Page 7 of Damned
Shifting off his lap to his side, Banks leaned onto her hip and curled her feet beneath her. His dirty blanket folded along with her legs. “Are you sure you don’t mind? You won’t be embarrassed?”
The prettiest blush darkened hercheeks, and holy hell. For a split second, Kruze was transported to another time and place and… That same quirky feeling of déjà vu evaporated as quickly as it started. He didn’t know whether to shake his head or nod, so he settled for, “Navy SEALs aren’t afraid of anything.”
That earned him the briefest flash of acceptance. “Okay then.”
“Are you positive this can’t wait until after we eat?” he asked, suddenly flummoxed at what she might be asking. He did have a rep with the ladies, and to date, he’d never bedded one twice. Not that applying first-aid skills to this woman’s backside would lead to them hooking up, but… He was a pushover when it came to women. Most women. Did he dare take the chance?
Banks lifted to her knees, then her feet, and unzipped his jacket. “I can’t sit any longer, and it hurts when I walk. I just hope you can get every single piece out. Some of them are pretty small. You might need a magnifying glass.”
The damned Gore-Tex jacket was way too big on her. Kruze got that, but he wasn’t prepared when Banks lifted her ragged excuse for a skirt up, and…Holy Mother of God.His big mouth went dry and his jaw went slack. She was commando under that skirt. Naked. Yikes and gawddamn. Not a stitch of underwear covered her taut backside, which was probably good given the extent of injured skin Kruze was looking at.
His big brain re-engaged with a jolt. How the hell had she walked this far with so many open sores on her poor rump? Dried, bloody streaks led upward to several red, angry pockmarks that could only be from—ouch—embedded glass. The poor thing! More streaks lined the backs of her thighs and calves, all blackened trails of dried blood. The most serious pock marks were limited to the backs of her thighs and up high under the swells of her butt cheeks, but those poor cheeks.
“See what I mean?” she asked over her shoulder. “I got as many slivers out as I could, but I can’t reach these last bits, and they’re… they really hurt.”
He put a hand on her closest hip and pressed his thumb beside the swollen red mark. Judging by the heat of it and the size of the knot under her skin, it was infected. “You were running away when it happened?”
She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, pushing out a sigh. “No, I couldn’t get away. They kept me on a tight leash. Seriously. Whenever they let me out of the hole, they put a studded-leather collar around my neck, and one of the women always held the leash.” Bree lifted her hair to reveal the angry red circle around her neck that Kruze had noticed before. “They said I was an American dog. I’d barely turned my back to the fire, when the first bottle exploded. But then, it was like being in the middle of a firefight, only I couldn’t get away. Other people were hurt by flying glass, too, but they... they...”
“Let me guess. They helped their people, not you.”Gawddamn them.
“Something like that,” Banks murmured, her head down and her long, dirty tangles once more hiding her face.
Kruze saw through the reply. The arrogance he’d thought he’d seen before never existed. Banks was simply a proud woman in pain. She was embarrassed and thought herself defeated. Two months being held captive had no doubt brought more rude awakenings about her right to freely roam the world than Brianna Banks had ever imagined.
The men who owned these mountains could be barbaric in their treatment of women. There was no freedom of speech here, no entitlement, especially for a woman who’d grown up under the generosity of the red, white, and blue. Tribal chiefs were throwbacks to medieval warlords. They governed with iron fists, blood, and warfare. For the most part, they didn’t give a shit about inalienable rights, women’s rights, or anyone’s rights except their own. Oddly, their women seemed to accept their lowly stations in life. Most of them supported their leaders and husbands, even the cruel ones.
“When was this party?”
Banks pushed another breath through her pursed lips. “A couple days ago.”
“And you’ve been walking all this time?” Unbelievable.
Her head bobbed. “Yes. They were taking me to someone they call General Berfendi?”
“Berfende? Gawddamnit,” Kruze cussed, correcting that hard ‘e’ sound at the end of the bastard’s name, to a harder ‘a’. “Berfende’s an ass. He’s been leading these rebels’ fight against Turkish soldiers and their own people for years. He’s a sadistic bastard who has no problem killing women and children if it gets him what he wants. We need to be gone as quick as possible.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, please. I’d very much like that. But first—”
“I’m sure sorry. I didn’t know how much pain you were in before,” Kruze told Banks sincerely. “I wouldn’t have been so rough carrying you if I’d known.”And I sure wouldn’t have had my hand on your ass all the way up this mountain.
“I tried to tell you.” There went that sad lip again. This woman was quickly working his last line of defense. Like he’d had one to begin with.
Kruze stared up into an elegantly cute, but pale face, that seemed to grow more beautiful by the minute. And oddly familiar, damn it. But there was no way he’d ever met a woman from New York City before. He would’ve remembered.
“Okay, let’s get started.” Hurriedly, he dragged his first-aid kit out of his gear bag and flicked the lid open with his thumb. It took a minute to organize what few supplies he’d need on the open lid: an array of cotton swabs, sterile gauze, hand-sized antiseptic wipes for her, a larger set to disinfect his hands, plastic-wrapped sterile gloves, long-nosed tweezers also wrapped in plastic, and an empty plastic bag which he shook out and set aside for garbage.
He tossed the package of hand-sized wipes to Banks and told her, “Wash up. I tried, but I might’ve missed a few places. Feel free to use as many as you need.”
His ten thousand Lumen LED headlight lamp came out of his bag next. Fitting the strap snug over and around his forehead, he arranged the beam of tiny focused light where he needed it, to locate every last sliver of glass in that backside.
“Would you rather lie down, kneel, or stand while we do this?” Kruze asked when he was finished prepping, his voice gone uncommonly hoarse at what he had to do next.
“I don’t think I’m strong enough to stand while you—” Banks nodded her chin at the supplies he’d gathered. “—you know. Do that.”
Rearranging the blanket that slipped off when she’d stood, he patted it and said, “Put my jacket back on and lie down. I’d cover you with a drape if I had one. You need to keep warm, and I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“Having my bare ass hanging out is the least of my worries,” Banks breathed. “I’m just glad you’re willing to help.”
“Of course.” Kruze ripped one pack of the larger wipes open and began cleaning his fingers, under his fingernails, his hands, and forearms up to his elbows. He opened the pre-packaged tools he’d need next.
By then, Banks had demurred, put her skirt down, and knelt like a servant at his knees. “I really appreciate this, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Please, I’m just Kruze, and I’ll call you—?”
“Bree would be nice.”
“Bree? Really? I knew a Bree once. A long time ago. Small world. Ready?”
She settled flat onto her stomach. “I am if you are.”
