Page 3 of Entangled

“...need to get it soon...”

“...can’t get in there...”

“...don’t care. I’ll kill...”

At the last, I shiver. No. I won’t be begging them for mercy any time soon.

The three men disappear between branches, and we wait, poised and ready, for several minutes before Sam relaxes. When he stands, he shoves down on the back of my head to help himself up. It makes my whole middle section cramp, but I bite down to hide a sob.

“Get up.”

I try to move, I do, but my legs just... won’t. They’re puddles, and no matter how I will them to return to flesh and bone, I can’t make them support me. I’m already cringing when Sam hauls me up by the rope at my wrists, and there’s no way I can hide the screech that leaves me then. My hands feel like ripe cysts, hot and pus-filled and swollen to bursting.

“Getup!” he snaps again, dangling me by my hands.

Black dots pepper my vision, and my feet scramble uselessly under me, my knees too liquid to lock into place. I whimper, ready for him to hit me again. This isn’t part of my plan. I’m meant to keep it together until I can find an opportunity to escape, but my body won’t obey.

Then I’m wrenched backwards against a man’s hard chest. His bitter sweat mixes with mine, and he holds me up, bringing his other arm around rapidly to catch Sam’s gun before he can fire.

“Mierda! Stop, asshole. It’s me.”

I spot the coiled snake tattoo on the hand wrapped around my middle. He’s one of them. A hunter. My stomach sinks.

“Mateo?” Sam pulls back, dropping his weapon. “Are you stupid? Why did you grab her? I almost shot you.”

Mateo snorts. “You’ll have to be quicker than that.” His low, accented voice takes on an edge. “You’re lucky I didn’t shootyou. Alastair told you after last time, he doesn’t like it when you hurt thechicas.”

Sam shoves his gun in its holster with too much force. He’s a grown man, with a shock of white hair, a sharply cut salt-and-pepper beard, and lines at the corners of his eyes, but the way his lip juts out is almost a pout. “Alastair can back off. He does whatIsay.”

“Whatever you say,” Mateo replies, sounding amused. He lowers his hands to my hips to steady me, and I stiffen. “Hey hey, I won’t hurt you. Can you stand?”

I test my feet and find I can, so I push away from him, turning so I can keep them both in view. Mateo has a gentle, angelic face, all soft curves and rich brown skin. But I don’t trust it. The way he stands, the lazy tension in it, reminds me of my brutes—it speaks of training, and confidence.

That makes him dangerous.

He laughs under his breath as I eye him. “You’re a smart one, pretty lady. You’re a smart one.”

Quicker than I blink, he whips out a knife. I can’t help my flinch, but I set my shoulders and try to stay calm. He just stopped Sam from hurting me—whoever this Alastair is, Mateo seems to be following his orders. Orders that apparently include not hurting women. Making a quick, nervous decision, I lift my chin and hold up my wrists, meeting his eyes.

Mateo smiles and, just as quick as he pulled out the knife, he slices through the rope at the join between my hands. He doesn’t even nick the skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sam explodes, but I barely hear him. Blood rushes back into my palms, my fingers, it oozes from my wrists, and I sob through gritted teeth, squeezing my eyes closed as I wait for the worst of the shock of pain to ease. Breathing hard through my nose, I slowly bring myself under control.

Sam shoves himself into Mateo’s face. He’s taller, older, and heavy-set, and Mateo looks almost cherubic beside him, except for the irritated wrinkle in his forehead and that lazy preparedness.

“Get out of my face. Tying her hands won’t stop her running away, you know? Unless you’re afraid she’s going to attack you? Bitty thing like her and all banged up? I think she could take you!” Mateo mock gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. Then he rolls his eyes. “You want her to walk, she’ll walk. She doesn’t need to bleed to do that, does she?”

I glance at the trees behind me but abandon the idea of making a run for it before it fully forms. I’m in no state to even try. Mateo catches the glance and how I stay put and smirks again. I lean surreptitiously against a tree and take a moment to collect myself, working my fingers as gently as I can to try and get some movement into them.

Sam spares a glare for me, then another for Mateo, but he edges back and crosses his arms as he sneers. “If I want her tied, then I’ll tie her. Don’t forget, Mateo, I can have my boys kick you and your boyfriend out of base camp before you can grab your green card.”

“Ay. Homophobiaandracism, no wonder you were voted president.” Mateo steps into Sam’s space again, and I’m not finding him so cherubic anymore. “Come back to the group with me,presidente. I wonder if you’re still so popular after you got half ofyour boyskilled.”

A muscle flexes in Sam’s tanned, gray-flecked jaw, and I see his Adam’s apple work. I’m sluggish following the exchange, but I do see his uncertainty. It makes a nice change from his usual brash, blind rage. Sam’s not sure of his men. I file that detail away; I’ll think on it more when I rememberhowto think. If I can just get some sleep—lying down, not chained against a tree—maybe my brain will restart.

Awareness prickles at the back of my neck, and I glance around at the trees. Nothing moves, even as the feeling of being watched grows.

“What are you doing anyway? Why aren’t you back at base?” Sam asks irritably, changing the subject with zero subtlety.

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