Page 14 of Savage Sin

I see men in black carting off one woman and then another.

“Where are they taking them?” I smack at the back of a blonde head, but he’s not answering.

I rear back and use the little strength I have and drive my knee into a solid chest. A grunt is all I get in return and a hard swat on my bare freaking ass.

“Stop that, or the next one will be twice as hard.” His voice is rough, like he smokes. So are his hands. He’s dressed in the same black top to bottom, so he has to be part of their group.

I grip the baggie between my teeth. Using my free hand, I grab for the ends of the clothes I’m wearing and tug, but there’s not much give in the material, so I can’t cover much.

I turn my head to see we are in a ship’s cargo bay. A hold. Whatever it is. Metal stairs are everywhere and men zigzag left and right. So I was right about a boat.

My fingers dig into a massive spread of muscles and leather. “We have to go back. Listen to me. Put me down.”

“Stay still or you are going to get us both killed. I don’t have enough bullets for all these…”

An animal of a man rounds the corner and he’s racing toward us and all I can do is stare into his beady, black holes for eyes.

Pull yourself together, Persi! The smarter thing to do is to use this man until I am out of here, so I stop fighting and start helping.

“Gun! Gun!” I scream and pound on leather. We whirl.Pop. Pop. Pop.

We turn again and my stomach riots against my insides at the sight of a man missing half a face.

Bullets slam into metal mere inches from my head, and I forget all about wanting to hurl up the zero contents of my stomach. A man in dingy jeans, a simple white shirt and a pissed off grimace for a face barrels out of a door, gun raised. At me. This is getting old real quick.

My throat locks up and I frantically pound again.

Whirl.

Pop.

I haul in air when a second goes by and I don’t feel fresh pain from a bullet. I pry my eyes to find my would-be shooter dead in a tumbled heap on the metal grate.

I don’t know if I should fight this man or thanking him. For now, I stop hitting him and point up when I see a patch of night sky through an opened bulkhead.

“There. Up there.” He tracks to where I am pointing.

“Got it.” My kidnapper slash rescuer—his title is still up for debate—makes a hard right, and suddenly we are moving up. One level and then another.

“Hey.” I bang my clenched fist against his back again. “Hey, I don’t feel so good.” My lips are moving. I think I’m making sense, but my ears tell me it’s a jumbled mess of slurred words. I can’t seem to make out the edges of my vision and those silver dots are back. I reach for my side and pull back a hand covered in blood.

“Hey, I’m going to pass out,” I try to warn, but again. Words are not my friend right now.

He takes the stairs two at a time with me slung over his shoulder. The faster he moves, the more sick I feel.

Flesh pulls and the ungodly amount of pain running through me threatens to pull me under.

We bust out of a door and then it’s all a big blur.

“It hurts,” I hear myself mumble and then the blackness takes over.

Four

Rage

I’ve stared at the back of my SUV for thirty minutes.

I know I’m being a coward by holding off on what comes next, but I didn’t have time to plan everything from A-Z. All my focus went into getting us the hell off that cargo ship before anyone stopped me or talked sense into my head. I’ve been a lot of things in my lifetime, but a piece of shit kidnapper isn’t one of them. Criminal, druggie, killer. Fuck, I’m not gonna deny any of that. It’s all in the blood and I haven’t met a person who can go against their DNA.

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