Truth was, she had been. Until he’d threatened to burn her dad’s sweater. It was kind of humiliating that was the reason she’d stopped things. Not her finest moment.
“Who are you? What are you doing here? Who sent you here? Is there anyone with you?” The questions came firing out of Wild Man’s mouth.
She just stared at him, her mouth slightly open. What to tell them? What to answer first? Wait, no. She couldn’t answer any of them. If she answered any of their questions it could get back to her brother.
Sure, these guys had a fucking big castle, but, from the state it was in, she was guessing they were low on funds. What if they decided to ransom her? Would Carlin even pay for her freedom? Or thank his lucky stars she was no longer his problem?
She wasn’t entirely sure.
Everyone knew who Carlin was. She couldn’t drag him into this. It would get bloody. Fast.
And for some idiotic reason she didn’t want
these guys to die. She already felt kind of bad for knocking Mr. Hottie unconscious.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not telling you a fucking thing.”
Wild Man smiled. It wasn’t pretty.
“Oh, you will. You definitely will.”
Fear filled her at his words. That’s what she’d later blame her inattention on. Because she didn’t even have time to scream before he struck. Two big leaps and he tackled her. She slammed into the hard floor—would it kill them to invest in some carpet—the wind completely knocked out of her as her teeth crunched together, biting down hard on her tongue.
Oh, fuck.
Dazed, she struggled to take in a breath, panic filling her. Rough hands pulled at her clothing. Oh, God, they were going to rape her.
Shit. Fuck.
Maybe it would be a blessing if she passed out from lack of oxygen before that happened. Then she gasped. Air entered her lungs. Adrenaline spiked then disappeared in a rush, leaving her feeling bruised, broken. And naked.
She gaped at herself then over at the wild man who threw her jeans to one side.
He’d fucking stripped her while she’d been fighting for breath, thinking she was going to die. Now he stood over her, staring down at her semi-naked state. At least he’d left her panties and bra on. And he didn’t seem interested in taking off his own clothes. That had to be a positive, right?
You’re nearly naked, Gigi. None of that is a positive.
“You cocksucking asshole,” she croaked. “Give me back my fucking clothes.”
He grinned again. Oh, she really wished he’d stopped doing that. It was a damn scary sight.
“No.”
Fear flooded her. Was he going to use rape to get her to talk?
Terror made her shake, and he narrowed his gaze, reaching for her. She struck. She wasn’t going down without a fight. She wasn’t going to just let him hurt her. She wished to God she’d made her brother teach her self-defense now.
She slammed her fist into his face, and he rocked back a step. More out of shock, she was guessing, than because she’d managed to hurt him. She stood and turned, ready to race out of the room, then slammed into Mr. GQ.
Reaching out, he grasped hold of her arms, holding her steady. She looked into those calm, fathomless eyes and knew she was toast.
“You’re going nowhere,” he told her.
She drew back her foot and then slammed her knee up, driving it into his balls.
His eyes popped open, and his face grew white. Then he let out a low, pained groan before slumping to the floor. Holy shit. It worked.
She didn’t have time to wonder at her good luck. She took a step back then turned once more towards the door. She could do this. Suddenly she found herself in the air. She was slammed down on a wide shoulder, her breath leaving her in a whoosh.