Page 3 of Damned
Chapter Two
He doesn’t remember me.After all this time, he’s forgotten that night in Paris.The revelation shouldn’t hurt, but it did. Of all the men in the entire United States who could’ve been sent to rescue her, why on Earth did it have to be Kruze Sinclair? Not that Bree cared. He’d certainly had no trouble leaving her before, and she’d bet her bottom dollar, he’d do it again.
Her teeth chattered. She couldn’t catch her breath. Couldn’t think clearly, not with full-fledged terror stuck in her throat like an entire Thanksgiving meal, chestnut dressing included. Nothing had gone as she’d expected once she’d crossed from Iraq into Turkey. And now this guy. Why’d it have to be Kruze Sinclair? Why here? Why now?
Not that it mattered. Neither did it matter that he was still as thick, solid, and heavy as she remembered. She was just thankful to be away from the heathens who’d imprisoned her the last two horrible months. The friendly translator she and her Turkish companion Mehmet had hired before their journey into Turkey had lied. These men weren’t the Kurds she’d thought she’d arranged to speak with at all. They were vicious, ugly, despicable thugs, rebels who’d instantly demeaned her and had taken Bree and her companion prisoner. They’d stolen her equipment, sat phones, tablets, and cameras, too. She had no idea where her small duffle of extra clothes, cosmetics, and shoes went.
One pair of the dozen extra-soft, extra-warm socks she’d bought in New York City—just one—was all Bree wanted. Her bare feet were wet, cold, and dirty, had been since the rain two days ago, and she was sick. Her chest burned with congestion, her heart hurt, and her body ached from head to toe. The get-up she wore made her condition worse. It was nothing but thin rags layered over thinner rags, some other woman’s castoffs, not meant to keep her warm. They’d stunk when she’d been forced to put them on; they stank worse now. Bree couldn’t help it; she shivered. She’d been cold and dirty for so long.
It was hard not to inhale the pheromones drifting off the larger-than-life body poised over her. She was trapped, crammed into a deep, frozen rut, with a steaming-hot male body holding her down. He’d smelled of cedar and spice aftershave, and sex then. He smelled of clean sweat and frigid air now, both somehow the epitome of Kruze Sinclair. The intimate scent took her back to that single night of passion almost four years ago. She’d adored everything about him then. Until the sun came up…
Bree shook off her foolish trip down memory lane. There was no sense feeling worse than she already did. “Where’s everyone else?” she asked the almighty, taciturn savior she’d known in a different lifetime.
Of course, he didn’t answer. Bree wanted to dig her fingers into that thick beard and force him to look down at her, to really see who he’d rescued. But she’d been fighting for her life for so long, she didn’t have any fight left. All Bree could see of him now was a small portion of his neck and the underside of his whiskered chin. He’d looked different the night they’d been together, but he’d grown a thick beard since. A light-gray, woolen pashmina, one she’d give anything to borrow, draped his thick, muscular neck, the kind of neck a man developed after packing plenty of heavy loads. Once upon a long mistake ago, she’d kissed that neck. They’d played like lovers in the bed and shower, on the balcony. What she wouldn’t give to change the morning after.
Tonight, his shirt and pants were camouflage OD green, black, and brown. His dirty padded jacket was the same. She knew he was former military, but he wasn’t a SEAL. Couldn’t be.Theywere nice.
When he’d first slid down those rocks and greeted the rebels audaciously like he had, she’d been impressed. But Bree hadn’t recognized him then. She’d been too afraid he was just another one of the rebels, maybe their lookout. He certainly hadn’t acted any better, and he’d greeted them as if he’d known them. Even when they’d started shooting and he’d tossed her over his shoulder, she’d assumed he was just another jerk, dragging her off to kill or rape her. Not to hide her or save her.
She’d lived under the fear of death and rape for sixty-three long days and nights now, and this guy was as wild and fierce as the others. Only when he’d forced her to crawl under the jeep had she realized he wasn’t going to hurt her. He’d already done enough of that in Paris.
“When I tell you to run, Princess, roll your ass out from under here and get behind that boulder,” Kruze growled, his voice tight, as if he didn’t want to waste time talking to her.
That made no sense. Why should he be disgusted with an American he’d obviously been sent to rescue? Did he know who she was? Had he recognized her? Was that why the disdain?
“Most everyone’s back in camp,” he continued in a nasty tone. “These guys are hungry, and they’re tired, but they’re also pissed you got away. Once you’re behind the boulder, stay put. I’ll be right behind you.”
Bree had read the article how SEAL Team Six had rescued that American woman from Somali pirates years ago. Those SEALs had all been kind, sweet, and overly protective of her. They’d laid down their lives for her, and they’d treated her with the utmost respect. Why couldn’t Kruze act more like them?
“Did you hear me, Princess?” he snapped, his angry breath a quick huff of frozen vapor in her face.
“Yes, yes, s-s-sir.” Trying to be brave, she informed Kruze that, “I’m not a princess. D-d-don’t you remember—?”
“Kee-rist! I don’t care who you think you are. There’s still a couple assholes searching that side of the canyon.” He heaved his heavy body off hers. “They’re going west. We’re going east. Now go! Run!”
“Important? Me? No, not me. I’m just—" Bree intended to tell him they’d met before in Paris, and that she was too sick and injured to walk, much less run.
“Move your ass, gawddamnit! Do what I said! Now! Run!”
Oh, Lord, okay then.Propelled by so much unexpected vehemence, Bree sucked in a breath and scurried out from under the vehicle to her knees. In the process, she scraped her backbone on the jeep’s undercarriage when she lifted prematurely to her feet.Ouch, that hurt!But what were a few more bruises and scrapes after all she’d lived through? Lifting her ragged excuse of a skirt, she ran like the wind. Rather, she stumbled over the debris left by the slide, over rocks and through the rutted road, to where her grumpy savior had ordered her to go.
Amazing. The boulder was as big as a house. It could’ve killed her and Kruze, too. By then, Bree had enough fear in her heart to power a freight train. If only she could stop shaking. If only Kruze wasn’t such an ass.
Feeling her way to the gargantuan rock, Bree didn’t crouch to her knees until she was hidden in shadows as dark and cold as what she imagined the other side of the moon was like. To be without light or sunshine was her worst fear. But to be caught and put back into that pit, in that horrible, narrow hole at the rebel camp…
Dear Lord, no. Don’t let them do that to me again.
With her heart beating out of sync and frantically whacking her ribs like an unbalanced bongo, Bree knelt and bowed her head to the massive stone, not in homage, but in relief. For days now, she’d eaten nothing but camp scraps, and she’d had to fight the rebels’ dogs for those meager offerings. She hadn’t been given more than a small, eight-ounce bottled water each morning, and had had to make it last the day.
Bree was beyond weak. Something was wrong with her heart, and the pinch in her empty stomach hurt worse every day. She honestly didn’t know how much longer she could last. Her fingernails were filthy and shredded from digging to escape that wretched hole. There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t scream for mercy, and she desperately needed a long, warm bath.
But her physical complaints were nothing compared to the abhorrent crime she’d witnessed. These rebels were unspeakably cruel, a trait she never would’ve ascribed to the Kurdish people. She now knew that these weren’t representative of the gentle Kurds. Instead, they were outlaws, a lawless gang of opportunists with no moral compass. They’d tortured Mehmet to death. Her American credentials and passport were the only items that saved her from the same demise, but even they were gone now. She couldn’t bear to think of what lay ahead if they recaptured her.
“Time to move, Princess.”
Oh, dear Lord!She nearly jumped out of her skin when Kruze appeared silently at her side. The big man dropped to one knee, his massive grip on her tender elbow tight and cruel. A large, sturdy canvas bag was strapped over one meaty shoulder, a short-stock rifle over his other.
“Don’t touch me!” Bree jerked out of his grasp, intent on setting boundaries right damned now. She refused to be treated badly, especially by another American. By Kruze Sinclair, the ass! She’d had enough!
