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I tried to step back. Fingers knotted in my hair to immobilize my head.
Scream, you idiot, scream, scream, scream…
My lips moved wordlessly, their effort ineffectual from the fear constricting my throat muscles. That same fear numbed my fingers so badly that I dropped my book bag. It landed at the feet of the dead body.
I tried again to step back. The hand in my hair twisted, forcing me up onto my toes.
Scruffy rolled the handle of the knife between his fingers, his brown gaze darting between the overly generous curve of my stomach and the exposed skin of my throat. Giving one last dismissive look at my soft belly wrapped in a thick rain coat, he nodded at the person behind me.
"Hold her head back."
Shoving a hand between my shoulder blades, my invisible captor pushed against my back at the same time he jerked my head toward him to hyperextend my neck. A squeak escaped me—the faint protest the best I could manage in the last seconds of my life.
"Don’t touch her."
The command came from the lightless area at the end of the corpse. A third man stepped forward. Like my soon-to-be assassin, he was dressed in a denim vest announcing his membership in the Steel Tide MC. Unlike Scruffy, this man was a mountain of granite.
"Fuck that. She’s seen both our faces! Are you fucking stupid?"
Hearing a murmur of agreement from the man holding me by the hair, my hope of getting out alive evaporated. Only the mountain standing in front of me seemed inclined to let me live. Staring into his cold green eyes, I wasn’t sure why—or whether I would be better off dead.
I blinked. What kind of nonsense was that? Of course I wanted to live!
"Please," I whispered. On the verge of crying, my vision blurred. The quiver vibrating along my lips distorted my plea as I begged for my life. "Please, I don’t want to die."
"You won’t, not today." My savior stepped around the dead body, his hand closing on the wrist of the man holding the knife. "I’m going to teach you dumb fucks how to train your bitches to do anything you want."
Placing one big palm against Scruffy's chest, my rescuer pushed him away from me. A smile just as cold as his gaze spread across his face. "Hello, little dove. I’m Dean, but everyone calls me Highlander."
"If this bitch screams?—"
Dean shook his head, immediately silencing the man behind me. "She can hardly breathe right now, let alone scream. Isn’t that right, baby?"
I nodded. I was scared witless and knew one of them would try to slit my throat the second I opened my mouth. When I did scream, there had to be someone other than these thugs to hear me.
"She'd run straight to the cops if we released her now." Pulling the red sash from my raincoat, Dean grabbed my wrists and bound them together. "A week from now, she’ll do anything I tell her. If I need a mule or money laundered, she will do it for me. Why kill a bitch who can make you money?"
Scruffy wouldn't back down. He elbowed Dean, trying to push the bigger man aside. "She’s seen my face!"
Dean's gaze slid left, the reflection of the room’s single light giving his eyes a murderous glint. He fisted a handful of Scruffy's shirt. A moment’s combat ensued, their movements too fast and the room too dark for me to discern who did what. When it was over, Dean had possession of the knife, its blade pressed lightly against his opponent's cheek.
Dean's voice dropped dangerously low. "How about I give you a new face, Condor? Wouldn't be too hard to improve on this one."
A shiver rolled through me. Everything about Dean looked deadly. Tall, with a muscular body, he oozed menace and ultimate control. His face had a masculine, chiseled beauty softened only a fraction by the long dark hair that fell in waves to his shoulders.
A tall, dark angel with soulless eyes.
Glancing my way, he caught me staring at him. "Like what you see, baby?"
His smile froze the blood in my veins. A stone cold killer stood before me and he apparently thought he could make me a slave and bend me to his will. I didn't like what I saw. I didn't like it one bit.
His gaze narrowed further, his cheek twitching as if he'd just read my mind.
"Get the van." Dean nodded at the man behind me before his attention cut left to Scruffy—or Condor, as Dean had just called him. "Wait in the hall."
"You fucking sonovabitch!"
A warning growl shut Condor up fast. Bending down, he put the plastic bag on top of the newspaper and loose powder then folded the paper over it. Leaving, he slammed the door behind him.
