Chapter 3 #2
Tex tilted his head. “Goddamn. She’s a complication.”
“You keeping her or is this a pixie catch and release?”
“ No. ” His nuts still ached. She’d left her mark, and not just physically.
Complication? Hell, she was a mission killer.
Trouble with a capital P. Yet…he couldn’t shake the way she felt against him, small and wired with fire, or the flash of those eyes slamming into him like a blade.
That uneasy tug settled low, right where he didn’t want it. A very different dick ache.
Beast barked once, sharp and smug, tail still thumping like he’d just brought home his favorite toy.
Brawler shot the dog a look, irritation twisting low in his gut. Ferocious warhound and here he was acting like she was a prize instead of an unknown threat. Christ. Just what he needed, his partner siding with the enemy.
Flash grinned. “Correction…Beast has made his claim. Tell me, Brawler. Did you pack an extra leash?”
Easy snorted. “Yeah, didn’t they cover pixie wrangling in your dog-handler training? I heard they’re even slipperier than a Malinois.”
Shark rumbled, “Looks like this one bites harder, too.”
Bondo groaned. “Christ, don’t encourage him. He’ll want combat pay for fairy catching.” He eyed the writhing, duct-taped woman and added dryly, “From the looks of her? It’s warranted.”
The pixie muffled something behind the tape that sounded suspiciously like a promise of murder.
I’ll murder you all in your sleep. Emily seethed, struggled, kicked, and pounded on his big, stupid back.
Finally, the big oaf set her down, boots hitting the spongy earth in a moment so surreal she half expected to wake up in her own bed with Ben standing over her, nagging about hogging the covers. But no. This was worse. This was insane.
She couldn’t concentrate on a word he was saying. She was just so scared and angry.
The big oaf snapped the plastic ties around her wrists, pushing up those goggles so she could see his face. Emily ripped the duct tape from her mouth with a savage yank, wincing as skin burned. Her hair stuck to her cheeks, sweat streaked and wild. Who were these freaking guys?
God, they looked like something out of a woman’s most shameless daydream, towering, muscled, sun-darkened, weapons slung like extra limbs. Dangerous in the way predators were dangerous. Every single one of them stared at her like she’d just crash-landed from Venus.
Heat rose in her face, humiliation tangling with fear until the only thing she could do was lash out.
Her gaze zeroed on the largest of them, the one who had sicced his damn dog on her, tackled her like she was some feral raccoon, duct taped her mouth, and then hauled her through the jungle as if she weighed nothing.
“You!” she shouted, marching toward him, finger stabbing the air. “You Neanderthal! Who do you think you are? Rambo?!”
He opened his mouth, but she barreled right over him. “I was being chased by men with guns! Guns! I thought you were one of them!”
Her voice cracked at the edges, fury bleeding into the panic she’d been holding back since she heard boots pounding behind her in the jungle.
The words hung in the wet air. She glanced around at the rest of them, faces hard, unreadable, one or two with smirks tugging at their mouths. A strange kind of brotherhood. A wall of men who looked like they’d stepped out of every military recruiting poster she’d ever rolled her eyes at.
Then it hit her.
Her breath snagged. The bottom dropped out of her stomach.
“Oh God,” she whispered. The world tilted, her knees almost buckling. “You’re not one of them…are you?”
The tree trunk of a man, the one with the square jaw and storm-dark eyes, started to answer, voice low, controlled.
She didn’t stay to hear it. Survival surged, white-hot. Before his words could land, Emily turned and bolted. Heart pounding, lungs burning, determination knotting like steel in her chest. This time she would get away. She had to.
Branches whipped at her face, damp leaves clinging to her arms as she tore through the undergrowth. Every heartbeat drummed in her ears, each breath a jagged rasp. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get away from them.
The ground sucked at her boots, mud splattering up her calves.
Her lungs burned, but she pushed harder, because the image of that man, towering, broad, hands like iron, was seared into her mind.
The way he’d caught her. The way his palm had covered her mouth, rough and unyielding.
The way his dog had sat beside him, tail wagging like she was some prize they’d claimed.
Humiliation prickled her skin. Who duct taped a woman’s mouth shut like that? Who carried her like she was nothing more than cargo? Neanderthal didn’t even begin to cover it.
But God help her, there’d been something in his eyes, dark and steady, that made her chest clench even as she fought him. Not cruel. Not leering. Just…focused. Like she wasn’t just some random woman in his way but a problem he intended to solve.
She stumbled, caught herself on a tree trunk slick with moss, and shoved away, cursing under her breath. No. She wasn’t going to think about him. Or his stupid square jaw. Or the terrifying calm in his voice when he’d tried to speak before she bolted.
Focus, Em. Jungle. Survival.
The forest pressed close on all sides, shadows layered thick with vines and broad leaves. Somewhere above, cicadas screamed. Somewhere behind, she swore she could hear the faint crunch of pursuit.
Her jaguar had once doubled back on a trail like this, leading Emily in circles before slipping soundlessly into the green. That was what she needed now, to disappear. But she was no jaguar. She was a grad student in boots too heavy for sprinting, running on adrenaline and spite.
Her throat tightened. What if those men chasing her before, the ones with rifles, found her first? What if the Neanderthal and his band of oversized soldiers weren’t enemies but allies? What if she’d just run from the one safe place in this nightmare?
She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Trust was a luxury, and if there was one thing Emily Shade had learned, it was that nobody was coming to save her.
She would save herself.
Even if she had to outrun giants, guns, and a goddamn dog who wagged his tail like betrayal itself.
The jungle funneled her forward, uneven ground slanting down toward a shallow ravine. Emily scrambled across, boots slipping on wet stone, lungs on fire. She risked a glance over her shoulder, nothing. No hulking Neanderthal, no pack of soldier-boy clones.
Then that damn dog appeared.
Silent. Sudden. One moment the ravine was empty, the next the red-gold Lassie was crouched above her on the opposite ridge, eyes locked, tail a faint swish. He didn’t bark. He didn’t move. He didn’t have to. Every hair on the back of her neck rose.
“Oh, come on,” she hissed, skidding sideways into thicker brush. “You’re cheating.”
The dog held his post like a sentry. Which meant…
She spun and nearly barreled straight into him.
The Neanderthal moved like he’d grown out of the jungle itself, rifle slung, body low, steps silent despite his size. That tactical glide she’d seen on Nat Geo specials. Those broad shoulders cut through leaves like he had a map in his head telling him exactly where she’d go.
Emily yelped and dove left, ducking under a fallen log just as his hand swiped for her.
“Goddammit, Shortcake?—”
She popped up on the other side, grinning through her panting just to spite him. “Too slow, Rambo!”
He came around, blocking the narrow trail, arms spread like he could net her with sheer reach. She juked sideways, darted around a tree trunk, and slipped past him before he could close the gap. Her hair whipped his chest on the way by.
He spun, cursing under his breath, and lunged again. She ducked low, boots churning mud, veering just out of reach.
For a moment, just a moment, she felt like a kid again, dodging tag in the yard, laughter bubbling up despite the terror still burning in her veins. She was outmatched, yes. But she was quicker. Smarter.
The sound of his growl followed her through the trees. “This isn’t a damn game!”
“Then stop playing catch!” she shot back, vaulting over a slick log and sliding down the embankment on the far side.
Leaves exploded as he thundered after her, that dog of his circling like a wolf, waiting for the moment she’d trip.
Yet, against all odds, Emily Shade was still ahead.
She darted left, then right, ducking under a vine-slung branch that would’ve clotheslined a taller man. Behind her, she heard a growl that was pure frustration, not animal.
“Shortcake!” His voice boomed low through the trees. “You can’t get away from his nose!”
Emily glanced back, breathless but grinning. “Then I’ll tire him out!”
As if to contradict her, the animal loped easily beside her, tongue lolling, tail wagging like this was the best game he’d ever played. Every time she veered, he adjusted, keeping just far enough to herd her, never pouncing. He was enjoying himself.
“Traitor,” his owner snarled at his dog, crashing through the brush. “She’s not a damn chew toy!”
The dog gave a sharp, happy bark, as if to imply, says you .
Emily zigzagged like a rabbit in tall grass, slipping just out of reach while he bulldozed through vines like an angry tank, slipping past another tree trunk just as her pursuer’s ham-sized hand swiped air behind her. She shot him a wicked look over her shoulder. “Too slow again, jumbo!”
“You’re done,” he snarled, rattling through the trees, low and dark.
“Not even close!” she threw back, leaping a root and sprinting down a deer trail.
Behind them, chuckles drifted through the brush as the rest of the team kept pace, shadows moving between trees.
“Lock that sprite down before she gives away our position,” their leader drawled, sounding like a Texas twang, equal parts command and dry amusement.