Vaughan’s dark blue eyes fell to mine and flashed with pain. He seemed to make the decision now as if it physically hurt him. Relaxing his shoulders he clicked on the safety and then released the gun so it slid around his finger and hung limply upside down. He stepped back into a more submissive stance and kept his eyes trained on me.
The guys behind Vaughan- both no older than eighteen or nineteen- took a step forward and detained him. One retrieved his gun and the other handcuffed his hands behind his back. A feeling like ice cold water doused my insides, coating my blood and drowning my lungs.
Real f-ing handcuffs. Not rope. Not plastic ties. Handcuffs.
Damn it.
“There’s a good girl,” the asshole behind me murmured close to my ear. His gun fell from my temple and after a few more agonizing moments he took a step back and released me. On his way, his obnoxiously deft, fast fingers nabbed my thin backpack straps and pulled them easily from my body. His rough fingers brushed against my lower back in an all too familiar gesture and I stifled a shudder of revulsion.
“Touch me again and I will murder you,” I warned in my most threatening growl.
This incited a low chuckle from him and my heart started hammering in my chest for an entirely different reason now. Fear was replaced with white, blinding anger; panic was replaced by clear purpose and compliance was easily substituted by a stubborn rebellion that raced and sprinted through my veins.
The bastard didn’t listen.
He grasped my hands that hung tight and fisted at my sides and with shocking gentleness pulled them behind my back. I felt the biting cold of the metal as he snapped the cuffs into place. My shoulders and biceps were already pulling against the restraints and I knew I needed to relax, or my arms would be completely useless by the time I could have access to them again.
“Walk,” the guy behind me ordered.
Vaughan didn’t move. And neither did I.
The guy behind me put his two hands on my shoulders, their size and strength completely eclipsing my seemingly petite frame by comparison. He gave me a mild push forward and warned, “Walk or I’ll carry you.”
And I was walking.
Vaughan was next to me in an instant. His shoulder brushed and bumped against mine as he made an effort to walk as close to me as he could while our arms were awkwardly tied behind our backs.
My attention fell to the forest floor. My body was now off balance and it took my full concentration to navigate the uneven terrain. And it was for this reason alone I saw one of the young gunmen stick out their foot and trip Vaughan.
He fell immediately forward and without the brace of hands to catch him, went down heavily. I stopped and gasped in outrage. He somehow managed to keep his head and face away from the ground, but his body bowed in the mud and I could physically feel his seething anger.
I paused to wait for him, to help share in his frustration and powerlessness, but the guy behind me urged me forward with another hand on the center of my back. “Keep moving,” he demanded.
I had no choice- at least in this moment- but to obey. But I did so slowly, very, very slowly. After I listened intently for Vaughan to struggle to his feet and when I was satisfied they were close behind us I turned my attention back to the path I was walking and the captor now at my side.
“That was on purpose,” I observed. “To separate us.”
“To separate you,” he confirmed.
I glanced over at him and took him in for the first time. He was as tall as any of the Parker brothers but more thickly built. Where Hendrix and Vaughan were lean, sculpted muscle, this guy was thick, bulking power. He shoulders were insanely wide and his biceps and forearms seemed to bulge with unquestionable strength. He was obviously well fed- not that he was fat, he was the opposite of that, but only a steady supply of nutrition and protein could accomplish a physical form like that in today’s day and age. He had a dark, thick mop of wavy hair that was kept shortly cut and styled.
His face was cleanly shaven and showed off a strong jaw, angled cheek bones and thick, black lashes. His nose was the only imperfect feature on his face, crooked and with a notch at the top that signaled he had broken it at least once. He was gorgeous.
And that surprised me.
But in the kind of way that made me sick to my stomach and want to vomit. Cold, distant, serial-killer kind of beautiful. It was hard to reconcile. His looks were just obviously perfect, but he had this effect…. like he was going to murder your puppies or cut out your heart and eat it.
“Where are you taking us?” I asked in a level voice. For some reason knowing he was beautiful made me relax some. It shouldn’t have, especially since nothing outside of his physical features was reassuring, but I calmed a little anyway.