Ensnared (Brutes of Bristlebrook, #1)(3)

She doesn’t relax but doesn’t stop him either. After wetting the area, he wipes away the grime around the wound with a clean cloth and then soaks a fresh one.

Beau has always been good with women.

And horses.

And children.

His steady manner puts people at ease. Unlike me, who puts people on edge. Heather was the only one who never backed down from me—she threw back every bit of temper I had with an impressive one of her own.

Unexpected pain slices into me and I scowl. The fuck? I haven’t thought about Heather in months.

My expression frightens our little field mouse again, and she pulls back like she’s planning on melting into the tree. This one is no wildcat, that’s for damn sure.

Beau shoots me a dirty look. “Stop scaring my patient.”

The words are light, but they carry an edge that tells me Beau is liking the idea of this patient far too much. Also, funny how his accent just smooths out to a barely perceptible drawl when he’s sniping at me. The petty part of me wants to point it out to the mouse.

I flip him off, then pause as my gaze catches on the girl again.

Oh, great. Real nice.

“How did you hurt your arm?” I snap. The wound is fresh, still leaking blood.

The woman flinches, then instinctively looks to Beau for help. Beau frowns at me, then hesitates and studies her bloody arm himself. Worry and anger darken my friend’s smooth, tanned face.

“Who shot at you, darlin’?” he asks gently.

She hesitates, wound tight. Then she takes a deep, shuddering breath and closes her eyes.

“I need to go. I have to go.” Her voice is tentative, like she doesn’t use it often. She looks at Beau, studiously avoiding my livid gaze. “You should go too. It’s . . . not safe here.”

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s not safe anywhere. Didn’t you get the memo?” Lucky saunters over from the river, giving me a wide-eyed ‘don’t get mad, I’m done’ look.

His cheek dimples as he smiles at her, clear even under his short beard. Women always love Lucky’s dimples.

Dick.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head, though. We’ll take care of you now. I’m Lucky—and I guess you are too, since you found us.”

Lucky seems oblivious to her unimpressed grimace as he eyes her approvingly.

No, enough.

“Shut up, Lucien.” His nose crinkles at the use of his full name, and he tosses me a wounded look that I ignore. “We’re not taking her anywhere. We’re sticking to the plan. Beau, finish up; we’re out.”

Beau opens his mouth to protest when a punishing crack of gunfire thunders through the forest. And suddenly her fear clicks.

Shit. They’re tracking her.

The woman’s gaze swings to mine, those unusual eyes filled with dread, and I’m caught. Accused. Her naked fear tugs at all my protective instincts—but this isn’t the old world, and I’m not putting my men at risk for a stranger. We don’t do that anymore.

Beau stands up. I’m only an inch taller, but I use it to glare down on him.

He shakes his head, not biting. “Cool it. How far away?”

It only takes me a moment of thought. “Five minutes, maybe less.” I set my jaw and meet my friend’s eyes. “Dump her and let’s go.”

“Fucking Jesus, Dom,” Lucky mutters, but my gaze doesn’t leave Beau.

Beau wavers. A muscle in his jaw ticks. Then he scrubs a hand over his short brown hair and looks back at me. His eyes are gentle with understanding. “Can’t do it, my friend. Won’t do it. We need her.”

Not. Fucking. This. Again.

Before I can speak, my friend of over fifteen years says, “Get on if you have to. I get it, I do. But the rest of us just don’t see it the same. We’ve been waiting for this.”

Another shot sounds.

It’s close.





Chapter 3


Eden


SURVIVAL TIP #12

Laugh lines can be deceptive.

Sure, maybe this person is good humored and trustworthy.

But maybe they laugh while they dismember corpses.

Exercise caution.

T he second shot has me back on my feet, iodine and pretty doctors be darned. The ground is especially harsh against my now-bare wound. The three men tower beside me, still arguing among themselves. The large man’s dark eyebrows are slanted in anger over his caramel eyes. Dom. His short military cut is longer on top, and his broad shoulders flex as he gestures.

While I’m not sure what I’ve done to warrant the frustration in his eyes, I do agree with him on one point: it’s time to go.

I gingerly put weight on my leg, scanning the clearing for the best exit or a place to hide. At this point, I’m wondering if jumping in the river and praying would be my best option. I grit my teeth and turn south, not quite willing to risk the rapid, icy water—not yet—but I’ll need to be quick to make up the time I’ve lost.

I have to force my trembling legs to action; they beg me to stay seated.

“Woah, darlin’, slow down.” Beau clasps my uninjured arm. His hand wraps around my whole bicep.

The hard planes of his face are cleanly attractive, his jaw squared. Light laugh lines branch from the corners of his hazel eyes, somehow relaxing me, just a little. How long has it been since I laughed? How often does this man do it for it to mark his face?