Page 2 of Asher

A laser-bright light stabbed her remaining eye.Ouch.She’d lost sight in the other, hours, maybe days ago.

All at once, this new monster trapped her in the circle of his massive arms and pulled her head down to his chest. She wanted to scream. She would’ve punched him, but there was no way to get away from the LED beam shooting out of his forehead. She couldn’t see where to strike. No way to lift a hand to protect herself even if she could. It was impossible to make out this bastard’s evil silhouette beyond the intense glare. But she saw enough to know this new guy wasn’t like the others. He was worse. Bigger. Wider. The others had been brutal. She had noidea where they went, but they’d be back soon. Then what? A threesome?

“No more,” she whined, twisting to get away from this new threat.

He didn’t answer, just wrapped his other ginormous arm around her waist and lifted a gloved hand over her head.

Unholy fear bleated out of her. “Don’t hurt me. Please. No more. Let me go!”

Instead of releasing her, he sliced the leather straps binding her, and Marlowe had no choice but to sag like a helpless child against his chest. Not good. Not good at all.

“What do you assholes want from me?” she whimpered. “I wasn’t hurting anyone. I have w-w-work to d-do.”

There were no more explosions. Why not? Why couldn’t he just lay her down and let her die? She should already be dead. Would’ve been if he hadn’t joined the party. What more could he do to her that his friends hadn’t?

The big guy growled, then made his first mistake. Yes, she was weak, but she wasn’t dead. The instant he settled her bloody, bare feet to the ground, Marlowe summoned what meager strength she had left, brought her knee up as hard and fast as she could, and nailed this son of a bitch where she could do the most damage. Who needed hands when they had two sharp knees?

He dropped like a rock, holding his family jewels with both hands, his ugly face in the dirt.

“Go to hell!” she bellowed down at him. Still hoarse. Still bloodied and shaking, too damned weak to sound as pissed-off as she felt. But angry. So, so angry. And standing—finally.Striking back and dizzy, yes. On her way to the dirt next to him, sure. But kicking someone else’s ass felt good for a change.

“Motherfucker! Don’t ever touch me again!” Would’ve helped if she’d mustered more than a drawn-out squeak when she’d hissed at him. But this bastardwasdown, and he wasn’t moving. “There,” she whined, shaking hard, but not from fear. Not anymore. She was in control now. “How do you like it, huh?”

The one-eyed monster on his knees tilted his head up at her, and—

Oh, shit. He was wearing a black helmet with the visor down. That was where the light came from. Just over that visor. Not the middle of his flesh-and-bone forehead. Yikes. He couldn’t be Taliban. Must be a soldier. And she’d kicked him. Hard. But not hard enough. He was still alive.

Her will to fight ebbed as quickly as it surged. Marlowe swallowed hard. He’d brought a friend. She saw him now, the big, burly man in the shadows. He wore the same kind of helmet, his with the visor up, showing his ugly whiskered face. The cave was dark, but the weak light coming through the crack in the stone wall behind him was enough. He was coming for her.

“Bring it on,” she hissed, lifting her bloodied hands as high as her worthless arms allowed, ready to fight to the end. Ready to die.

Slowly, the guy she’d kneed removed the helmet that made him look like a giant fly with a glowing spotlight for a brain. He was definitely white unless he was just extra-pale because she’d nailed his cojones. And bearded, like all big, tough bullies in this part of the world.

“Ma’am,” he croaked, lifting slowly to one knee, and then rising to his feet. Peeling those despicable, black gloves off, he let them fall, then extended both palms forward. White palms. Clean white palms. Like a peace gesture? Ha! He expected her to go quietly to her death? Guess again.

“We’re Americans, ma’am, both former military and by the sounds of it, you’re American, too. We’d like to take you home. I’ve got water in my CamelBak if you need a drink.”

Of course, she needed a drink. She’d been in hell for—

Marlowe had no idea how long she’d been hanging here. But he thought she was dumb enough to fall for that lie? There were no American soldiers in Afghanistan. Not anymore. Everyone knew it. They’d all gone home. And like the cowards they were, they’d left Afghan nationals and their families, the brave men and women who’d sacrificed everything for them and their war, behind.

“Liar!” Man, how she wished she sounded as lethal as she felt. She’d show these two jerks what burning hatred felt like.

“We don’t have time for this,” his burly friend growled. “Knock her out and be done with it, Ash. We gotta go.”

“Then go! Get out of here!” She tried so hard to scream. “Run like the chicken shits you soldiers all are. You left, damn you. You betrayed your friends, and you ran.”

Instead of striking back, the bastard she’d kicked extended a hand to her. “I’m Asher Downey, ma’am. This here’s Beau Villanueva. It’d sure be nice to know your name.”

Man, he was stupid. Didn’t he get it? She wasn’t going anywhere, not with him or his evil twin.

“Why?” she spat. Cursing took energy Marlowe no longer had. Simply talking was excruciatingly difficult. Screaming was a whole other pain. Just whispering felt like she’d swallowed glass. The last of her energy was fading, along with it the adrenaline that fueled her panic. Dizziness swarmed every last one of her good intentions to fight until she died.

“Because you need our help, honey, and we’re not leaving without you.”

Honey? Had he just called her honey?

That Beau guy growled.

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