by Pam Godwin
The lantern’s dim light helped her navigate the uneven terrain. She didn’t have a plan beyond the imperative to be in that vehicle when it left.
Halfway there, a startling, ear-splitting bang ricocheted through her skull. Gravel sprayed beside her boots, and she screamed, staggering backward and falling on her butt.
For a moment, she thought he’d shot her. But the sudden pain in her chest was just her heart ramming against her ribs.
“Have you lost your mind?” she roared, swinging the lantern toward him. “If you don’t want me to approach, use your fucking words, not a—”
The light snagged on a long, scaly body beside her. Four feet in length, a diamondback rattlesnake lay unmoving, bleeding from the head.
“Oh, my God.” She scrambled to her feet, tripping over a deep crack to get away from it. “Fucking shit. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Her breathing rampaged as full-body tremors robbed her balance. That venomous thing had been right next to her! And he’d shot it with impossible accuracy.
He’d saved her life.
Maybe she should thank him.
Should she thank him for chaining her in the desert, too?
Fuck that.
“Where’s my shotgun?” She thrust the lantern out before her.
“Afraid of snakes?”
“Well, I’m not fucking friends with them.”
“Who are you friends with?”
“Just you, as crazy as that sounds.” She staggered the remaining few paces to the tailgate.
“You’re a stranger. That’s a long way from friend.”
“Give me my shotgun.”
“So you can shoot me?”
“So I can defend myself against things like that.” She pointed at the dead snake.
“No.” He hadn’t shifted from his sprawled position, the hat still dipping over his eyes. But a handgun now rested on his lap.
He didn’t move the gun or the water out of her reach. But she wasn’t stupid. If she went for either, he would stop her, and he wouldn’t be gentle about it.
Instead, she focused on the view.
The lantern’s glow picked out the contoured muscles of his legs and accentuated his trim waist, V-shaped torso, and broad shoulders. Sun-bronzed skin sheathed his biceps and forearms, emphasizing the flex of sinewy strength.
He wore snug jeans, a faded t-shirt, and the rugged hat and boots. The shirt rode up, and the denim rode low, drawing her gaze to the thin strip of brown hair that disappeared beneath his fly.
She swallowed hard and moved the light higher, capturing the arrogant cut of his jaw, the bold line of his nose, and the cruel taunt of chiseled lips.
As fate would have it, he was astoundingly, inconceivably gorgeous. Even with his face etched in godlike fury, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. But she wasn’t besotted into thinking that was all he was.
This virile, handsome devil was a dangerous vigilante and killer. He was also a sexual deviant, a kinky freak with an insatiable appetite, who’d lured hundreds of unsuspecting women into his bed.
He’d written about his explorations, and she’d devoured the tantalizing words with flushed cheeks and quivering breaths. She’d also noticed a disturbing progression of depravity over the years, his cravings growing darker, bolder, more painful, veering into dubious territory.
She wasn’t a guileless victim. But she was curious enough to slowly reach out and lift the brim of his cowboy hat.
Their stares caught and held, transfixed as the atmosphere shuddered between them. Crackling energy. Red-hot voltage. She felt it everywhere, curling fingers of warmth into parts of her he would never physically touch. He would never try because what she saw in the depths of his gaze was enough to know that he despised her with every jagged shard of his soul.
She’d always been told she had silver eyes. They just looked colorless and gray to her. But his eyes were like that of a tiger, shimmering in hues of molten metallic gold.
They dipped, as though he couldn’t help himself, to chase the rise and fall of her breasts. When they returned, she was once again imprisoned in the magnetic beauty of his face.
From the clean, soapy scent wafting off him and the spotless appearance of his clothes, she assumed he hadn’t spent the past few hours in the desert heat like she had. A small part of her had hoped he’d been watching her from afar, growing sick with guilt over what he’d done to her.
But the formidable man who reclined on her tailgate didn’t care about her wellbeing. Instead, he glared at her like a stranger he wanted to murder.
“Tell me who you are, and this ends now.” The dangerous, silky tone of his words cut through the dense night air.
“You hate lies and insincerity because it goes against everything you believe.” She licked her chapped lips and rested a hip against the tailgate near his legs. “I’m known for my ability to keep secrets. It’s a fault, really. Foolish, most times. Because I’ll keep the truth to myself just to protect someone else’s feelings.”
“I don’t need anyone to protect my fucking feelings.”
“I’m not.” She held his impatient gaze. “I’m telling you who I am.”
“That’s—”
“You have an incredible heart and are always willing to help your friends and even people you don’t know, like all those innocent, enslaved girls. My heart, on the other hand, is subtle. I don’t show it or share it with anyone. Not anymore.”
Grabbing the gun and the water, he sat up, swung his powerfully muscled legs off the tailgate, and stood. Scowling down at her, he looked alarmingly tall, horrifyingly lethal, and unapologetically mean.
He was going to leave.
Without her.
She dropped the lantern and ran. Around the truck and to the driver’s door, she yanked it open and threw herself behind the steering wheel. The keys, her gun, water, food… She frantically searched the cab for something, anything that could save her.
Until a fist caught her hair and wrenched her out of the truck.
He tossed the water onto the seat and shoved the gun under her chin. “If you move, I’ll shoot and deal with the fallout of your copied emails. That option is shaking out to be a whole lot easier than playing your games.”
“This isn’t a game.” Her chin lifted above the press of the barrel. “I’ve known you for ten years, dammit. You’re important to me.”
He snarled and shoved her away with enough force to send her stumbling onto her back. Sharp rocks broke her fall, and she cried out in pain and frustration.
By the time she hobbled to her feet, he was already in the truck with the engine running.
“Don’t leave me.” She ran to the window and flattened a palm against the glass while yanking on the locked door. “Please, Tommy. I’m not tough or outdoorsy or equipped for this. I don’t know how to survive out here.”
He gripped the wheel and stared straight ahead, his jaw carved in stone.
“I won’t make it through the night. I need water and…” She lurched toward the back of the truck, keeping her hands on the metal side as if that could stop him wrenching away her lifeline.
A quick scan of the truck bed confirmed her supply of water had been removed. Flooded with fear, she pushed up to climb in.
He hit the gas. The tires spun up sand, and the vehicle bolted forward. She tried to hang on, but her fingers lost purchase, her palms sliding off the edge as he sped away.
“Tommy! Don’t leave!” She chased him, pumping her legs, heaving for air, and running as fast as she was physically able.
Until she twisted her ankle on a rock.
“Fuck!” A sob rose up, but she pushed through the agony, her eyes bleeding hot tears. “Tommy, wait! Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.”
She sprinted as the sound of the engine faded. She kept moving, limping, long after the taillights vanished over the hill. Then she fell.
Alone.
No water.
No food.
&nb
sp; In the desert.
Three days.
She was fucked.
Rolling to her back, she lay in the sand and cried. The moon watched, pitiless, as she mourned her situation and every miserable second leading up to it.
He could’ve listened to her. Interrogated her. Tried to get to know her beyond a name and date of birth.
Instead, he chose to let her die.
He’d made his decision.
It hurt. Fucking hell, it hurt deep in her soul. But she’d put herself here. She’d known the risks.
She’d expected too much from him. The man who poured his heart into his emails kept those feelings close. He didn’t open up to his closest friends. Why did she think he’d open up to a stranger?
He hadn’t given her enough time. Or maybe she’d said the wrong things. Either way, she’d let herself get hurt.
Again.
There was no romantic attachment this time. No broken heart. But she’d allowed pieces of herself to get involved with a man she’d never met.
Even when she closed herself off, she became attached. She was impulsive. Careless with her life. Stuck in a vicious cycle. Attachment, pain, death, repeat.
It didn’t have to end in death.
Ten years ago, she’d walked off that bridge when it seemed impossible.
Could she walk out of this desert in three days? Without water? Without a map? With no sense of direction?
Impossible.
But if she traveled at night and found shade during the day, maybe?
It wasn’t an impossible decision. She could lie here and die. Or she could try.
Rising to her feet, she hobbled back to the telephone pole. The pain in her ankle dulled by the time she gathered the lantern and the rest of her measly supplies.
The truck had headed west. There lay more desert. A black, undulating sea of sand at night. Vast and lonely, with its excruciating heat looming on the horizon.
She started walking.
Away to the west, the sun sank toward the unreachable edge of the desert. Dusk was approaching for the third time since Rylee had arrived.
Listless, she lay on her stomach at the rear of a narrow cave, her cheek pressing against the cool limestone bedrock. She might as well have been shackled. Exhaustion, heat, and extreme thirst had held her in the same position since dawn.
If she hadn’t found this dark hole last night, she would already be dead.
By her estimation, it had been fifty-three hours since she had food or water.
Fifty-one hours in the desert.
Two full days and nights.
It occurred to her that she’d never truly been thirsty until now. It was an agony like she’d never known. Her skull squeezed around a banging, inconsolable migraine. She couldn’t produce saliva or tears. Her throat was so raw it felt as though the lining had been flayed and stretched out in the sun to dry.
In normal conditions, she could’ve lasted much longer without drinking. But the boiling heat had cut her survival rate in half.
It tormented her until all she could focus on was finding something cool to relieve her suffering. She’d spent the first night and the next day wandering the desert scrublands, searching for a puddle, discarded bottle, underground cave, anything that might contain a drop of liquid.
No luck.
She’d heard of survivalists drinking their urine. By the time she’d reached that level of desperation, she had nothing left in her body to excrete.
To escape the heat, she’d holed up in the cave all day and thought of nothing but the taste of water. Sparkling, flavored, natural spring, ice jangling, with little rivulets of condensation running down the sides. She’d give anything for a cool sip. Even a splash of hot, stagnant water would be a godsend.
Now that the sun was setting, the urge to venture out of the cave and find liquid dominated her mind. She didn’t know how far she’d already walked or how close she’d come to civilization. Everything looked the same, from the towering buttes and dry ravines to the pattern of stars overhead. For all she knew, she’d been roaming in circles.
As she lay there, ordering her boneless limbs to move, a noise sounded in the distance. Her heart took off at a gallop, and her head shot up, pounding with the boom of her pulse.
She tried to listen past the cacophony of her aches. Then she heard it. The undeniable purr of an engine, growing louder, closer.
Digging her elbows into the dirt, she crawled through the narrow space and dragged her pack behind her. When she reached the mouth of the cave, she squinted into the fading light.
There, on the hazy horizon, two headlights bobbed along the bumpy terrain.
She didn’t have three seconds to make a life-or-death decision. Frantic to be seen, she grabbed the lantern from where it’d charged in the sun, flicked it on, and thrust it into the air.
Her arm shook with the effort, her body too weak to run.
“Help!” She crawled, stumbled a few steps on her feet, tripped, and crawled again. “Help me! Here! Please, help!”
Her voice had no strength, coughing and hacking with disuse. But the motorist seemed to see her, making a beeline in her direction. She didn’t care if it was Tommy or Hannibal Fucking Lecter. If she didn’t get water soon, she was dead anyway.
The vehicle slowed, stopping some fifty feet away. As the dust settled around the tires, she made out the silver paint and the silhouette of a cowboy hat inside.
Tommy had stolen her truck again.
Rage warred with desperation. If he’d come to help her, she’d let him without hesitation. But her amicability was long gone. She had a thing about grudges, as in when she held onto one, she held onto it forever.
He’d hurt her irreparably, thereby destroying any concern she’d felt toward him. She no longer wished to help him. She wanted to forget the last ten years and just go home.
Dropping the lantern, she centered all her energy on dragging her legs beneath her to stand. It required more strength than she had, but she did it. Eyes on the truck, she swayed, floundered, and slowly staggered forward.
The passenger-side door opened, and she realized he wasn’t alone.
A man stepped out.
No, he was shoved.
His hands waved around as he yelled, trying to right his balance.
What was he saying? Who was he? Why was he shirtless? She couldn’t see his face at this distance, but he sounded pissed off.
She quickened her tottering steps, picking over rocks and slanted earth. It was all she could do to remain upright.
“Tommy.” She tried to raise her voice. “Tommy!”
Goddammit, she needed help. It was too far to walk. She’d never make it.
The man shouted something and charged toward the truck.
A shot fired, and she faltered.
More shots followed, each pelleting the sand around the man’s feet. He reeled backward, dancing around the bullets and screaming.
Tommy shot at him twice more, deliberately missing. Then he yanked the door shut and spun the truck around, facing in the direction he’d come.
“No! Wait!” She shrieked at the top of her lungs, pushing her legs faster, trying to close the distance. “Don’t you fucking leave me! Please! I’m begging you!”
He drove off, taking his time around the ruts in the ground, knowing she’d never catch up.
Bursts of dizzying light blotted her vision, smeared with tears and the unshakable pain behind her eyes. Her knees gave out, hitting the ground with crushing agony. She collapsed, catching herself on elbows and fists.
He was gone.
And he’d left her with a stranger whose life meant as little to him as hers.
The man charged toward her, his hands balled at his sides and his unrecognizable face twisted in a snarl.
“How do you know that crazy motherfucker?” He stopped beside her, kicking up dust in her eyes.
“Do you have water?” She coughed, her throat so sore it felt as though it were bleed
ing. “Anything to drink?”
“Yeah, I’m carrying a jug in my back pocket.” He spat a wad of saliva next to his leather loafers. “No, I don’t fucking have water. He stripped me down and took everything, including my goddamn shirt.”
“No food? Nothing?”
He huffed and gripped the back of his neck, looking around.
They were both dead.
Her stomach clamped around a gnawing knot, and she rolled to her back, staring up at him through a blur of pain.
Blood trickled from the tight black curls that covered his head. More rivers of red ran from gashes around his eyes, mouth, and bare chest. Suit pants clung to his legs, smudged with dust and ripped at the knee.
“How do you know him?” She pushed herself to a sitting position, woozy and unsteady.
“I don’t.”
“Then why did he beat you up and leave you in the desert?”
His eyes crinkled, squinting as he studied her. “Something doesn’t add up.”
She couldn’t guess what he was thinking, but Tommy didn’t throw punches without reason. This man must’ve threatened him, trespassed on his property, or endangered his friends. Whoever the man was, Tommy considered him an enemy, just like her.
He was average size and build, if not a little stocky and soft around the middle. A few years younger than her. Maybe late-thirties. His eyes sat a bit too far apart, but most women would probably find his looks adequate.
She found him completely unfamiliar. “You seem to know me, but I don’t know you.”
“Where are we?” He spun around, scanning the desert in all directions. “Which way is out?”
“You tell me. You just rode in from somewhere.”
“He tied my hands and blindfolded me. He removed that shit right before he kicked me out of the truck.” His tongue darted out, licking the blood on his lip. “How did you locate the tracker?”
“What?”
“The tracking device on your truck. Did you know it was there? Or did he find it?”
“Why is there a tracker on my truck?” Her heart rate hit a breakneck speed, thudding in her throat. “Who put it there?”
What had she gotten herself into? Tommy didn’t even know she existed a week ago. How would he have been able to find her and arrange to have her tracked?