Page 6 of No Escape

But it would take the right kind of woman to see him that way, and Sarah was far from the adventurous type. She liked sedate, librarian types, with degrees and suits, whose only scars were the surgical kind. She doubted the healed cut above his bushy eyebrow had anything to do with brain surgery.

“I told you to turn him on, not piss him the fuck off,” he growled above her, barely opening his mouth to get the words out.

“Well, I got him in here, didn’t I?” she sputtered in return, a little pissed off herself. She squirmed into a sitting position, making sure the towel was still securely in place. She made the mistake of glancing down at Mano’s sprawled form, a sick gasp escaping when she saw the cause of his death. Right before her shocked gaze, Clint calmly reached down, yanked the knife out of his back, and wiped the blade clean on a section of Mano’s dirty shirt.

Sour bile gurgled in her throat, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. She’d never seen anyone killed before. She gagged knowing she was going to be sick and struggled off the vanity, turning to face the sink. She gagged again. She was going to humiliate herself in front of a stranger!

“For fuck’s sake, don’t be sick!” Clint snapped in irritation and bent to grab Mano by a lifeless arm. His other hand curled around the dead man’s belt; he heaved the body into the tub, and then closed the shower curtain.

Sarah was splashing cold water on her face by the time he turned back, their eyes meeting. He could at least give her some credit for not giving in and throwing up, but nothing on his stony face showed he cared one way or the other.

“How long before someone comes looking for him?”

She shook her head violently, her fingers clutching the sink’s edge in a death grip for control. “Don’t know.” She cupped her hands beneath the faucet again, this time taking a drink from her palms.

“Where’s your room?”

Her eyes followed him as he moved past her to the bathroom door. He wasn’t going to be happy when he discovered it was the furthest point from the bathroom. “End of the hall.” As Sarah expected, his lips turned down when he opened the door.

Without looking back, he motioned her to join him. “When I open the door, I want you to make a run for your room. And for God’s sake, try not to sound like a fucking elephant stomping down the hallway.”

She stiffened, but it was from the close proximity of his body and not his insulting words. Another time and she would have blasted him with a comeback. Now it was a chore just to think straight. But the more she straightened away from him, the more he inched closer. Touching her, as if testing her.

Invading her comfort zone.

She was just about to give him a piece of her mind when he suddenly whispered against her ear. “Now!” He opened the door and she was shoved into the hallway. Sarah resisted the urge to look back, dashing down the hall to her room as he’d commanded.

Opening the door, she turned back to look at him, but he’d disappeared back in the bathroom. When he returned, he yanked the door open and dashed down the hallway on surprisingly silent feet, carrying a duffel bag Sarah hadn’t seen before. She managed to move out of the way just before he stepped through the threshold.

He quickly shut and locked the door before tossing the duffel bag on the bed. Not wasting any time he moved to the windows, inspecting the bars. She watched him quietly, crossing her arms over her breasts.

“Fuck!” he snorted, giving the bars an experimental jerk. Sarah couldn’t help but notice the muscles in his bare arms flexing powerfully.

“What did you expect? I’m not exactly a guest here,” she reminded him saucily. Even without the bars, she would have never made an attempt to escape anyway—they were two stories up.

Clint tossed her a go-to-hell scowl. It was apparent by his expression nothing was going right. “Get dressed,” he growled, moving to the other windows and finding the bars just as solid as the first one.

Sarah’s brows arched, “In what? Mano took the only clothes I had, and you left the ones they provided for me back in the bathroom.”

He hissed the foulest word in the book and one she was quickly learning was his favorite, as he strode back to the bed. “I’m half tempted to take you the way you are,” he threatened.

Her eyes widened. “You could try,” she replied, not the least bit daunted by his ugly, hateful expression. She watched with silent interest as he unzipped his duffel bag with a single, savage movement, before rummaging through it, muttering a string of curses beneath his breath the whole time. She smiled maliciously, crossing her arms.

Her smile disappeared when he tossed her some clothes in the same ugly green and black he was wearing. He might be a lot taller and bigger but she had some serious doubts she’d be able to squeeze her D cup breasts into any of his T-shirts. She held the garments up for inspection, wondering if she’d be able to get the pants up over her hips, too. They were short, and taking in the narrow cut of them, she doubted they belonged to him. Her gaze shot his way, giving him the once-over before realizing what she was doing.

“Put them on,” he demanded, noticing her hesitation. “While I think of a way to get us the fuck out of here. We have to move fast.”

“What about the way you got in?”

He shook his head without looking at her. “Too risky.”

Thankful he seemed preoccupied; Sarah turned her back and began struggling into the army fatigues. She soon found out her hips weren’t the problem, she couldn’t zip them up. Her earlier thoughts had been accurate—there was no way these were his.

Hearing a masculine chuckle behind her, she shot him a furious scowl over her shoulder while fighting with the zipper. She whipped the towel off angrily, sending it flying half way across the room before grabbing up the black T-shirt. She heard him suck in a sharp breath but ignored it, hoping he’d stubbed his toe on something.

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