Page 3 of Brutal Ice

He grunted. Then leaned down to free her feet. No shoes. Another reason why it had been better to carry her through the night. She would have just sliced the soles of her feet on the rocks and old twigs and who the hell knew what else in the dark. His hand curled around her bare calf as he maneuvered toward her bound ankles. Hard to bend down that far in the tight confines of the car—especially with his big size.

She had on a black skirt that ended above her knees—and the skirt had risen even more when he settled her in the car. Her skin was soft, silken, and she was absolutely shaking with terror as he touched her.

Trying to be fast—but still careful—Royal sliced with his knife. He hauled back into his seat. “I’m not going to hurt?—”

And she was gone. She’d shoved open the door and run back into the night.

Dammit. Was this what it was like for heroes? No wonder he didn’t want to be one. Saving someone was a total pain in the ass. Maybe he should just let her run.

But what if she runs right back into her abductor?

There was truly no rest for the freaking wicked. He threw open his door and lunged out of the car. She hadn’t gone far—she’d fallen about four feet from the Lexus. Probably because her ankles had been bound too tightly and the feeling and pain had rushed back to her feet and sent her stumbling. But the woman was trying to crawl forward. She’d made it onto her knees. He rushed up behind her. “Would you just?—”

She threw a handful of dirt in his eyes.

Something that absolutely pissed him off, but damn if it didn’t impress him, too. He blinked rapidly and growled even as she staggered to her feet again. She took a step forward.

Still blinking and ignoring the burn in his eyes, Royal locked an arm around her waist. “Hey, pain in my ass,” he breathed against her ear. “Here’s some helpful info for you. Going back that way will lead to death. A violent, pain-filled death.”

She shuddered against him.

“I get that I’m no prince charming,” Royal continued, voice grim and low, “but I’m also not a sadistic prick who is going to carve you up and kill you, so…there’s that.”

She clawed at his arms. He was wearing long sleeves. Still had on his gloves. She didn’t touch his skin. He did haul her back to the car. The passenger side door was open. The interior light from the vehicle freaking lit up the scene. He plunked her down in the seat, then leaned in toward her. “You trying to get me killed?”

Her chest heaved.

“Because you’re shining a damn spotlight on us both. He could shoot me in the back right now and take you again. Then what the hell do you think your odds of survival would be?” And, since he didn’t want to get shot in the back, Royal needed to move. Fast. “You run again, and I won’t come after your ass. You can face him on your own. I’m not dying for you.” Cold. Savage. He rose and stared down at her. But I will follow you. Might even use you as bait. And I will kill the asshole. Those words, though, he didn’t say. No sense in adding to her fear.

The choice would be hers.

Then, deliberately, he stalked back around the car and got in the driver’s seat.

She didn’t run again. She did haul the door closed.

He tossed his gloves into the backseat and cranked the engine. “Good choice,” he growled. And he shifted to drive and shoved his foot down on the gas pedal. But his gaze darted to the rear-view mirror.

I’ll be back for you, bastard. Because his prey never got away from him.

Something was wrong.

He knew it as soon as he saw the sedan’s trunk lid rising up in the air. No, no, no! He raced forward with a snarl cutting from his lips. The trunk should never have been opened. He used the damn car specifically because there was no emergency release latch inside the trunk. The ride was too old to have one. The other women hadn’t been able to get out.

She shouldn’t have, either.

But as his hands slammed down on the edges of the open trunk, he saw that his beautiful prey was gone. His breath heaved in and out. Rage twisted and snarled within him. He grabbed the balled-up duct tape that had been left behind.

She got out. She found a way to escape me.

He whirled, stared at the night, and screamed her name, “Violet!”

“Violet…” Soft. She swallowed. Her mouth was so dry, and her lips and the skin around her mouth ached from the tape. “My name is Violet Murphy.”

He grunted.

Her fingers inched toward the door handle.

“Seriously, if you open that door and jump out while I’m driving sixty miles an hour, you will be a dead woman.”

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