Page 32 of Rogue Voice
Then Rogue heard it. The sound of a quad. Multiple quads.At least three of them—close enough that he could hear the roar of each engine. Close enough that he could smell the fuel leaking from the throttle shaft.
Bea’s hand tightened on his back.
The animals heard it long before we did. That’s why everything is so quiet.
Rogue didn’t lie to himself. He knew exactly what was happening. Her uncle and his men had found them. Somehow, they’d tracked them to the clearing, and were going to cut them off.
“Bea?” he said, keeping his voice low.
“They’re here, aren’t they? My uncle’s here,” she whispered.
Fuck.There was nothing he could say. Rogue took a deep breath. They had a matter of seconds before they showed. He had to use those wisely.
“I can run,” she said. “If you need me to, I can run.”
Too late.We won’t be able to outrun them.
Rogue wanted so badly to lie to her, but that he wouldn’t do. He’d never felt this level of hopelessness before. Not even at his lowest, and he’d certainly sunk low in the past. The sound of the vehicles approaching grew louder.They’re surrounding us.
“Aguilar’s a hunter,” she said quietly, her lips barely moving.
Rogue reached back and grabbed her hand where it still held onto his belt, gripped it tightly. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Her eyes, dark with despair, locked onto his. Rogue held his breath, waiting for her to chew him out. He deserved the blame. He’d miscalculated every single step of the way. “It’s okay.” Rogue’s eyes widened. She’d managed to surprise him yet again. “It’s okay,” she repeated. “You tried to help me. I know that, and I am grateful. This isn’t your fault.”
Rogue wanted to kiss her. If they had seconds left, if this was all they’d ever have, he wanted to know what those beautiful, innocent lips tasted like.
He took a step back, roughly pulling himself from his stupor, as the first headlights appeared in the distance. They were still in the wrong spot but would be on them soon. Excited cries came from the vehicles.Two men in each quad. Six men total.
Taking on six men would be tough odds at the best of times. Taking them on when they were armed and he only had a small knife, while trying to protect Bea at the same time, was a suicide mission. There was no way out.Fuck.
Then the fog cleared from his mind, and Rogue realized there was one thing he could still do for Bea. He took a deep breath, steeling himself against what he had to do.
13
Bea
Bea’s mind reeled. She’d learned early on not to trust anyone. Hell, she hadn’t even trusted her own father. She’d loved him, and she’d always known he loved her, in his own way. He’d sent her away to keep her safe, and maybe because he didn’t want her tainted by his choices. So yes, she’d loved him, but she’d never fully trusted him. Then after her father’s death, there’d been no one to trust.
Her uncle had role-played the role of the grieving brother, the man willing to step up to the plate and become a father figure to his niece. He’d played it so perfectly it had been some time before she’d even stopped to wonder.
By then, there’d been nobody left around her. Her uncle had already moved them across the country and dismissed anybodyfrom the original staff who might have become her friend or confidant.
So no, nobody could ever accuse her of trusting easily. And yet, in a matter of days, she’d come to trust the man in front of her.
Rogue.
Even his name sent tingles down her spine. Tingles of a kind she’d never felt before.
Suddenly, he tightened his hold on her wrist and jerked her hands back behind her body, pulling her front flush against him. Two strong tugs, and then she couldn’t move her wrists apart.He’s tied them with something.
“What—”
“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. He seemed to be trying to tell her something with his eyes. Those beautiful, deep gray eyes. It looked a lot liketrust me, but then, what did she know, about men or about trust. He didn’t give her a chance to say anything else. His open palm hit the side of her face, hard enough to turn her cheek sideways.
Bea whimpered. Her first instinct was to make herself smaller, to shrink into herself. Her eyes filled with tears, not at the physical pain—the slap was more noisy than painful—but at the fear it elicited inside her.
For the last two years, she’d lived under constant fear of bodily harm. Her uncle had starved her, belittled her, and had found so many ways to ensure her cooperation, to keep her small. And while he’d never struck her, she’d seen him hit other people, always wondering when it would be her turn.
