Colters' Woman (Colters' Legacy #1)(59)

She gazed warily up at him. It was the first good look she’d gotten of him. She’d expected a mean brute of a man, but she stared at what appeared to be a mild-mannered man of average height and size.

He smirked as if reading her thoughts.

“Don’t let my appearance fool you, my dear. Now you can get up of your own accord or I’ll get you up, and I assure you, it won’t be a pleasant experience.”

Terror washed through her system. She wanted to vomit. She put her hand out to prop herself up and shoved herself from the floor. As soon as she stood, the man grabbed her arm and jerked her toward a chair.

“Have a seat.”

She sank down in the chair situated by an old desk. The chair heaved and groaned as she settled her slight weight on it, and for a moment, she feared it would collapse.

She put out her hand to the desk to balance herself. She was cold. Colder than she’d ever been in her life. There was no heat in the cabin. No protection from the biting cold. Her limbs felt like blocks of ice. She shivered uncontrollably. Once she started, she couldn’t stop.

The man lit a cigarette and lazily blew smoke. He leaned against the small sink and watched her with cold eyes.

“I won’t beat around the bush. I’m going to kill you.”

Panic flooded her. Her throat tightened, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to die.

“But I’m going to be civil about it.”

He looked amused at his proclamation. He even emitted a dry chuckle.

“I’ll offer you a choice. A very quick, painless death, or,” he paused for effect, “it can be a very messy, very prolonged, very painful death. Your choice.”

Her mouth went dry.

“All you have to do is tell me who all knows what happened on your wedding night. Very simple. Mr. Bardwell is very keen to protect his interests. Which would be difficult in a jail cell, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

He took out a large, sharp-looking knife as he spoke. He caressed the sleek metal with his fingertips, running them over the edge to the point.

Holly’s mind raced. He was a talkative bastard. He was clearly enjoying the situation. Obviously if she talked, it would be over with in a matter of minutes. She eyed the knife, abject terror raging through her body.

She closed her eyes and tried to summon her courage. She pictured Ryan and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from weeping. She couldn’t allow this bastard to get away with what he’d done.

“So what will it be, Mrs. Bardwell? Shall we enjoy a brief conversation before your untimely demise?”

Her hand splayed out over the desk and she stood to her feet. “Go to hell,” she spat.

His eyes hardened. He crossed the space between them and without warning, grabbed her arm and yanked it behind her back. He whirled her around until she faced the desk. She cried out in pain as he continued to exert enormous pressure on her arm.

Higher he pushed. She screamed in agony and then she felt a pop. He’d broken her arm!

He let go and her arm fell, dangling at her side. Spots dotted her vision, growing larger until she feared she’d black out from the pain. Her hand scraped the desk trying to hold herself upright. Her fingertips brushed across a pencil and she curled her hand around it.

Rage taking control, adrenaline pumping through her veins, she whirled around, pencil in hand and plunged it into his face. It sank into his cheek, and he stumbled back howling in pain.

She wasted no time. Ignoring the horrific pain in her left arm, she flew at him, ramming her knee into his groin. Once, twice and a third time until he fell to the floor.

She didn’t hesitate even for a moment. She ran.

She threw open the door to the cabin and plunged into the snow. Icy wetness met her hips as she scrambled to gain her footing.

Her heart sank. She’d never make it out alive. The snow was too high. Too deep. She’d freeze to death in her scanty clothing long before she could make it to safety.

She set her jaw until it ached. She wasn’t going to die at the bastard’s hands. If she died, it wouldn’t be without a fight.

Ignoring the pain, the cold and the horrible numbness affecting her limbs, she struggled on, determined to put as much distance between her and her abductor as she could.

She headed for the trees, hoping to lose herself in the wooded area. A hysterical laugh bubbled from her throat. How could she lose anyone in three feet of snow?

Her head popped back. She was yanked backwards, a hand wrapped tightly in her hair. She turned on him, fighting tooth and nail. Her survival was at hand.

Metal glistened in the early morning sun. Then tearing agony exploded in her chest. She fell back into the snow, dimly aware of the man holding a knife above her. Her uninjured arm sank into the snow. Her hand grasped for purchase and knocked against a rock. She gripped it tightly, prepared to make her last stand.

With a cry of rage, she hauled her arm forward and bashed the man’s head with the rock as he plunged downward with the knife again. This time the knife glanced off her shoulder, cutting a long gash down her arm.

He fell face first into the snow, and she gave him no time to recover. She rolled, raising the rock high again and hitting him as hard as she could. He went still, and she dropped the rock.

She rolled and scooted away, trying desperately to regain her footing. The world tilted and swayed around her, her mind swimming in sheer agony. He’d stabbed her in the chest. She could feel hot blood running over her skin. Her left arm dangled uselessly beside her. Somehow she had to find a way home.