No time for tears, if you want to survive you have to get out of here.
Scanning the area, when she didn't see anyone, she quickly pushed herself off the ground and scrambled for the driver’s door of her car. If Blade had taken the keys with him, then this would all be over pretty quickly. She’d run of course, but there were twelve men out there all hunting her, and she had zero survival skills.
All the men appeared to still be off searching for her, and nobody stopped her as she yanked open the door and pretty much threw herself inside. Not bothering with her seatbelt, Whitney searched for the keys so she could start the engine, but they weren't there.
Why weren't they there?
Why did Blade have to think of everything?
He hated her, she knew that, but … but … there had been something in his eyes when he’d been so gentle with her the day before as he tended her wounds, and this morning when he made them both breakfast that made her think … that he cared a teeny, tiny, little bit about what happened to her.
That maybe he didn't hate her.
But of course he did. What more evidence did she need? His abandonment was proof enough. Why wouldn't he hate her? She was a bad person, the evidence of that was quite literally seared into her skin.
A loud bang caught her attention.
That sounded like …
No it couldn’t be … could it?
Gunshots?
Had Blade not left after all? Had he been out there all along? Killing the men after them silently so he could take them all out without them even knowing he was there?
Hope soared inside her, and even though she resumed her search for the keys, in case they’d just fallen somewhere in the crash and Blade hadn't taken them with him, she prayed that those shots had come from Blade and he hadn't abandoned her.
“Looking for something, baby genius?”
At the sound of the taunting voice, her gaze snapped to the side where she saw Mark Lucas standing there, grinning at her. Her personal babysitter, the man who loved tormenting her, of course, it had to be him who found her.
With a terrified squeak, she launched herself across the seat, heading for the passenger door.
Of course, she couldn’t escape him, but she had to try.
She wasn't going back to her old life without a fight.
Honestly, she’d rather die out there right now than either of her other options. Torture and death at Blade’s hands, or torture and forced imprisonment at Dr. Gardner’s hands. Both of those choices were awful, and if she could make Mark angry enough, maybe he’d just kill her now and it would all be over.
“Uh, uh, uh,” he tutted as he reached into the car just as her fingers grazed the doorhandle.
So close and yet so very far away.
Fingers tangled in her hair, and she was yanked back hard enough that it made her feel like her scalp was on fire. Screaming was a bad idea, she knew that, knew that Mark liked it when she screamed, and yet she couldn’t seem to help it.
Terrified didn't even begin to describe how she felt.
Plus, she hurt. All over. Her wrists, her shoulders, the thin scratches from the knife that Blade had left behind on her skin. It was all just too much.
Too much.
“Did you really think you could escape?” Mark taunted her as he shook her and then threw her down onto the ground.
Some long-buried instinct seemed to kick in, because instead of cowering like she usually would, Whitney immediately shot back up to her feet and tried to run.
Not that she got anywhere. Mark was on her in an instant. Large hands hit her shoulder blades, shoving her forward. Tripping over her own feet, Whitney went down hard, sending arrows of pain spearing up her forearms all the way to her aching shoulders.
“Made a mockery out of me, didn't you, baby genius?” he taunted as he stood above her. “Look at me when I'm talking to you.” Leaning down, his hand circled her already bruised throat as he physically spun her around so she was sitting on her backside staring up into his angry face.
