Page 3 of Asher

Marlowe wished she could. What difference would it make if she gave them her name? That Downey guy couldn’t keep calling her honey, could he? Not that she liked him calling her that. She didn’t. Didn’t like it at all. Not. One. Stinking. Bit.

“Fine. Marlowe Rich,” she replied, but just for the hell of moving things along. Not because of anything else. “Now get the fuck out of here and let me die in peace.”

Before she could knee him again, the monster Asher Downey was on her. Just like before, he was too fast, and she was too weak. There wasn’t time to whisper, “No,” before he had her trapped like a mummy inside a big, warm blanket. Carefully, he lifted her across his shoulders in a fireman’s hold and said, “Sorry, Marlowe Rich, but we don’t leave anyone behind.”

“Liar,” she mumbled, shocked at the gentle touch of the heavy hand on the backs of her thighs, his other hand just as heavy, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. Arching her poor battered spine for all she was worth, and despite the pain in her skull, Marlowe twisted and bucked, not going down easy. Not giving up. But the blanket didn’t allow movement. There was no way tofight back. He’d wrapped her too tightly. She couldn’t nail him again. Frustration mounted until Marlowe realized that maybe…

Just maybe…

This Asher Downey guy was telling the truth. Maybe he and his friendweretaking her away from this cave of hell and the brutal jerks who’d acted more like deranged pigs than humans. Brutal, ugly, smelly pigs.

“Assholes,” she whimpered into the guy’s jacket or shirt or—whatever. Blood poured from her nose again, leaking all over this—this man. This gentle man.

Willing her panic to cease long enough to think, Marlowe let go of her rage and reconsidered what was happening now. Right now. Not what she’d lived through, but what was going on here, in this narrow window of time. Shewasout of the cave and her new captorwasrunning uphill, into the cold winter wind pouring over the mountain top, with her. Rage and panic hadn’t gotten her anywhere. Yes, this guy scared the crap out of her. Most men did. But he hadn’t slapped or punched her, not even when his buddy urged him to knock her out. Not even after she’d kicked him. And he hadn’t left her behind. Her, an ugly, worthless sinner. A nothing.

Marlowe took a deep, cleansing breath and reconsidered. Yes, she wasn’t worth saving, but the rugged male body sweating like a beast beneath her was saving her anyway. Asher Downey was now in full warrior mode, running all out. His heart pounded like a beast beneath her battered head. A fucking beast.

Her tension ebbed. Whoever this guy truly really was, he had strength and endurance she didn’t. He was literally doing all the work, and he was doing it for her. With every giant stepuphill, his powerful shoulders bunched beneath her. His gentle grip never slipped, and he was warm. Nice and warm. Warmer than she had been for hours, maybe days. The blanket helped, sure, but the heat radiating up from his overworked body was another kind of heat altogether. It was excess heat thrown off by an intense, powerful male who refused to take no for an answer. Whose heart sounded like it might burst, he was running so hard. Who called her‘honey’.

Could he be her savior? Had he been sent for her? That foolish thought felt too good to be true. But whoever Asher Downey really was, hewasrunning hard, and hewasdoing it for her.

Salty, stinging tears dripped from her good eye, matting her eyelashes, making it hard to see, so Marlowe closed it. Her other eye was swollen shut, and the fluid leaking from it was probably blood. The assholes in that cave had been brutal. Two of them used their fists and the flats of their hands to slap and punch her face, and pretty much everywhere else on her upper body. Anything to hear her cry. The other male, a bigger, darker, older, bearded creep had focused on the small of her back and her butt. He’d used a belt, a wicked three-inch wide piece of thick leather lined with metal grommets down its center, and a brass buckle on one end. He got off on her screams, and he knew where to hit to get the most satisfaction. He was the one who’d bellowed ‘Infidel! Whore! American slut!’ over and over again.

Marlowe was sure the warm trickle down the inside of her thigh was more blood, probably from severe kidney damage because of that belt. It was hard to know anything for certain. Every inch of her body hurt, stung, or ached with each harried step her savior ran. Her lower back hurt the worst, even more than the ringing in her skull.

Damn it, she wasn’t wearing her beanie. Like looking decent, not gorgeous or beautiful—just decent—mattered? Not anymore. For the first time since this nightmare began, Marlowe worried about brain damage and dying. Yes, she’d prayed for death in that cave, but now? Out here in the wild Afghanistan weather? On the shoulders of the courageous man who was saving her despite her attacking him?

A quiet truth dawned inside her poor cracked skull. The men who’d kidnapped her from that village were dead. She hadn’t seen their bodies. Hadn’t needed to see them to realize now what those loud booms in the cave were. The guy and his friend had killed them to save her.

Okay then. Sucking in a deep breath, she let most of her angst go. She, Marlowe Rich, was still alive and breathing and, by hell, she would live to fight another day. But the men who’d kidnapped and beaten her, who would’ve tortured her to death—weren’t. The man gently cupping the back of her head, so it didn’t bump his shoulder any harder than it was, had killed them to rescue her.

Marlowe sent a silent, heartfelt prayer to the heavens above. Was it wrong to thank God that those creeps were dead? That this man killed for her? She didn’t care. God would understand.

But, she’d kicked this brave male in the balls.Ow.For the first time in days, maybe weeks, Marlowe chose to trust him. Just him. Not his buddy. No one else.

She let her body go limp. There was no way to know where he was taking her, but she chose to believe what he’d said. HewasAmerican. Hewasformer military. Hehadcome to take her home. But mostly, because of a stranger, Marlowe Richwasgoing to live.

Chapter Three

Focused on getting Marlowe up and into a TEAM helo as quickly as possible, Asher ran the steep uphill trek as fast as he could, with Beau covering his ass. Fortunately, the narrow cave opening they’d entered through now faced away from the bastards chasing them, and for the most part, dense brush blocked the view of their retreat. If all went well, this woman would be on her way home by dark. At the least, given the shape she was in, she’d be at the Army hospital in Ramstein, Germany.

Asher was halfway to the Team’s previously agreed-upon rendezvous point when he felt a sob jerk out of her. Even silent sobs were hard to miss. Damn those assholes. What he wouldn’t give to go back in time and kill them before they’d done whatever they’d done to her. A woman, for heaven’s sake.

He didn’t know the extent of her injuries. There hadn’t been time to thoroughly assess her needs, and she’d been too volatile to allow it once he’d cut her down from that ceiling. But he worried now. Were her shoulders dislocated from being hung like she’d been, or was something worse going on? How many days had she been hanging there? How long had they tortured her?Surely, she had a concussion, but was he causing further harm by jolting her with every step trying to save her? Had he put her neck and spine at more risk when he’d moved her? Were there internal injuries in play? The very real fears plaguing Asher now could only be quieted by the fact that he’d had no choice. Playing it safe hadn’t been an option. Only running for her life.

The steady whomp-whomp-whomp of heavy-duty rotor blades cut the air as two Sikorsky UH-60A Black Hawks cleared the nearest peak and descended to the rendezvous point, a flat outcropping without boulders or trees. Relieved to see those beautiful birds with no logo or lettering stamped anywhere on their muted black bodies, Asher dug into the last of his reserves and kicked into an all-out run to the finish line.

Tracer rounds lit up his peripheral. God bless Agents Renner and Heston, two of Alex Stewart’s finest snipers, who were right then laying down suppressive fire at the new group of assholes intent on killing Marlowe. Asher had no idea why so many Taliban soldiers wanted her, but if it was the last thing he did, shewouldgo home to America alive. Not in a pine box.

“Medic!” Asher ordered over his earpiece, alerting every man on his team. “We’re coming in hot and we need someone ready to assist when we get there. One female. American. Marlowe Rich. Weighs a buck ten and she’s in rough shape. Definite concussion, head trauma, possible dislocated shoulders and internal bleeding, half-frozen, and hell, I don’t know what else. She needs a neck and back brace and heated blankets. Make it happen.”

“Copy that,” Murphy replied evenly, as if he hadn’t just taken orders from an underling.

In minutes, Asher was at the nearest helo and handing Marlowe up and into the strong arms of Agent Lee Hart, while making sure he hadn’t left Beau behind. These magnificent helos were combat-ready, praise God, and thank you, Alex. Designed to carry twelve fully equipped troops into combat, the birds were capable of extracting every last woman and child they’d just rescued from this stinking country, as well as blowing the adversaries on their rear to dust if push came to shove. Sikorsky Black Hawks were American soldier’s guardian angels, and these two birds had been outfitted to Alex’s specifications. Complete with Gatling guns at the side-door, a fully armored undercarriage, and an integrated weapon system, these helos allowed a pilot to lay down suppressive fire and launch any number of rockets or missiles from the cockpit.

As quickly as Asher climbed aboard, he dropped to the floor beside Marlowe. Lee had a huge med kit already splayed wide next to the padded gurney he’d laid her on. The helo’s door was still open, the wind buffeting everyone inside the hovering aircraft.

Mentally, Asher rolled through the five points of tactical field care, akaMARCH.

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