Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Safe.
Trust.
I’m not alone.
God, how I wish that was true.
But I can’t. It’s too dangerous.
Choking back the tears that have no place here, I take a step back.
This isn’t the first mistake I’ve made in my life. But it might be the worst one yet.
I need to get away from him now.
This man isn’t only going to force his way into my life because he claims to want to protect me, but he’s unraveling me by his presence. Strong. Protective. A bold, brash mix of wild and steady.
Shrinking back another step, I look for an escape—maybe a trail into the jungle foliage that will allow me to evade this guy.
“I need to go. Please just…” My throat clogs painfully with tears that I’ve been holding for weeks. “I have to deal with this. Take your team and go home.”
Focus sharpening, he shakes his head. “This is my home until you’re safe and your case is closed.”
A silent groan fills my chest.
This is bad. If ever a man looked immovable, it’s this mountain of muscle. The expression tightening his unreasonably handsome face matches the way his body is coiled. All six and a half feet of him.
I might as well be fighting a bear.
Panicked, I wrack my brain for ways to get this guy and his team to back off.
“I’ll find a way to pay your team. You can just say you’re done.”
Problem with that is money doesn’t come easy, and companies that do international search missions are not cheap.
“Maybe we are done if you come with me,” he quickly replies, never taking his gaze from mine. “You won’t be paying our team. Ever. Come on. Let’s go.”
Staring at the shifting color of his irises, I do my damndest to stand my ground even though it feels like I’m careening toward him. “I can’t.”
My reply doesn’t sit well.
His shoulders and chest tense, stretching his jacket tight. Challenge flashes in his expression.
Something about that flashfire look makes me want to wither and fight at the same time—causing my breath to pump and my heart to yo-yo.
“Really, I need to go. Please, don’t look for me anymore.”
He makes a rumbly sound. His head cocks to the side.
There’s a primitive part of me that shrieks and demands that I flee for my life. Everything about the gladiator-look-alike promises he’ll chase me down and enjoy doing it.
When he speaks this time, there’s a dark undercurrent of authority. “You’re coming with me.”
“No.” I take a step back. I can’t trust these men. “If you have any decency left in you, you’ll?—”
My plea is stopped cold when a gunshot shatters our tense standoff.
Foliage shreds in front of me.
A hot rush of air sweeps by my face as the projectile passes.
My body collapses on instinct. “Oh god!”
But before gravity takes me all the way down to the wet Vandemoran soil, I’m airborne.
The man hits like a tank. Sending me flying.
A thousand pounds of muscle barrels into me, shoulder first like I’ve got the football and I’m about to score against his team.
Ooof!
My breath punches out of my chest. Stars pop in my eyes, and then everything stops.
A massive arm is locked over me. I’m panting in ragged, tiny puffs.
Someone just tried to shoot me.
This can’t be happening. Shock chills my cells bit by bit, icing me over like a pond in winter.
The pit of my stomach quakes.
They found me. These innocent people could die.
I’m blinking at the sky as raindrops hit my face when his words brush against my cheek. “It’s okay. Just stay put.”
It’s not okay! Someone just shot at me.
This is a shout inside my head, but I’m now frozen and catatonic, and I’m not sure if my mouth will ever move again.
And he wants me to stay put?
Like I could get up anyway with him laying on me.
He’s a living, breathing slab of granite smooshing me into the mud.
Bang. Bang. Bang… Bang.
A volley of shots echoes in the steep jungle valley. Birds scatter above us and for a second, high-pitched squawking covers the hell-bent pounding of my pulse.
He leans closer, teasing my cheek with the warmth of his breath. “That round was our guys returning fire.”
“G-good,” I rasp.
Or at least, I think I speak. But I’m so breathless, so stunned, I’m not sure any actual sound comes out.
I’m also being smashed.
Seriously, how much does this guy weigh?
Why am I having such a random thought when there are two threats against my life: gunfire and fighting for my breath?
“Air…” I wheeze as the pouring rain stings my face. “Move over.”
He merely shifts enough to allow me to eek in a breath but settles his frame against me in a different place.
A recklessly suggestive place.
Holy hotcakes. We are straight up in missionary right now.
The width of his pelvis is forcing my legs really wide.
My shock fading, replaced by morbid humor, I mutter, “Shouldn’t I know your name if you’re going to do that?”
He’s dead still for a second, then chuckles. Brief, deep, and shockingly rough, the masculine noise vibrates against my clit.
“Truck.”
Maybe I hit my head, because that confuses me. “What are you talking about?”
“That’s my name.”
Not Alex or Max or Sam, no. This guy’s name is Truck.
Figures.
Why do I care? I’m about to die. But alas, my whirring brain is intrigued.
Would a mom really name their son Truck?
But all thought ceases as another shot cracks. Every muscle I possess flinches violently.
But he doesn’t tense. He’s like a calm-weighted blanket pressing down on me. The only reaction is to tilt his head toward the sound, his rock-hard body pressing me deeper into the ground. Grinding me into the sodden earth.
Terrible thing to be noticing, but—he feels really good. Safe. Strong. All manly.
God. Please tell me I’m not lusting after King Pain in My Ass.
He puts his nose near my ear.
Oh my god.
Did he just inhale my scent?
“If I move, you wait here.”
As if it wasn’t already clear we’re as different as night and day, this is a defining moment.
He’s going to hunt. I want to run and hide. The wolf and the scared rabbit.
He must see the terror in my face and the instinct to flee because his next words come as a command.
“You will do exactly what I say. Are we clear?”
No.
Yes.
I don’t know.
I bite down hard on my tongue, forcing myself to lie still when everything in me is screaming to flee the instant he gets up.
He taps his thumb to a ring on his right hand and begins to talk.
Who is he talking to and how?
Whatever he says is in code or military jargon. It’s clipped and direct. Efficient and purposeful.
Somewhere in the distance, feet rustle against foliage.
Slowing his breathing, his keen, mesmerizing, blue eyes scan the jungle.
Gone is the anger he was showing moments ago, in its place is a focused warrior. Steady in the midst of chaos.
Only his jaw muscle flickers as another crack of gunfire splits the air, closer this time.
“Two,” he murmurs, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“Two what?” My whisper trembles.
He doesn’t answer.
His thumb brushes the ring again—some kind of signal, maybe.
Another rustle in the distance makes him shift slightly, his broad torso still keeping me pinned.
“Be still,” he orders, in a low, rough tone.
“ You be still. You’re killing my clit,” I snap in an angry whisper, my words slipping out before I can stop them.
Burning eyes flick toward my face for a fraction of a second, something unreadable sparking there.
Then it’s gone, and he’s back to scanning the shadows, waiting for something.
“These might not be rebels,” he says, almost to himself. “Two. Maybe three.”
I swallow hard, wishing I’d stayed far away.
The man’s words chill me more than the rain soaking my back where my coat has ridden up.
He might be right, or it might be far worse than the local bandits that run roughshod over Vandemora.
I press my mouth close to his ear this time, catching a hint of his spice and citrus scent.
For a second, I forget what I was going to say, then a fat raindrop hits my face.
Right. Shootout in a downpour. Now I remember where I am.
“They could be my father’s men.”
“Copy.” His hand brushes mine briefly, squeezing. “I won’t let anyone near you.”
He relays my message. Again, it’s in a language I don’t fully grasp. Or maybe I would if the fleeting touch of his hand didn’t make my heart stutter. Not because it was gentle—it’s anything but—but because it was intentional.
He drops his gaze to me again, fast. “You’re safe.”
I desperately want to believe him.
Even as another round of gunfire gets closer. Even as the rustling in the jungle grows louder.
Truck taps the ring on his hand again and murmurs urgently into his comms gear. His voice is low and sharp. "Tango, two klicks west. Moving fast. We’re shifting north."
Before I can react, he grabs me by the arm, yanking me up.
His strength shocks me, forcing a startled sound between my open lips.
His weapon gleams in the rain —a sleek black gun I hadn’t seen until now.
"Move." He pushes me forward, still holding onto my arm with a biting grip.
I stumble over the slick ground, mud sucking at my boots. Long strings of hair cling to my face like the arms of an octopus as I try to look around.
"The others?—"
“You’re my only concern. Keep moving."
The next few minutes are a blur of heavy breathing—mine and low curses—his.
He presses his palm to the top of my head. “Lower, woman!”
Good grief. “I’m trying!”
But apparently, not enough.
He pushes me until I’m in a low lunge-walk, my breathing like a walrus on a treadmill and my legs shaking furiously.
His steps speed, and I wonder if I might actually pass out from all the lactic acid in my legs.
The pain somehow overrides the fear. A momentary reprieve.
But then we crest the ridge, he stands up, unfolding to his full height.
He’s a tower compared to even my tall height.
Then he drags me forward, and we sail off of the cliff.
My heart lurches. “Ooooh!”
My arms pinwheel as my feet scramble for ground.
I’m free-falling. Water rushing toward me.
I clamp my mouth closed around a scream just in time.
Then the river explodes around us.