Page 1 of Going Rogue
CHAPTER 1
Rogue
The metallic taste of blood coated Rogan “Rogue” Shaw’s tongue, mixing with salt from her sweat as she leaned her head back against the abrasive cell wall. Jagged points made by uneven crevices worn into the sand-colored brick pulled at her light blonde hair, but she didn’t feel the sting. Blood dripped down her chin from the split in her lower lip. She swiped at it, and a white-hot determination flooded her system, reddening her tanned face in the dry summer heat.
None of it showed in her expression, though. There, she appeared defeated—ready to submit to whatever demands they made on her. But it was an act. One shehoped would make her captors let down their guard. At least enough for her to escape.
Because shewouldbe getting out of here. The only question waswhen.
Shifting to find a more comfortable seat on the packed dirt floor, Rogue pulled her cargo-clad legs into her chest. She had a solid plan. She just needed events to fall into place; then, she’d be free. Preferably before another one of those ignorant fucks tried to have their way with her—again.
Rogue barely contained the growl rising up her throat. No matter that she’d have been happy to leave her V-card behind a long time ago, this wasn’t how she intended to lose it.
Nor did she intend to die in this prison cell.
The little family she had left might not understand why she’d put herself in a position to be captured in the first place, but if she didn’t make it home, they’d mourn her loss. Or, at least, she hoped they would.
She didn’t fight to stay alive for them. She did it for herself. For the life she’d barely had the chance to live yet.
Thinking about the attack, she gently touched a knuckle to her lip and had to hide a wince. It came away red with her blood. The sight added fuel to the promise she’d already made. The bastard who’d come at her would be the first to die. She’d already bruised his balls, but he had a whole other level of pain coming for him when her hands were unbound.
Lowering them between her pulled-up knees, she tugged her wrists apart, but they barely moved. The asshole who’d tied them knew how to knot a fucking rope.
With brown eyes blazing, she glared down at it. The knot wasn’t a complex Navy one. Those she knew from her time in the service and could’ve easily undone. Bending her head, she tugged at the rope with her teeth, which only made the fibers cut into her skin. The abrasive material rubbed across the slash in her lip, making her hiss. Anger at her situation had her pulling against the binding until it carved blood-red marks around her wrists.
She’d left the military because she’d been tired of sitting on the sidelines whileoperators carried out the missionsshe’dplanned.
Look where it got you.
The knot didn’t lessen; it held tight as fuck. Undoing it would take time. Time Rogan wasn’t sure she had.
A scuffle sounded in the hall as if to prove her point, and her whole body tensed for a fight. It had only been a half hour since the last man left. She’d hoped for a longer break before she had to defend herself again.
Adrenaline coursed through her veins, pumping so fast her heart galloped like a prized filly about to cross the finish line. Despite her best efforts to appear docile and calm, she had to be visibly vibrating.
Dropping her head to her knees, she hoped it looked like she sobbed quietly, not like she chomped at the bit to bite one of those mother-fucking militants’ heads off. Because she did.
“Rogue?” Her gaze whipped up at the whispered word.
Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot?
“Crane?” She knew the man who stood outside her cell from his voice alone. Therichness of his tone never failed to strike a chord within her body, stirring something she’d rather not examine too closely.
Jumping to her feet, Rogue stared into the familiar caramel eyes attached to the baritone. It didn’t matter that a tan balaclava covered his face. Underneath it, his close-cropped hair would be black as night, and his cheekbones sharp. The fabric outlined the square cut of his jaw but hid the cleft in his chin, where a small scar ran diagonally across it.
She took in his tan boots, desert camo cargo pants, and khaki t-shirt covered by his black tactical vest. He’d worn the same outfit the last time she saw him. “What are you doing here?”
Instead of answering, his golden-brown eyes swept her face and went tight. “Step back,” he growled in a low manner which made her react without thinking.
From the far wall of her cell, Rogue watched him pack the lock on her door with C-4. Knowing it would make a hell of a noise and draw too much attention, she opened her mouth and hissed, “They’ll hear that allthe way to Syria, dumbass.”
He merely grinned. “Nice to see your time here hasn’t sweetened you up.”
Before she could retort, a distant explosion rumbled through the cell walls.
“And that’s our cue, squirrel.”
She rolled her eyes at the nickname. It was short for ‘secret squirrel’ due to her background in intelligence. She hated it, and he knew it.
