Shoving aside fear and self-doubt, I met his eyes, aiming for absolute confidence in both my stance and my voice. “My father taught me to disarm my opponent at all costs—regardless of his choice of weapon,” I said, glancing pointedly at his groin.
“Are you threatening me?”
“Damn right. Lay one hand on me and you’ll never stand to pee again.”
His eyes darkened, and his laugh sounded forced. “You’re very funny, gatita.”
“I’m glad you think so. I’ve always considered my sense of humor to be largely under-appreciated, so it’s nice to finally meet a fan.

Rachel Vincent