Page 7 of Brutal Savior

She’s tied up tightly, hands bound behind her back and ankles lashed together. A muffled stream of sound comes from her gagged mouth, and she struggles like an angry cat as I set her down on her knees. Blood pulses so loud in my ears I can’t hear anything else, though I’m sure someone is speaking.

I stare at the girl’s face screwed up in anger as she yells through the gag. Ghostly pale skin, ice-blue eyes, a sharp face, and bright pink hair. Not Suzy.

The wrong girl.

The wrong fucking girl.

Chapter Three

Quinn

The door opens. Lightburns my eyes after the pitch-dark of the car, but I don't let it stop me from launching out as best I can with my bound feet. It might be the only chance I get to escape before I'm killed, or sold, or whatever the fuck these assholes want with me.

I fling myself forward, hoping to feel the satisfying crunch of someone's face against my head. Instead, there's only free fall. Shit. I brace to hit the ground.

Before I do, arms wrap around me. For a moment, I'm pressed against something that feels like solid rock, and then I'm lowered, carefully, to the concrete. Loose grit digs into my knees, and I try to shout through my gagged mouth as I stare up at my captor.

He's a goddamn giant.

He's dressed in smart blue jeans and a black button-up shirt, the sort of thing a guy might wear out to a nightclub. It's jarring, as if he dressed up for whatever the hell this is. Although theshirt fits him well, it doesn’t disguise his size. His muscles strain against it as he runs a hand through his close-cropped dark hair.

His green eyes scan me with enough rage that I fall silent; then he turns to an older guy next to him. “Is this some sort of fucking joke?”

His accent is the harsh British type you hear in modern gangster movies. “Fucking” comes out as “facking.” Is he a London mobster collecting women? Clearly, I don't fit his requirements. Maybe there's hope.

The old guy frowns. “Sorry, sir?”

“That's not her. Not Suzy. Did you even look at her face? Or just the pink fucking hair?”

Suzy? All at once, the pieces drop into position. I'm wearing her hoodie. We both have pink hair. It makes more sense and less all at once. This wasn't a random abduction, but what would a man like this want with someone sweet like Suzy?

The old guy's face drops, and he stares at me like I’m an unexploded bomb. There's a moment of frozen silence, then shocked gasps and murmurs. It hits me that I'm in the middle of a small crowd.

With a fresh surge of hope, I shout through my gag again. Maybe one of them can help me. I tug against the cuffs on my wrists, but all I achieve is cutting into my skin. The watchers don't move to help me; they just mutter to each other and stare. I'm an interesting zoo exhibit to these assholes.

It's starting to piss me off.

A guy in a business suit steps forward. “If you’re just here to gawp, leave. Now.”

His voice rings with command, and the gathered people obey right away, throwing glances over their shoulders. What is this place? A cult? A drug cartel hideout?

Suit guy touches the giant's shoulder. The giant whirls on him. “I knew something like this would happen. I should have led the fucking team!”

“It's a setback, Jacob, but we’ll correct the mistake. Trust me.”

Correct the mistake? A cold shiver tracks up my spine. I'm the mistake.

“Trust you? After this bloody cock-up?”

Suit guy goes to talk, but the giant—Jacob—focuses on something over my shoulder. I follow his gaze. There are two men, a gothy guy and a preppy one in a pink polo shirt. But the third person draws all my attention.

It's a woman, and not some rough gang type. She looks like a kindergarten teacher, and she's staring at me wide-eyed, lips parted. She isn't tied up. Surely she'll want to help me?

I stare straight at her and try my very best to yell words.

Help! These fucking bastards kidnapped me!

I yell and struggle, but she just watches. Jacob points at me and snaps, “See this? It’s the wrong girl! They fucked it up, Gabriel. Those fucking morons took the wrong girl!”

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