”
     
    “What do you mean?”
     
    “All I've got to say is that it would be a goddamned shame if the guy who warned me about getting caught with my hands in the cookie jar wound up getting busted with a mouthful of cookies.”
     
    “That's so not going to happen.”
     
    “Hey, you're the gunny. I'm sure you know what you're doing.”
    * * *
     
    Lelia adjusted her ear protection. The muffs always irritated her ears, but standing in close proximity to the firing range made them necessary. She usually enjoyed weapons training. But it was difficult to concentrate with Gunnery Sergeant McBride standing next to her, and though she'd prefer to blame it on jet lag—she'd never been a good traveler—they'd had the weekend to recover from the seven-hour flight from Laritrea. No, she had to acknowledge that she found Gunnery Sergeant McBride a bit unnerving. She couldn't deny the attraction she felt for him, and thanked Allah for the training that hid her reaction and preserved her