Page 5 of Ensnared

Survivaltip #12

Laughlines can be deceptive.

Sure, maybe this person is good humored and trustworthy.

Butmaybe they laugh while they dismember corpses.

Exercisecaution.

Thesecond shot has me back on my feet, iodine and pretty doctors be darned.Theground is especially harsh against my now-bare wound.Thethree men tower beside me, still arguing among themselves.Thelarge man’s dark eyebrows are slanted in anger over his caramel eyes.Dom.Hisshort military cut is longer on top, and his broad shoulders flex as he gestures.

WhileI’mnot sure whatI’vedone to warrant the frustration in his eyes,Ido agree with him on one point: it’s time to go.

Igingerly put weight on my leg, scanning the clearing for the best exit or a place to hide.Atthis point,I’mwondering if jumping in the river and praying would be my best option.Igrit my teeth and turn south, notquitewilling to risk the rapid, icy water—not yet—butI’llneed to be quick to make up the timeI’velost.

Ihave to force my trembling legs to action; they beg me to stay seated.

“Woah, darlin’, slow down.”Beauclasps my uninjured arm.Hishand wraps around my whole bicep.

Thehard planes of his face are cleanly attractive, his jaw squared.Lightlaugh lines branch from the corners of his hazel eyes, somehow relaxing me, just a little.Howlong has it been sinceIlaughed?Howoften does this man do it for it to mark his face?

“Ihave to go,”Irepeat, more insistent this time.

Ican hear them clearly now; the cracks of branches and their shouts are way too close.But... he’s been kind to me.Darnit, why aren’t they running too?Guiltand indecision make me pause again, even asIcurse myself.Thisisn’t howIkeep myself alive.Dumpthem and go—cold as it is,Ican’t help thinkingDomis right about the sentiment.

“Thereare too many of them.”I’mdangerously close to begging. “Justrun.Go.”

Beauconsiders me. “Howmany?”

Itug, trying to pull my arm away, but he holds fast.

“Tellme how many, darlin’.”

Thequiet command in his voice has me impatiently answering beforeIcan think. “Fifteen?Twenty?Idon’t know.”

Thelong-haired one with the wicked smile—Lucky?Lucien?—groans. “Twenty?Sweetheart, there are a lot of wordsIwant to hear come out of that mouth, but that’s not one of them.”

Ishoot him a level look, not enjoying his flippancy.Hewinks at me.

Anothershot echoes through the forest.

“Toolate to run now,”Beausays, sounding unfazed. “Dom?”

“Therewas a ledge on our way down the mountain, two klicks northwest.”Domcasts a quick, irritated look at me. “Takeher, then.Butonly until this is sorted.Thenwe’ll talk.”

BeforeI’vepuzzled that out,I’mbeing swung bridal style intoBeau’sarms.Ilet out an embarrassing yelp. “Whatare you doing?Putme down!”

“Hush.”Hisslight smile gentles the word. “Youcan’t run; let us help.”

Alarmshoots through me, andIdostruggle then. “Youcan’tfightthem.”

Allof my efforts barely seem to register.Hesimply tightens his arms, holding me against his hard chest.

“They’lltrack us.Youcan’t.”

Luckylaughs. “Justwait and see, beautiful.Didn’tanyone ever tell you to have some faith in people?”

Mymouth tightens.I’vealways been a lot of things—smart, polite, kind—but never beautiful.Andfaith?Ifpeople were as good as he says, thenIwouldn’t have needed to run until my feet bled.

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