Chapter 2 #2
She couldn’t see.
“S-Stop!” she bellowed, twisting from the rigid grasp.
The man clung tighter. “Hang on. You’re fine.”
“No. I can’t see! Where are you taking me?”
“Easy. We’re taking you home.”
Easy. He’d said that inside. She’d struck him with the ceramic shard but he hadn’t retaliated. Had done nothing but stop her from attacking.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She hated the suffocating darkness. Her fingers found the edge of his vest, and she gripped it. Though she had no idea who this man was, holding on to him gave her a sense of control as they weaved through the darkness.
Her tongue moved like a strip of sandpaper in her mouth. Every step made her head bobble and intensified the dizziness assailing her. Nausea pelted against her palate. She swallowed, resting her head against his chest again.
She needed to get a grip. To breathe. To ready herself for the next fight for survival because there was no way to know for sure he was taking her home. Rex had threatened to sell her—this man could be her buyer.
She blinked rapidly and tilted her head to stare up through the barely visible trees. Seeing shades of brown against the black was somewhat reassuring. But she was well aware of the creatures that lurked out here.
Nightly, she heard predators screech and prey scream for mercy. She shuddered, waiting for the deadly strike of a snake or a jaguar.
“We have night-vision goggles.” The man spoke evenly, as if he weren’t carrying extra weight through rough terrain. “I can see where we’re going. Just rest.”
The way he moved, stealthily yet unconcerned, told her this situation wasn’t new for him.
She closed her eyes and tried to pay attention to her surroundings, but dark fingers kept pulling at her consciousness. She blinked rapidly, but the effort to stay awake was too great.
She woke every now and then to the sound of branches being brushed aside and the hissing and skittering of animals. All she could do was hang on.
A man’s sharp voice made her jump. She snapped open her eyes. They were in some kind of vehicle—only it looked nothing like a car or truck.
Men moved around the interior, but her fuzzy vision made it impossible to count how many. Tactical gear. Bulletproof vests . . . military?
The man who’d carried her was at her side. He stretched his fingers around the base of her neck, holding up her head. A gritty blanket covered her.
“Drink,” he commanded, holding a small packet to her lips.
She pulled her head away, terror fresh in her veins. “No.” The refusal sounded like a pathetic mewl. God, she should’ve fought harder. Shouldn’t have let them take her.
He urged the packet closer, and she turned her head. The interior light made her squint and—
Whomp, whomp, whomp
Her eyes widened. She shot her attention to a man wearing a headset. He appeared to be in a cockpit. All she could make out were the curls at the back of his head.
Holy shit. They were in a helicopter.
“It’s just electrolytes.” The man who’d carried her moved to block her vision, forcing her to stare into his calm, blue-green eyes.
Unease fisted her stomach. Her sight became clearer with every sobering second. “Where are you taking me?”
“Panama City.”
“Striker, in your seat,” someone yelled.
“Lift off, I’m good!” the man bellowed over the whir of the blades.
He focused on her again. “If we don’t get fluids in you, we’re gonna have to do an IV.
Viper says your veins are too thin for that right now, though.
Too risky.” He shouted without strain, as if he flew in helicopters every day. His expression was hard. Unwavering.
She suspected if she refused, he’d pry open her mouth. She searched the men, trying to figure out who Viper was.
One guy, the largest of the pack, winked at her. His eyes were friendly. “Go ahead. Ain’t no one here gonna hurt you.”
The man holding her head sighed patiently. “My name’s Atlas, but the guys call me Striker. What’s your name?”
She swallowed. “Molly.”
He leaned in, bringing his ear to her lips. She said it again.
“Molly.” He said her name like he was tasting a delicacy. “Pretty. Drink this for me, Molly.” His casual tone made her unease ebb away.
Acutely aware of the grittiness in her mouth, she parted her lips. He poured the liquid inside. Salty water rushed down her throat, and she drank eagerly.
“Good girl,” he said soothingly. “You’ll feel a lot better once we get more fluids in you.”
He reached for her hand that had been shackled and inspected the torn skin. Tension radiated along his jaw. The straight slope of his nose matched the other sharp lines of his face. He was masculine, rugged . . . handsome.
His eyes found hers again. This time they were intense and laced with anger. “I bet that hurts.”
She said nothing. Trying to speak over the noise of the helicopter would take too much effort. He positioned a backpack behind her head, then adjusted the blanket so it was beneath her chin, but he left her injured wrist hanging out.
He pulled out a first aid kit from under the seat and began cleaning the wound. The medicine stung, but she didn’t flinch. Her head roared along with the propellers and her eyes grew heavy again. She watched him secure a bandage around her wrist then smooth his thumb over the spot.
He leaned in close. “You’re safe, Molly. Rest.”
Tears stung her eyes. They weren’t going to hurt her. She wasn’t drugged.
The nightmare was over.
She grabbed Atlas’s hand with her good one and squeezed his fingers. “Thank you,” she breathed.
He sat beside her on the floor and held her hand between both of his. She shifted her gaze to the empty seat he could’ve taken.
She fell asleep to the gentle caress of his thumb over her knuckles.