Page 61 of Roped

“You didn’t think I’d let you walk outta here, did you?” Radisson says, murmurs almost, in a low voice. “Your friend here got lucky. He got dead early on. You, however, I’m gonna keep alive for a long fuckin’ time. Long enough that you’ll feel me gut you from your asshole to your mouth.”

It wasn’t directed at me, but I start shaking at Radisson’s softly delivered threat. A second later, though, my limbs lock when the man points his gun at me. A second after that I flinch because another shot’s been fired. In a trance, I look down at myself, expecting to see red on my dress. But it’s not there, and my head snaps up when I hear another pained moan echoing through the space.

It’s the man. He got shot. In his arm because I see him clutching it as he stumbles back, the gun lying on the floor.

I turn to Radisson as he says, again in a deadly voice, “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

His words are followed by a growl, vibrating and vicious, before he lunges at the man. Radisson tackles him to the ground, and they both go down with a heavy thud of grappling limbs. Then, leaning over him and rearing back before laying the first punch, Radisson transforms from being a calculated killer a moment ago into someone else. Someone brimming with rage and fury. The one who’s so strong that he can move mountains and crack the earth. The one with rippling muscles and brute strength. And it’s worse because this is the man I recognize even with his mask on. This is the man I know, who makes my heart race so fast I don’t know what to do with myself. This is the man who’s come to my rescue time and time again, and it feels like he’s doing the same thing now.

No, not rescue. Punishment.

Radisson is punishing the other man for threatening me, for pointing his gun at me, because a couple of punches would’ve been enough. The man’s been shot; he’s already close to being incapacitated. There’s no way he’s ever going to overpower Radisson. But none of those things seem to factor in. Because Radisson won’t stop. He’s all fury and flying fists as he keeps hitting and hitting and hitting his target. To the point where I want to tell him to stop. I want to scream for him to let the man go. His blood is flying all over the place, and the sound of bone crunching is sickening.

Finally, he stops and I’m able to take a breath, my body flushed, my skin covered with goose bumps. I know I can’t speak, but I’m about to get his attention when he leans over the writhing, coughing man on the floor and jerks his mask off. Then, grabbing his collar, he growls, “Where is she? Where the fuck is she?”

The man is hardly able to breathe, let alone talk. He moans and whines, his head rolling back and forth on the dirty concrete floor. Radisson shakes him and growls again, “Open your goddamn fuckin’ mouth and tell me where they took her.” Another shake. “Tell me.”

Almost dead, the man gurgles, blood spilling out of his mouth. “I… Please s-stop—”

His words stop because somehow, out of the blue, another shot rings through the air and hits him between the eyes. Dead center. My limbs, my heart, my very blood freeze up again, and for some reason, I can’t move my eyes away from Radisson. I keep staring at him as his head snaps up. I watch his entire body go tense before he lunges to his feet. Spinning in my direction, he dives toward me. My scream gets trapped in my throat as he takes me to the ground with his arms around me, chair and all, and another shot is fired.

I feel him jerk and grunt over me.

But without delay, Radisson twists and fires his own gun. In the distance, I hear a muffled scream, but I can’t take my eyes away from him. From the man who’s lying on top of me like a shield of some sort. Who not only killed for me again but also saved me from being shot dead by taking that bullet himself. In his shoulder; I see the blood seeping through his shirt. Because he’s using me to get back someone he wants desperately.

A girl.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THIS TIME I wake up slowly, as if from a deep sleep.

I blink my eyes open and the first thing I see is a brown ceiling, wooden. Then a head, an animal’s. A bear, I think, and there’s not just one but several, lined up along the walls. Which are also wooden like the ceiling, made of logs. A small lamp sits on the nightstand, flooding the space in a yellow glow. There’s also a dresser right by the door that may lead outside, and another door that stands ajar and is a bathroom; I can see the hint of a sink through the opening. None of this is even remotely familiar. None of this is giving me any hints as to how I got here.

Finally, I look down at myself. I’m lying on a bed with white sheets, my head is resting on a pillow, and I’ve got a blanket on me. All cozy and warm and extremely unfamiliar.

But that’s not my main concern. Second by second, as I come awake and become more alert, I feel various aches and pains starting to show up. My back hurts like crazy, and my shoulders are tender. My knees and elbows are stinging, making me think I banged myself up pretty bad. I’m about to inspect myself more when I freeze because I smell something.

Leather and spices.

And even though I’m not completely awake and haven’t pieced things together, I know that scent. My body, my brain, my fucking heart knows that scent. I’ve been obsessed with it for far too long and traumatized by it far too many times. Without wasting another second, I jackknife on the bed and instantly regret it because the room spins and every ache comes back tenfold. I clutch my head and fall against the pillows, panting.

Amid the chaos in my brain and sudden panic, I hear his voice. “Careful.”

Just one word spoken in that rough and unused voice of his and everything comes rushing back. Everything. And I realize there’s no word for a girl as foolish as me and there’s no word for a man as heartless as him.

All of a sudden, I can’t breathe. I can’t get any air into my body. I can’t… I pull at the sheets. I wheeze. I kick my legs, drag them up and down the bed. Everything seems to be spinning. Everything seems to be closing in. It’s like something is sitting on my chest. Something is choking me and… I see him move. I see his dusty, bloody boots coming toward me.

“Don’t,” I scream somehow. “Don’t c-come… near…”

His boots come to a halt immediately.

Something about that breaks through my panic, through my suffocation, and I’m able to take a full breath. Still gripping the sheets, I move my eyes up and look at him then. He stands a few paces away from the bed, wearing the same clothes from before, bloody and dusty and now wrinkled too. As though he’s been in them for hours now. His bandanna is gone and so is his Stetson, and I can see the dark rich waves of hair falling over his forehead, curling around his ears. But most of all, I can see every inch of his face clearly. Every feature on it, every angle and every peak. That scar and those eyes. And dear God, there’s one emotion running rampant on his face: concern.

The kind he had back on the cliff when he set his fucking wolves on me. Even through the panic, it had warmed my heart. Now it only makes me want to scratch that emotion off his fucking face. He did it again, didn’t he? He threw me to the wolves again. Panting, I ask, “What… what place is this?”

“A cabin,” he says, keeping his gaze steady and expression the same. “A hunting cabin in the woods.”

Right. That would explain all the bear heads on the wall. Not to mention the fact that once again, we’re in the middle of nowhere. “Did you…” I begin, putting a hand on my neck. “Did you drug me again?”