In a fetal position, she stayed there. Rested. Or tried to. Her hip hurt and the cold of the floor made it ache.
The door thudded open. She need not look to know it was Rage. He was the only one who opened the door that way, like he expected her to be poised to attack.
“Up.” His deep voice echoed. Then his boots thumped closer. “Let’s go, Madam.”
She really hated that he kept calling her that, but she deserved it.
His firm grip caught her arms. Pulled her up.
Something defiant wormed through her, making her give no strength to her legs, so she wobbled and went down. Which was stupid—she hurt her knees that time.
“Okay, sleep on the floor.”
When he opened the door, she heard steps. Voices—Fatina!
Her friend appeared there and peeked in. Her face came alive. “Kasra! We leave—”
“Get her out back,” Rage barked at the other man.
Greedy, desperate for the touch of a friend, Kasra lunged forward, cared not how the chains tore at her shoulders and arms. “Be free, my dear friend.”
Fatina found her. Wrapped her in a hug. Cried against her ear, “I am so sorry. I failed you—”
“Get her out!” Rage shouted, thrusting Fatina backward. “Shefailedyou!” he shouted, pointing at Kasra on the floor.
“You don’t know what or of whom you speak,” Fatina spat back. “She is our savior!”
“Go, Fatina,” Kasra said softly, heartbroken she would not see her again, yet so very relieved at the same time that they would not see each other again. It was a good thing. A very good thing.
As the door came between hem, Kasra exhaled heavily. Was grateful to have seen her friend, the woman who had so often put herself in harm’s way to protect her.A friend I did not deserve.She pushed her gaze to the gray floor … and saw his boots there. He hadn’t said anything.
She had no fight in her. Not now. So she climbed to her feet, chains still anchoring her. Kept her head down.
He stepped closer. Caught her hands. “You mentioned trust,” he said, guiding her by the restraints back to the chair and motioned for her to sit. “I’m going to extend you some of that.” Hand never leaving the crossbar fastened to her wrists, he went to a knee at her side, his gaze sliding into hers. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Those eyes held her hostage. Communicated a depth she had seen in few people. Were he any other, she would have already knocked him back. Tried to flee the danger yet breathing down her neck. But he held her. Not by physical force. But by something else she could not understand.
She was keenly aware of him, of the way his knee touched hers. The piney scent of deodorant or shave cream wafting off him. Then how his muscles strained the fabric of his black, long-sleeve shirt with a camo pattern over the broad shoulders. That jaw muscle twitching as his fingers traced her ankle to unlock it.
She held her breath, surprised at the skitter that spirited up her leg. Marveled that despite his rough words, his touch was gentle. Though he meant business—she had no doubt—he was… different. She could not say “nicer,” because there was obviously a reason he was called Rage.
Any attempt at an escape would be met with violence. Perhaps those pretty eyes even now begged her to try. She recalled fighting him. He had a violent grace about him. His strikes practiced and polished. To match his determination. This man did not do anything halfway.
His hand found her other ankle, snatching her breath.
His gaze struck hers. “Easy …”
No. No it was not. Nothing about this or this man was easy.
She looked away, fighting every instinct to kick him in the face. Plow into him. Never had she taken manhandling well. But this was for Raz and the others. The children.Free them.The hope reverberated in her soul.
“The hinge is tight.” He caught the one around her wrists.
It would be so simple to break free …
He cocked his head, which invariably made her smile. “Don’t think about it.”
Holding his gaze, she mused, “Too late.”
