Page 7 of Handcuffed By the Bounty Hunters

Penny

I’m afraid. Not just because of these hulking, giant men strong-arming me back to the creepy cabin in the dark, dark woods, but because thunder is really freaking scary.

That’s right. I’m twenty-eight years old and terrified of thunderstorms. It’s not embarrassing at all.

And these guys—they should be the more immediate threat. The one who cuffed me is probably six-three and he’s built like a tank—wide torso, muscles for eternity. He has a short beard that makes him look distinguished despite the brutish muscles. There’s gray at his temples and a pronounced scowl line between his brows. I’d guess he’s in his mid-thirties.

The other one is just about as big as the first. His face is clean-shaven and his dark brown hair doesn’t have any gray. His blue eyes have crinkles that make it seem like he smiles a lot, although right now he’s frowning at me.

When thunder rumbles in the distance, I try not to cringe.

Mistaking my hesitation for resistance, the older guy tugs on my shoulder to encourage me to move faster. Not expecting that, I stumble.

“You’re really making this difficult,” he grumbles, steadying me.

His voice is almost as deep as the rumbling thunder, but it isn’t scary in the slightest. Instead, it’s comforting.

What is wrong with me? These two men are practically dragging me to a deserted cabin out in the middle of nowhere, and I’m feeling the flickers of attraction. Did my time with Clive teach me nothing?

It seems to take us forever to reach the cabin. The younger guy goes inside and shines a flashlight around. He returns a second later. “All clear.”

I’m eager to get inside and out of the storm. But I don’t know these guys, and they want to hand me over to Clive.

Maybe they’ll fall asleep and I can sneak out.

Once we’re inside, my captor lets me go like he can’t wait to break contact with me. I’m still wearing his jacket over my shoulders, and something about his gesture to get away from me pisses me off. I shrug out of the jacket and let it fall to the floor before picking it up and tossing it on the bed.

The room is dimly lit by the eerie glow of a flashlight set on top of the dresser and pointing toward the wall. It throws warped shadows over everyone.

“Aren’t you cold?” the younger guy asks, dropping his duffel to the side.

“Not really,” I lie.

“I can give you an extra shirt.”

“No thanks.”

He eyes my goosebumps without a word, then starts shaking out the blankets on the flimsy-looking cot.

“What are you doing?” I ask, alarmed.

“If we’re staying the night here, we may as well be comfortable,” he says.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” I say.

He looks offended, his pale eyes wide. Are his eyes blue, or gray? I can’t tell in the dim light. “Penny, please. We aren’t monsters.”

“If you take me back to Clive, you are.”

“We already discussed this,” the older guy says. “We’ll take you to Ironwood and figure things out from there.”

He doesn’t trust me—I can see it in his dark brown eyes. It’s why he didn’t want to touch me longer than necessary.

“Here you go,” the younger guy says, patting the cot and stepping away from it. “All yours.”

“Can you take off the cuffs at least?” I ask.

“Okay—”

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