Page 23 of Savage Escape

Nathan Savage had himself wrapped around her body as if he moonlighted as some kind of human blanket. Both of his muscle-y arms were wrapped around her middle and she was smashed face first into a whole lot of torso. Keeping her mouth firmly closed against doing anything... untoward (like maybe licking him), she settled on getting an eye full of his chest hairs and an up close and personal view of a white and fading scar. One of his legs, which now seemed like it was about as big as her whole body, was thrown over hers while the other was wedged under her knees.

The sensation of being held and not pinned was foreign. Disconcerting in all honesty. She wasn’t a cuddler by nature and not too big on the whole touchy-feely thing in general. The last person she’d held without the intention of injuring or killing was Ezzy.

Caden kind of liked it.

He was warm and softer than the cement. It felt... nice.

The Hitter hadn’t realized how absolutely bone-cold she’d been before Savage had tried to absorb her into him like some kind of freaky alien. Now she was warm and dreading the moment when she’d have to move away from him in pretend disgust. Maybe even get a solid hit in, just to reiterate.

Though why he was holding her in the first place or why she had no recollection of the previous night was cause for some alarm. Judging by the state of her pounding head and the dry scratchiness of her throat and eyes, Caden would have to say it was drugs and more torture. Which was most likely why shecouldn’t remember shit and probably why Nathan was wrapped around her.

Dread knotted her stomach at the thought of what might have happened in that state. Caden and drugs never mixed well. She could barely consume alcohol without becoming a raving lunatic set on destroying anything and everything in her sights. She had to have attacked him.

Oh god, had she killed him?

The rhythmic thud of his heart and the warm flush of his skin against hers squashed that panic attack before it could sink its teeth into her gut. From what she could see (given that she had very little wiggle room) he looked well enough. A few new dark bruises marred his torso and were those scratches on his side? Christ, she hadn’t actually scratched anyone in years and years. Stabbed, kicked, punched, jabbed, and shot—yes, butnotscratched. What the hell kind of night had it been?

Why her pants were gone was another panic-inducing alarm bell sounding in her mind.

Though she knew without a doubt that he hadn’t fucked her while she was out.

She trusted him.

The realization of that fact sent a shock wave through her system. Nathan Savage was a man she trusted. A man she liked. A good man who didn’t deserve to be tortured to death with her as a cellmate.

It was at that moment Caden decided she would get the man, who was drooling in her hair and wrapped around her as if she wasn’t the villain in their story, out. He was a good man and deserved a good life. She’d get over herself, make a plan, escape these godforsaken dungeons, and get him home to that family he talked so softly about.

She tried to shift out of his hold, but he was heavy. Two hundred and some odd pounds of sleeping muscle was notlike juggling kittens. Not that she’d ever juggled kittens, but it sounded easy enough. They weighed like what, an ounce, maybe? Two ounces if it was dead weight. Stood to reason that juggling them would be easy. It wasn’t a perfect metaphor but shit, she couldn’t think straight with Savage all mashed up against her.

Then the rest of her aching body (not just the bits mashed up against Savage) made themselves known. The migraine exploding out the back of her skull reminded her exactly why she hated being drugged.

Instead of focusing on the drooling ex-agent, she mentally catalogued her hurts and the events leading up to her current state of being.

The last thing she remembered was—what did she remember? She’d told Savage her real name. Which now didn’t seem like the best move. He’d wanted to know why she wasn’t some accountant’s housewife with the picket fence and two-point-five children and... nothing.

She’d been drugged; though she didn’t know what exactly they’d pumped into her, she did have a few educated guesses. Given the freshly tortured state of her body, she assumed (and this was being ridiculously laughingly optimistic) that she hadn’t given up anything. Physical pain usually didn’t break her, but with drugs in the mix, she could never be sure what she’d do.

Her head hurt. It pounded and slammed against her skull like it was trying to get out. Blood was pulsing in her ears, adding to the ache in her head. Her throat was raw and burning, like she’d spent hours screaming.

Had she head-butted granite? Her head was not a third fist, and she had to stop treating it as such—she was gonna go brain dead. The rest of her, brain aside, was in working order. Though every inch of her was throbbing and stinging all at once. She feltcrusty and itchy and warm. And dammit, her nose was broken again.

But she was warm, and that kinda made it less horrible. Which was a cringe-worthy thing to admit, but the merc only started making a show of pushing him off when he started to rouse.

“Caden?” He blinked down at her and Caden had to physically restrain herself from the sudden inexplicable urge to reach up, tug his head down, and kiss those pretty, sleep-swollen lips. “Are you... lucid?”

“Yeah.” She tried to shove away from his torso, but he didn’t let go. “Would you get off me!”

“Here.” He was up and setting her up straight before Caden could right herself. “How are you feeling?” His hand was on her forehead before she could get a word out. “You thirsty?”

She didn’t actually nod or make any indication whatsoever that she did in fact want the water, but regardless of her silence, the bucket was in her face. She reached for it but stopped when she caught sight of the state of her arms and legs. Underarms, inner thighs, and even her hips were all slashed up.

“I tried to clean ‘em up. They aren’t fatal—I mean, there’s some that need to be stitched, but we have to keep them clean to keep from getting infected.” He smiled, but it looked more like a grimace. “Speaking of which, I should look at your back.”

“Okay.”

He opened his mouth, but then blinked in surprise and shut it again. “You should probably eat first, though.”

Caden tried not to feel awkward with his fingers on her back. So she focused her energies on wording the ‘Okay, let’s ditch this popsicle stand’ sentence, so it sounded less like she’d lost something and more like it was a decision she was happy about. But he was done with her back and had moved to the front halfof her and it became increasingly difficult to worry over sentence structures when his fingers were on her thighs.

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