Cherise Sinclair - This is who I am

“I want to take him just past the fence.” Sam considered the areas of light and dark. “You make him use the side gate. Follow him. Noisy. Keep his attention on you.”

“And?”

Sam unsnapped the bullwhip from his belt.

EVEN KNOWING HER cuffs were clipped together, Linda fought the restraints. She needed—needed—to push the knife away. With every step, she felt the cold metal scrape against the left side of her neck.

She’d lunged to the side to escape his hold, but his hand was big and his grip on her arm was unbreakable. He’d cut her again, whether by accident or anger, and now his grip squeezed her upper arm so tightly the flesh grated against her bone.

Helpless . Her jaw clenched against the screams desperate to escape.

But she’d fight until her options were gone. She let her weight sag and dragged her feet to make the slaver work for every inch of ground.

He didn’t want to die. She felt the tremor of the knife on her neck. But she’d heard the spiteful resolve in his voice. He’d kill them both if the men trapped him.

Trembling shook her body. I don’t want to die either . But she would. Oh yes . Even knowing what her death would do to Sam. He’d forgive her. Eventually. The slaver had no intentions of letting her go free; the only question would be when she’d die.

And she’d be the one to decide when. She wouldn’t get into a car with him. If he made it to the parking lot… Well, at that point, she’d make sure the only body he’d get would be a dead one.

“Fucking cunt, move your legs.” He gripped her upper arm, dragging her forward. The knife never moved from her throat. Her lips twisted in a bitter grimace. Maybe he’d trip and kill her by accident.

“I’ll open the side gate for you,” Master Z’s voice came from behind as they neared the mansion.

“Do it,” Aaron grunted, turning away from the door into the clubroom.

Z moved ahead and held the tall wooden gate open.

As Aaron pulled Linda through, leaving the solar lights in the Capture Gardens behind, darkness surrounded them. The wrought-iron sconces along the building walls had gone out with the power.

Footsteps sounded from behind. The Masters hadn’t stayed back but were following. Noisily. Nolan’s rough curses. Anne’s whispered threats. But no gravelly voice. Wanting one last glimpse of Sam more than she wanted breath, Linda tried to turn her head.

Aaron yanked her closer. “You fucking slut, keep your—”

She heard a whistling sound, then a snap . Hot wetness splattered across her face and shoulders. The grip on her arm loosened.

Now, now, now . She threw herself sideways, away from the blade.

Unable to catch herself, she landed heavily on her shoulder and frantically rolled.

Over the pounding of her pulse, she heard choking and screaming, the sounds so ghastly that chills raced over her skin.

She was grabbed, and she screamed. Pulled and kicked and fought the ruthless grip. “No. Not again!”

“Easy there, missy.”

At the growl in her ear, she froze. Sam . His hands were on her. He had her. Panting and shaking, she went limp.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her painfully tight, his face against her hair. His voice a low rumble of curses. “That cock-sucking fuckheaded piece of shit. I’m going to fucking destroy the goddamn motherfucking son of a whore.”

He took a breath. “You goddamned scared the shit out of me, girl.” And he actually gave her a shake before yanking her into his arms again. His cheek rested against the top of her head as his barely audible chant continued: “I’ll rip the fucking asshole’s dick off and stuff it down his douche-bag throat. Take my whip and cornhole the bastard peckerheaded fuckwad till his ass whistles ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ Then I’ll break the dried-up piece of jackwad’s leg off and shove it up his ass.” After a minute, Linda untangled the curses and threats, all given in a voice that sounded like a badly tuned gravel truck—the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard.

A man was screaming, close… Aaron . She recognized voices. The Masters were there, she thought, the number increasing as others streamed out of the mansion.

Flashlights flickered. Someone retched.

“He’s barely got a face left.”

“Get an ambulance.”

“God, I’ve never seen so much blood.”

“Remind me not to piss Davies off.”

Aaron screeched louder.

Marcus’s low laugh. “Anne, I do believe that’s overkill.”

“The fucking asshole doesn’t deserve to keep those balls.” Anne’s hard voice. “Who’s got cuffs?”

Over. It was over.

Sam’s arms didn’t loosen.

She didn’t care. She’d stay right there for an eternity.

Cullen detached himself from the crowd. He smacked Sam on the shoulder. “You’re going to break your woman.”

Sam’s growl sounded as if it came from two directions. Conn stood behind the big Dom, fangs exposed.

Without moving, Cullen said, “Davies. Call off your damn hound so I can get her hands free.”

The arms around Linda loosened slightly as Sam’s chest moved with a long inhalation. “Conn. Stand down.”

The dog skirted Cullen and lunged into Linda’s lap, whining his worry. Wet fur. Warm, solid body.

Master Z appeared. He bent, shining a light so Cullen could see what he was doing. The cuffs were unclipped.

As the men moved her arms forward, her shoulders grated like rusty metal hinges. But she was free. And alive. Her body caught up suddenly, and she started shuddering so hard her bones shook. Everything hurt. Grabbing Sam’s shirt, she burrowed, trying to get closer. Closer.

Master Z moved to her side and set a hand on her arm. “Raise your chin, little one.”

Cheek against Sam’s chest, hands fisting his shirt, she couldn’t make herself obey.

“Hell,” Sam muttered. “Anne, take Conn for me again.”

As the dog was pulled away, Sam tried to shift her.

Ignoring the grinding complaint of her shoulders, Linda wrapped her arms around him. Never, ever going to let him go.

Master Z gave a huff of exasperation. “That didn’t help. Samuel, we need to see what that knife did.”

The chest under her cheek turned rigid, and a merciless grip on her arms moved her back.

More flashlights beamed down on them.

Sam’s eyes were pure ice in the increasing light. “Let’s see, girl.” The anger in his voice reverberated like the bass turned up as he cupped her chin and lifted.

The movement pulled at the burning lines across her neck.

Z touched her neck, then smiled. “All superficial. You did well, Samuel.”

“I’m too old for this goddamned active-duty crap.” Sam put an arm under her knees and lifted her. “Let’s get you bandaged, baby.”

Above the Shadowlands in Z’s third-floor home, Sam held Linda in his arms, where she the hell belonged, he thought. Her face remained as white as the fluffy blanket he’d wrapped around her. Her hair held the only color, much like the brightness she’d brought into his life.

He’d almost lost her. Leaning against the arm of the couch, he pulled her closer. Her legs had tangled with his; her cheek rested against his chest. Her breath created a warm spot on his shoulder, a tactile proof she was alive.

So damn close.

Aaron could have slit her throat. Although the cops had been shocked at what the bullwhip had done to Aaron’s face, Sam had been—was still—shaking at how close the bastard had come to killing her.

And she wouldn’t have been the first. When she’d told the cops that Aaron had planned to cut off her hair, they’d gone quiet. A call had gone out.