Page 65 of The Stolen Princess
“Myka!” Drake called behind her.
She didn’t turn around to see where he was, but the sound of his voice said he was close—close enough that she probably wasn’t going to make it. She pushed herself harder, willing her legs to move faster as she ducked and slapped at the branches in front of her. Her toe caught on a root, and her body flew forward. She landed on her stomach, the air inside of her slamming out of her chest. She tried sucking in or breathing out, but it was like her lungs didn’t work anymore. Her fingers dug into the dirt as she tried to crawl forward.
Drake fell on top of her, flattening her to the ground again, bringing her lungs back to life. She gasped for air as she wrestled under his body, but he was too strong. He pinned her arms to the ground, and his large body held hers down. Her face fell into the dirt, and the bed of twigs and pine needles pressed against her cheek. They stayed in that position for a moment, both of them breathing heavily.
“Get up,” he growled in her ear as he pulled his body off of hers.
She sucked in one more breath before pushing herself off the ground. Drake grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. She searched his brown eyes for what the consequence would be for trying to hurt him, for trying to escape. Whatever it was, she would face it. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her cower. His flinty eyes dug into her, and his jaw flexed and tightened as he breathed up and down. Slowly he brought his other hand up to her cheek and wiped away a leaf that had stuck to her skin. She stiffened as his fingers skimmed her face. She didn’t like the feel of his touch. It was too intimate. Too warm. Too soft.
Her heart pounded inside of her chest but it was hard to know if the cause was Drake’s close proximity or the fact that Myka had just run a fifty-yard sprint. Something told her it had to do with Drake.
Myka’s gaze went to his shoulder, where the metal stuck out of it. The small weapon looked tiny poking out of Drake’s shoulder. It seemed silly now. Something that small was never going to do any real damage, but she had to try. He pulled the bent metal out of his shoulder and threw it to the ground. Blood bubbled up and ran into the edge of his shirt.
“Let’s go,” he said as he pushed her forward toward the shack.
That’s it? That was all he was going to do to her? She’d just tried to stab him in the neck—tried—and he wasn’t going to punish her? She’d been expecting more, and the fact that Drake hadn’t laid a harsh finger on her twisted her up inside. The sting of a slap across the cheek might have been better than this twisty feeling.
They walked back in silence, which wasn’t that surprising. What do you talk about after an attempted neck stabbing?
The topics were limited.
Her plan hadn’t worked, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try again. She would find another way to escape.
She had to.
Drake was the enemy. That’s what she told herself.
16
Drake
Drake slammed the medic kit down on the table in front of him. He should have cleaned the wound up last night right after Myka had stabbed him, but he hadn’t wanted to give her the satisfaction that her escape attempt had actually been worth it. His stubborn pride probably would lead to an infection from the rust on Myka’s weapon. He glanced at her and the other four men sitting around the fire behind him, watching him as they ate their breakfast.
“I can’t believe you stabbed him,” Dawsick laughed.
“Hopefully, you’re next,” Myka muttered.
“I’m not as stupid as Drake is. I wouldn’t turn my back to my prisoner.”
“She was going to the bathroom.” Drake scoffed. “Of course, I turned my back to her.”
“I still wouldn’t turn my back,” Dawsick said, winking at Myka.
Winking? What self-respecting man winked?
Myka’s face frowned in disgust. “Don’t wink at me again, or it won’t matter that you wouldn’t turn around because I’ll stab you in your stupid, winking eye.”
Drake wasn’t going to smile. He was mad at Myka, and it didn’t matter how much he completely loved her remark to Dawsick. He was mad, and he intended to stay mad.
He had been stupid. For some reason, he had thought he and Myka had a good relationship. Granted, he had kidnapped her, but he had assumed that Myka knew deep down in her heart that he was a good guy—not a kidnapping guy. But the stabbing proved she didn’t know that. How could she? She didn’t know that Drake had been against the kidnapping from the start. She didn’t know that he hated every second of tying her up. All she saw was the version of him that had to make sure she didn’t escape. Could he really blame her for trying to stab him?
He looked at the medical supplies in front of him, grabbing some antiseptic and a bandage. He pulled the collar of his shirt aside and dropped his chin and his eyes so he could see his shoulder.
“Would you like some help?” Myka asked in her sweetest voice, trying to irritate him further.
“Not from you,” he said as he cleaned up his shoulder.
“Oh, okay.” She turned to look at Dawsick. “Hey Dawsick, Drake needs your help to bandage his shoulder.”
