The hand that clamped over her mouth cut off Rowan’s scream and air supply. A really, really big hand. It covered half her face. Then the hand’s owner spoke low in her ear.
“I’m going to pick you up, and you will not give me any shit, and you will not struggle. When I move my hand, you will not scream. Get me, woman?”
The voice was deep and so close; Ro felt his words more than heard them. The hand not covering her mouth was slipping the Ka-Bar from the sheath on her belt. She was now officially incapacitated and without a weapon.
Apparently he wanted some indication that she did in fact “get him,” because he pulled her head to the side to make eye contact. Even though she was pretty damn sure he wasn’t Red, based on the fresh pine scent emanating from him, seeing dark eyes and a face smeared with camouflage paint was a relief. Momentarily. Because then he spoke again.
“I said, get me, woman?” he repeated, sounding annoyed. And scary. “When I take my hand off your mouth, you’re going to keep it shut like a good little girl. We clear?”
Ro wasn’t sure how he expected her to answer when she couldn’t even breathe. He shook her, as if trying to get her attention. Like he didn’t already have it.
“Are we clear?” His low rumble had turned into a growl.
Ro didn’t get him, and she wasn’t clear. As far as she knew, this guy could be worse than the creepy trio. After the six-day march on Ro’s personal trail of tears, the scene she’d witnessed less than an hour ago, the pain shooting from her ankle, and the asshole currently barking orders at her, Ro hit her limit. Her survival instincts were screaming at her to do something to get free. So she decided to go for the backward head butt. WWE Smack Down-style. Classy-like.
Something in her movements must have telegraphed her intent, because before her head could connect with his nose, the hand across her mouth tightened, and his other hand palmed the back of her head, pulling in the opposite direction of the hand over her mouth.
“I could snap your neck in less than a motherfucking second. I don’t have time to fuck around. We’re moving.” Without waiting for a response, he tossed her up over his shoulder like a bag of feed. From her upside down perch, Ro saw him snag her backpack and throw one strap over his other shoulder. He paused for a moment before trotting in the same direction Ro had been running before she’d taken a header into the forest floor.
Apparently Conan the Barbarian, as Ro had dubbed him, liked to manhandle women. God only knew what he had in mind for her. Why am I not fighting back? Am I going to make this easy for him? Ro considered trying to drive her elbow through his back and then recalled his threat about snapping her neck.
Fuck it. How much worse could things really get? After all, she’d just added being kidnapped to her list of life experiences.
She elbowed him in the back as hard as she could. His muscles felt like slabs of concrete. He didn’t even pause his easy jog when she landed her strike. Not even a hard exhale. The helpless feelings began to mount. The second time she was determined to make sure he’d feel it. She rammed her elbow between his shoulder blades and thought she heard a grunt.
Ro was congratulating herself on a least scoring a hit when a large hand came down on her ass in a hard smack.
Conan had just spanked her! Oh, hell no. Rather than being subdued, Ro’s temper flared white-hot. No one had spanked Ro since her beverage container of choice was a sippy-cup. And Conan the Barbarian with the camo-painted face was not getting away with it. Ro wished for the acrylic claws the Mistress of Evil had for nails. The ones she’d trailed down Ro’s cheek in that über creepy way that made Ro struggle not to projectile vomit. The memory made Ro shiver. Focus on now. I am not helpless. Not then and not now. So Ro did the next best thing she could think of. She bit him.
“Motherfucker!” Graham wanted to rage, but the word came out as a low growl. Operational security required silence. The bitch and her bony elbows and vampire canines weren’t going to fuck up Graham’s simple mission.
He smacked her round little ass again, harder this time. She squeaked and jabbed his back with one of those pointy little elbows. At least she couldn’t yell with her teeth embedded in his back. That had actually kind of hurt. Not that Graham would ever admit it. He probably should have been more pissed about the bite mark that he was going to be sporting, but he found it a little hard to condemn the girl when she was probably scared out of her damn mind, and her instincts were ricocheting between fight and flight. It didn’t take much combat experience to become intimately familiar with the human instinct to survive. How many combat virgins had Graham seen run at the first sounds of live fire? Or duck when they heard mortar rounds whistling into camp? Too many to count.
But still, Graham wasn’t a fan of teeth marks on his back. Fingernail scratches sustained during a marathon three-way? Perfectly acceptable. But teeth marks while fully clothed he could do without. Thoughts firmly in the gutter, as usual, Graham’s cock twitched. Little fucker didn’t know or care whether now was the appropriate time to stand up and take notice. Graham slipped back through the gate and turned to make sure it was latched.
He started a brisk jog toward the walled compound that housed their living quarters, which was located about forty acres in from the southwest corner of the spread. Her struggles ceased in favor of gripping Graham’s back to hold on. Graham still had no idea why she’d ended up near his fence, but he was damn curious to find out.