Page 47 of Savage Escape

Lashed up back. Annoying was all that was.

Left arm was broken and useless. Dammit.

Three fingers on her right hand were out of commission. Gripping would be painful.

Bruising,lotsof bruising.

Neck felt okay.

Head trauma? None. How nice of them.

Broken toe, maybe two. She’d kicked that asshole too hard with improperly fitted boots.

Overall maneuverability: thirty to forty percent. Agility was equally as shitty but still not undoable.

Blocking was gonna be a bitch. Making any kind of physical contact was gonna be painful as fuck. On top of the fact that she’d be doing it all one-handed. What fun.

Caden took a moment to find her resolve and fan the inferno in her gut. Nathan—that was her objective. Find Nathan and/or extract information on his whereabouts. Kill the bastards who gunned him down. Find the shit-fuck who ordered it and murder.

And the escaping too. Escaping was essential to the last part of the plan.

The woman made sure to keep her fluttering eyelids slow and drugged-like when she blinked open her eyes for the first time.

Bright. Too fucking bright.

Two figures. One seated, three feet from the bed. One standing, no,hoveringover her.

Another blink revealed an open window, maybe seven feet from the bed, and alerted the hovering figure of her wakefulness. He made a surprised sound in his throat, leaned over to look into her face, and Caden took her opportunity.

Steeling herself against the inevitable onslaught of pain from her injuries, she gripped the tube pushing saline into her veins, ripped it out of her wrist, and palmed the needle. One breath later, she vaulted off the mattress, shoved the side of her hand into the hovering figures throat, slung her working arm around his shoulders, kicked out his knee to throw off his balance, and jabbed the needle into his neck. Or close enough that he’d be all soft and willing to please.

Dizzy.

Adrenaline was beating out exhaustion, but only just.

Pain. Lots of fucking pain.

Three, maybe five minutes until she’d collapse.

“Shhh,” Caden didn’t recognize her own voice. It was all gravelly and groggy. “Be calm,” she warned in Russian. She put pressure on the needle to get him to stop hacking and sputtering like he was drowning.

The one in the chair had startled into a standing position. He was big and beefy. The left side of his face and neck was all scarred like he’d gone a couple of rounds with a blender on puree. Jeans, shirt, weapons. One gun that she could see and maybe a couple of knives somewhere on him. His hands were up in more of a placating gesture than in a show of surrender.

“Don’t come near!” Caden had threatened the same thing a couple of times in a few different languages before, so she didn’t have to think hard to find the right words. “Move away or I’ll hurt him!”

Another figure was perched on a chair on the other side of the room. He was quiet and watching her with guarded, calculating eyes.

Fuck.

She’d heard three bodies. Why hadn’t she thought to look? The mercenary adjusted her hostage, so he was between her and the seated one and her back was at the wall.

“There ain’t no need for that, ma’am.” English. Southern. His accent was thick and his eyes showed surprise but not panic. “We aren’t?—”

“Stay back! Keep your ass where it is and I won’t kill him.” English, being her native tongue, was much easier to threaten with. “Toss your weapons. Both of you.”

“Look, ma’am?—”

“Listen, Harvey Dent, shut the fuck up and put down your weapons or I’ll make a new breathing hole in your friend’s neck. Comprenday?” A wave of dizziness curled her stomach. Sweat started beading on her skin.

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