Page 22 of Savage Escape

So pathetic and beaten down.

But that only lasted another second before she was snarling, actually snarling, and gnashing her canines like some kind of rabid animal, and charged at him.

“Caden! I’m not gonna hurt you! Stop!” He dodged a cat paw to the chest and a well-aimed kick to his crotch. He forced her back and tried to swerve away from the hand aiming for his throat.

She slid in and jabbed at him again, but Nathan (being less tortured, starved, and not drugged) was, for once, faster. While she was going for his solar plexus, Nathan sidestepped, gripped her wrist, and pulled her flush against his chest.

“No! No! No, no, no, no... no...” The hoarse screams slowly dissolved into whispers.

He tried to be mindful of her back and newly acquired hurts, but it was hard with her working against him.

“Shh, it’s gonna be alright Caden... It’s gonna be all right.” He held tighter as she tried to claw off his back when her elbows and knees proved ineffective against him. “It’s gonna be all right.” He wasn’t lying, just being optimistic. She wasn’t the only one that needed to hear it.

“Don’t! Don’t touch me! No!” She struggled and bit and fought and screamed a silent scream that chilled him to the bone. He continued to talk in a calm, soothing voice and kept hishold firm as she thrashed and bucked to get him off. Eventually, she exhausted all her energy and slumped against him.

Nathan decided against letting her go and instead carefully lowered them both to the hard cement without relinquishing his hold.

A sad thought occurred to him when her bloodshot eyes blinked up at him in confusion—like she hadn’t just tried to kill him. He wondered if anybody had ever tried to hold her before, protect her from the world, or tell her that everything was going to be okay. But he remembered the scars, battle scars that were vivid on her skin, and the slightly faded ones far too old and similar to his own to be anything but childhood nightmares. He knew, with a horrible twisting feeling in his gut, that no one ever had.

“Quinny! Go, baby! Run!” A strangled scream that froze the man’s blood had him adjusting his hold against her renewed fight. “No! No! You run!” It was a terrified command filled with so much anguish Nathan couldn’t begin to imagine what she was seeing in her drugged state.

“No! No!” She started thrashing again and Nathan about lost her, but he kept her between his arms and watched in horror as tears started streaming down the Hitter’s face. “No. No... no no no no... she’s just a baby—please no... no...”

Something inside of him broke at the sound of her terror and desperation.

“No no no no...” She was begging. Caden Quinn was begging. “No, no... I’m sorry...” Tears rained down her cheeks and her body jerked in silent sobs.

He only pulled her closer and tried to find comfort in the feel of her heart thumping against his chest. She was alive, at least. Nathan didn’t know what kind of hell she was living in her head or even the hell she’d already been through. What he did knowwas that Caden Quinn always survived. She would survive this as well.

Hell, knowing some of the places she’d been and the things she’d done in her life, Nathan couldn’t help but admire the hell out of her. Maybe there was some pity there as well. Pity that he had what she didn’t a family and something to live for, but mostly he marveled at the things he did know about her. They all pretty much added up to form one descriptor.

Badass.

She was a badass.

There was really no other explanation for the sobbing woman in his arms.

9

CADEN

Surprisingly enough, it was actually uncommon that Caden found herself jarred awake, adrenaline already pumping, instincts set to kill, and blindly groping her weapon. It was uncommon (though not rare) because Caden was awesome at her job. Which went hand in hand with covering her ass well enough to feel secure in the fact that no one would actually be able to find her in order to kill her in her sleep.

It wasn’t rare because Caden didn’t live a nine-to-five-pick-up-the-kids-from-the-Y-and-more-toilet-paper-while-you’re-in-town type life. What with the professional violence and the frequent grand larceny and all.

What had her going for her opponent’s exposed neck and coming to with what felt like a shot of adrenaline to the heart was the feeling of someone big and muscle-bound attacking her. Not just attacking her, but on-fucking-top of her. And shit, she’d already fought off one scum-bag this week. Wasn’t there some kind of quota?

Muscles: tense and weak—like she’d lost too much blood. Arms and legs pinned. Fuck.

Weapons: not a damn thing. Double fuck.

But her senses came back to her in full force and she remembered exactly where she was, which wasn’t an altogether happy thought, and then recalled who was attacking her.

Or notattackingher.

Hugging—it was hugging.

And it was weird.

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