by Pam Godwin
“No! You can’t!” Despite her terror, she remained calm enough to scan the dirt beneath her face, her fingers digging through the sand, searching for a small rock.
“I can.”
“I’m filthy.”
“Damn straight, you’re filthy. I’ve watched you fuck your neighbor on the back porch, in your car, and on every surface in your house. Seeing a woman take it in the ass does something to a man. Christ, you don’t even know how fucking hot you are.”
He’d invaded her privacy. If she had it in her, she might’ve laughed.
Wasn’t Karma a vindictive bitch?
Maybe she deserved to be spied on, but she didn’t deserve to spend the last minutes of her life being raped.
He lifted his hips and yanked her jeans and underwear to her knees. Her heart stopped, and her fingers latched onto a skinny stone with a jagged edge. She fisted it and rolled to her back.
With his gaze locked on the exposed apex of her legs, he didn’t see her hand moving until it was too late.
She stabbed the rock into his eye.
Direct hit. But not enough strength. Instead of blood, she got his seething, roaring rage.
“Stupid bitch!” He clapped a hand over his eye and smacked the rock from her grip. “You’re going to pay for that.”
Teeth bared, he rose up and wrenched her jeans past her knees.
She kicked her legs and slapped at his face, but the struggle was clumsy and ineffective. She couldn’t stop him from opening his pants and crawling between her thighs.
He gripped her throat and flashed a manic smile. “Your cunt is mine.”
His face blurred, fading with the deprivation of air. Darkness closed in, and a loud ringing sounded in her ears.
Then a boom.
Paul’s head exploded, spraying the sky with blood, bits of bone, and brain matter.
He toppled to the side, and the pressure released from her throat.
Stunned, she gulped for oxygen, gripped her neck, and snapped her gaze toward the gray horizon, searching for the threat.
Someone had shot him. Killed him. Was it Tommy? Or the person who’d hired Paul?
She whimpered, heaving frenzied breaths, and fumbled to pull up her jeans.
The rev of an engine approached.
Splattered in blood and scared out of her mind, she moved. Muscle memory took over, her limbs bending and dragging her body across the sand.
The cave. She could hide in the narrow hole.
Tires crunched behind her, shoving her panic into the red zone. Her vision began to fade, but she could still hear.
Footsteps.
A slow gait.
Chasing her.
“Please.” She cried, crawling on her stomach, desperate to get away. “Please, don’t.”
She didn’t know when she’d stopped moving, but her arms wouldn’t work anymore. She continued to fight, mentally reaching for the cave, willing herself to become invisible.
Hands gripped her back and legs, and she flinched, crying harder. Arms lifted her, and she glimpsed a whiskered jaw. A flash of light brown hair.
Her eyes shut, her face pressed against a warm neck. “Tommy?”
He was walking, the sand grinding noisily beneath his steps. But his breaths were louder, sawing in and out next to her ear.
“Hate you.” Her limbs weighed a thousand pounds. Everything hurt.
He laid her on a soft bench seat, and she blinked, trying to adjust her foggy vision.
A dashboard. Air vents. Condensation. Beads of it clinging to the plastic. She was in her truck.
Reaching out, she tried to collect those precious drops. But her movements were uncoordinated, the effort too great.
He bent over her, his body heat invading, too close, too much.
Until a trickle of water ran over her lips. The incredible taste startled her. She choked, lapped at it greedily, and tried to grab the source.
He yanked the bottle away and tossed it into the back of the truck.
“Please. Need more.” She was fading. Dying.
He slammed the door shut.
The woman passed out. Just as well. Tomas was in no mood to listen to her crying.
The risks he’d taken with her life had been necessary. Not everyone would see it that way, but when it came to his friends, he would accept their anger and disappointment over needlessly putting their lives in harm’s way.
Rylee Sutton was a threat. Well, she had been a threat. Now he didn’t know what she was.
Most people wouldn’t last a day out here. The fact that she’d survived without his interference was shocking. He’d watched her like a hawk and skipped sleep, waiting for her to give up or do something stupid like fall into a nest of rattlesnakes.
With the windows rolled down, he navigated her truck across the uneven terrain, holding her head on his lap to prevent it from bouncing.
Sand and blood stiffened her hair, her clothes saturated in grime. Her complexion was too pale for this climate, ephemeral beyond any hope of tanning. Yet the smooth alabaster glow complimented her dark lashes, wing-tipped brows, and long hair. Wild ribbons of brown hung past her breasts, the color as rich and variegated as spalted sweetgum.
Her nose was too delicate, her bones too slender, and her cheeks too silky to have been exposed to the harsh sun. And her mouth… Those lips were far too pouty for his liking. They made a man want to taste and bruise and test how far they stretched around a hungry cock.
Underneath the gore and desert grit, she was outrageously beautiful. A goddamn knockout.
And when she was at her weakest, he’d left her alone with a rapist.
“Fuck!” He slammed a hand against the steering wheel, boiling with anger.
At himself.
At the bastard who’d touched her.
At the fucking shitstorm that had blown into his life.
For the next thirty miles, he forced his eyes on the unpaved wasteland, trying to ignore the guilt and resentment that rode him.
When his childhood home finally came into view, he approached slowly, surveying the property for intruders. Everything appeared in order. Except…
Motherfucker.
A motorcycle sat around the side of the house. Not the sporty, rubber-burning kind that Luke rode. No, this beast was throaty and heavy, made for long hauls on desolate roads. He only knew one guy who was arrogant enough to take an iconic Harley off-road in the desert.
As he parked the truck, the front door opened. Cole Hartman stepped out and leaned against the door frame, tattooed arms folded across his chest and eyes stony in the twilight.
Every time Tomas saw him, the man had more ink on his skin and hair on his face. He looked hard around the edges, fearsome even, like a one-percenter in an outlaw motorcycle club.
“I turned on the air-conditioning in the house.” Cole stalked toward him. “I don’t know how you can stand this fucking heat.”
“I told you not to come.” He rolled up the windows and stepped out.
Cole tilted his head, and when he caught a glimpse of the unconscious cargo, his nostrils stiffened. The cords in his neck protruded, and his face turned red above the beard. “What the fuck did you do?
“Tested her.” He strode around to the other side and dragged her out.
“Tested her how exactly? She looks more dead now than she did in the photo you sent.”
“Here’s an idea. Instead of standing around like a smacked ass, make yourself useful.” He cradled her against his chest and shoved past Cole. “Grab a couple of bags of sodium chloride from the bunker.”
“She’s covered in blood.”
“Hadn’t noticed.” He carried her into the house, and the sudden cold air shot a chill through him. Pausing at the control box on the wall, he raised the temperature. “Don’t fuck with the thermostat.”
“You’ve gone off the fucking rails, Tomas.”
“The IV drip, Cole. I need it yesterday.”
The bunker beneath the ho
use maintained a mild temperature year-round. It was where they kept all the medical supplies and anything that might perish in the heat.
Cole grunted and treaded toward the interior door that led underground. Tomas headed to his old bedroom.
The bed was narrow like the room, but he had everything he needed to bring her back to life. Settling her on the mattress, he gave her limp body a quick perusal, probing for injuries he might’ve missed.
Minor scratches and bruises marred her fair skin. No deep gashes or burns. She’d used the sunscreen and kept to the shade when she could.
Blood streaked her face and arms, her shirt soaked and clinging to her firm little tits.
She needed a bath. But fluids first.
Using the supplies he’d already laid out, he cleaned her arm, washed his hands, and prepped the IV tubing and equipment.
When the sound of heavy boots entered the room, Tomas kept his gaze on his task. “What did you find on Paul Kissinger?”
“Nothing yet.” Cole handed over two bags of sodium chloride. “He returned to her house yesterday morning, snooping around. Then he left Eldorado and dropped out of signal range. Did he show up here?”
“He tried to rape her.”
“What? When?”
“An hour ago.” Tomas bent over her arm, hunting for a vein for the IV drip. Hard to do when her little vessels were deprived of fluid. “Goddammit.”
“The vein collapsed.” Cole crouched beside him, taking up too much room in the small space. “Slow down and try another one.”
Neither of them had gone to school to study medicine. They’d learned basic shit in the field, jumping in whenever the cartel’s medical staff needed help.
Knowing how to stitch a wound and insert a peripheral IV proved invaluable in their job. Tomas and Kate had taken the most interest in it. Kate wanted to be a doctor and help people. But not him. He just wanted to mend his wounds without depending on others to do it.
He finally accessed a vein, and once the drip started delivering fluid, he sat on the bed and blew out a breath. The intravenous route was the fastest way to rehydrate her body. She would recover quickly. Physically.
In other ways, she might never fully heal.
He knew the feeling.
“That’s not her blood.” Cole leaned over her, picking at the sticky gunk on her throat. “Tell me what happened.”
“I found Paul Kissinger lurking on my property. You were right. He put the tracker on her truck.”
“What did you do to him?
“Tied him up. Smacked him around.”
“And he confessed? Just like that?”
“No. He told her.”
Cole’s brows knitted, his gaze shifting from Rylee to the doorway. “Where is he?”
“In the desert.”
“Idiot. I have a million methods to make a man talk.”
“So do I.” Tomas grabbed the container of soap and water and gently ran a wet cloth over her face. “Before he showed up, I bugged her pack and dumped her in the desert, too.”
“What part of stay put and keep her restrained did you not understand?”
“I did restrain her. The scrubland is inescapable to anyone who doesn’t know its secrets. I was monitoring her. Watching and listening.”
“How did you watch me?” Her eyes snapped open, bloodshot and glinting silver. “Were you there?”
He should’ve given her a sedative. How long had she been eavesdropping?
“Spying again?” He made a tsking sound. “That’s a terrible habit of yours.”
She kicked her leg, trying to knock him from the bed. A pathetic attempt, given the weakness in her body. She glanced at the cloth in his hand, the IV in her arm, and the blood on her shirt.
“You were there? The whole time?” Her gaze made an uneasy pass over Cole and returned to Tomas. “You watched me suffer for days and did nothing?”
“I stepped in when I needed to.”
“When you needed.” She coughed a dry, raw sound. “Well, now you can step out, let me change clothes, and I’ll be on my way and gone from your life.”
She tried to sit and failed.
“My backpack.” She scanned the room. None of her belongings were in here.
Her attention landed on Cole, tracing his tattoos and lingering on his beard. Tomas waited for her to voice the man’s name and spout every incriminating thing she’d read about him in the emails.
Instead, she pressed her lips together and directed a disgusted glare at Tomas.
He glared back, daring her to open her deceitful mouth. He’d written enough about Cole that she could easily identify him. He’d also outlined his assumptions about Cole’s background, his shady military training, his ability to slip in and out of any fortress, computer system, or security infrastructure. No one was that good unless they were hiding some scary shit.
The most concerning thing about Cole was his motivation. He wasn’t like the rest of them. He’d never spent a night in Van’s attic, never had his freedom ripped away, never experienced the kind of loss and hopelessness that made a man long for death. Not that Tomas knew, anyway.
That was the problem. None of them knew Cole Hartman. Yet here he was, mired in their lives, and fighting alongside them. For what? Van and Matias stopped paying him a dozen jobs ago. Now he was what? Contracting for them pro bono?
Whenever he was asked about his past life and current endeavors outside of the team, he just smiled or gave vague non-answers. The bastard was as closed-off as Tomas. Perhaps more so.
Tomas didn’t trust him. But he’d contacted him anyway, because he was the best at digging up secrets. If Rylee was hiding skeletons, Cole would find them along with every dirty person connected to her.
Eyes locked, she watched Tomas as he watched her. He hated that she knew all of his secrets. His skeletons, regrets, desires, every thought in his head. She also knew that Cole’s presence in Texas meant they’d already learned some things about her.
“You were in the desert with me?” Her gaze lost focus, her momentary spurt of awareness dwindling by the second. “I never heard the truck.”
He’d parked it out of hearing range and hiked in close enough to watch her through the scope of his rifle. Only once, he’d left her unattended to return to the house and call Cole. That was when he found Paul Kissinger on his property.
“Fine. Don’t answer me.” She weakly flexed her hand. “That man…Paul. He must be connected to you and your friends somehow. But you don’t believe that, so you put him in the desert to spy on our conversation.”
Cole leaned against the jamb of the doorway and squinted at Tomas. “What did you learn?”
She was fucking her neighbor. On the back porch, in her car, on every surface in her house.
Seeing a woman take it in the ass does something to a man.
His stomach hardened against the stirring images. “Paul monitored her for six months. She didn’t know him.”
“Didn’t?” A muscle flexed in Cole’s jaw, twitching his beard. “You killed him?”
“Like I said, he attacked her.”
Pulling the trigger hadn’t been planned. It just happened. They’d needed the son of a bitch alive to get answers. Oddly, the only regret he had about his impulsiveness was the looming task of driving back and dealing with the body.
“We could’ve pulled information from him.” Cole gripped his nape, his expression etched in frustration. “Now we don’t know who he was working for, why he was following her, or how it’s connected to us.”
“She’ll tell me.” Tomas met her eyes.
“She doesn’t know anything.” Her jaw set. She didn’t look away, fidget, or show any signs of dishonesty.
Maybe she was good at lying.
“Did you find anything on the ex-husband?” Tomas asked Cole without breaking eye contact with her.
“He’s clean. Except one thing. She has a restraining order against him.”
“Ex-husband.” Her eyeli
ds hooded over silver pools of fatigue and anger.
There was no surprise in her expression. She’d anticipated them investigating the people in her life once they learned who she was. That was why she’d shown up without identification.
“Tell me about Mason Sutton,” Tomas said.
“He’s a jealous nuisance. Way too jealous to hire another man to watch me. Where are the keys to my truck?” She touched the catheter in her arm, likely debating the best way to yank it out.
“You’re not leaving.” He caught her probing hand, stopping her.
“You’re not keeping me here for three weeks without food.”
“What is she talking about?” Cole straightened.
“Give us a minute.” His head throbbed, magnified by exhaustion.
“No.” She twisted her wrist out of his grip. “You had your minute. You had two days, you heartless cunt.”
He’d prepared an intravenous sedative, just in case. If he restrained her to the bed, she would struggle and risk dislodging the IV.
Mostly, he just needed her to sleep so he could close his eyes for the first time in two days. He was operating on three-percent battery life and rapidly draining.
He reached toward the dangling IV bags and began the flow of the sedation drug, titrating the dose to give her just enough to relax her back into dreamland.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes widened, glazed and unfocused, trying to follow his movements.
“Who are your enemies?”
“The only enemies I’ve made are in this room. What did you do to the IV? What are you giving me?”
“I know who you are, Rylee Sutton.”
She glanced at Cole and back to him. “You should’ve talked to me instead of starving me in the desert. It would’ve saved you the trouble of calling in your friend. So what have you learned? That I’m a stupid woman, who waltzed in here alone thinking I could do some good and instead, ended up getting myself hurt? Go, Rylee. Another failure.” She exhaled a tired breath. “Look, Tommy, I’ve learned my lesson, okay? Believe me when I say I’m done. I don’t want any part of this or you. I just want to go home.”
