With his gaze locked on the exposed apex of her legs, he didn’t see her hand moving until it was too late.
She stabbed the rock into his eye.
Direct hit. But not enough strength. Instead of blood, she got his seething, roaring rage.
“Stupid bitch!” He clapped a hand over his eye and smacked the rock from her grip. “You’re going to pay for that.”
Teeth bared, he rose up and wrenched her jeans past her knees.
She kicked her legs and slapped at his face, but the struggle was clumsy and ineffective. She couldn’t stop him from opening his pants and crawling between her thighs.
He gripped her throat and flashed a manic smile. “Your cunt is mine.”
His face blurred, fading with the deprivation of air. Darkness closed in, and a loud ringing sounded in her ears.
Then a boom.
Paul’s head exploded, spraying the sky with blood, bits of bone, and brain matter.
He toppled to the side, and the pressure released from her throat.
Stunned, she gulped for oxygen, gripped her neck, and snapped her gaze toward the gray horizon, searching for the threat.
Someone had shot him. Killed him. Was it Tommy? Or the person who’d hired Paul?
She whimpered, heaving frenzied breaths, and fumbled to pull up her jeans.
The rev of an engine approached.
Splattered in blood and scared out of her mind, she moved. Muscle memory took over, her limbs bending and dragging her body across the sand.
The cave. She could hide in the narrow hole.
Tires crunched behind her, shoving her panic into the red zone. Her vision began to fade, but she could still hear.
Footsteps.
A slow gait.
Chasing her.
“Please.” She cried, crawling on her stomach, desperate to get away. “Please, don’t.”
She didn’t know when she’d stopped moving, but her arms wouldn’t work anymore. She continued to fight, mentally reaching for the cave, willing herself to become invisible.
Hands gripped her back and legs, and she flinched, crying harder. Arms lifted her, and she glimpsed a whiskered jaw. A flash of light brown hair.
Her eyes shut, her face pressed against a warm neck. “Tommy?”
He was walking, the sand grinding noisily beneath his steps. But his breaths were louder, sawing in and out next to her ear.
“Hate you.” Her limbs weighed a thousand pounds. Everything hurt.
He laid her on a soft bench seat, and she blinked, trying to adjust her foggy vision.
A dashboard. Air vents. Condensation. Beads of it clinging to the plastic. She was in her truck.
Reaching out, she tried to collect those precious drops. But her movements were uncoordinated, the effort too great.
He bent over her, his body heat invading, too close, too much.
Until a trickle of water ran over her lips. The incredible taste startled her. She choked, lapped at it greedily, and tried to grab the source.
He yanked the bottle away and tossed it into the back of the truck.
“Please. Need more.” She was fading. Dying.
He slammed the door shut.
CHAPTER 8
The woman passed out. Just as well. Tomas was in no mood to listen to her crying.
The risks he’d taken with her life had been necessary. Not everyone would see it that way, but when it came to his friends, he would accept their anger and disappointment over needlessly putting their lives in harm’s way.
Rylee Sutton was a threat. Well, she had been a threat. Now he didn’t know what she was.
Most people wouldn’t last a day out here. The fact that she’d survived without his interference was shocking. He’d watched her like a hawk and skipped sleep, waiting for her to give up or do something stupid like fall into a nest of rattlesnakes.
With the windows rolled down, he navigated her truck across the uneven terrain, holding her head on his lap to prevent it from bouncing.
Sand and blood stiffened her hair, her clothes saturated in grime. Her complexion was too pale for this climate, ephemeral beyond any hope of tanning. Yet the smooth alabaster glow complimented her dark lashes, wing-tipped brows, and long hair. Wild ribbons of brown hung past her breasts, the color as rich and variegated as spalted sweetgum.
Her nose was too delicate, her bones too slender, and her cheeks too silky to have been exposed to the harsh sun. And her mouth… Those lips were far too pouty for his liking. They made a man want to taste and bruise and test how far they stretched around a hungry cock.
Underneath the gore and desert grit, she was outrageously beautiful. A goddamn knockout.
And when she was at her weakest, he’d left her alone with a rapist.
“Fuck!” He slammed a hand against the steering wheel, boiling with anger.
At himself.
At the bastard who’d touched her.
At the fucking shitstorm that had blown into his life.
For the next thirty miles, he forced his eyes on the unpaved wasteland, trying to ignore the guilt and resentment that rode him.
When his childhood home finally came into view, he approached slowly, surveying the property for intruders. Everything appeared in order. Except…