The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas #7)(97)

But as she tried to slip past them, the one named Wade grabbed her arm. “I like it out here.” He squeezed until it hurt. “You really a dyke?”

“Leave me alone.” Her voice was suddenly high-pitched, all the toughness gone.

A man interrupted. A knight in shining armor calling out from the corner of the building. “Everything okay back here?”

“No!” she exclaimed.

“Girlfriend’s drunk,” Wade shouted back. “Don’t pay her no attention.” He palmed the back of her head and smashed her face into the reek of his T-shirt so she couldn’t cry out.

Her knight in shining armor turned out not to be a knight at all, but one more person who didn’t want to get involved. “Okay, then.” She heard his steps fade away.

She had no Panda to protect her, no Secret Service. Be careful what you wish for. The pressure on the back of her head against his chest didn’t ease. She couldn’t scream. Could barely breathe. She was on her own.

She started to struggle. Pushed hard against him, twisted, got nowhere. She tried to gasp for air but came up short. The more she struggled, the tighter he held her. She fought harder. Lashed out with her shoe. The hard toe connected.

“Bitch! Grab her legs.”

Her head was suddenly free, but as she started to scream, a hand clamped over her mouth from behind, wrenching her neck. One of them caught her legs. Her shoes dropped off as her feet left the ground. She was screaming in her head, a silent scream that did her no good at all.

“Where do you want to take her?”

“Behind those trees.”

“I go first.”

“Bullshit. I saw her first.”

They were going to rape her. They dragged her, one of them holding her legs, the other seizing her by the neck, cutting off her air. She clawed at his arm, digging in her fingernails, but the bruising pressure on her windpipe didn’t ease. They pulled her deeper into the cover of the trees. The hold on her ankle loosened. Her foot scraped the ground, and something sharp cut her heel. She felt a hand on her thigh. Heard grunts and curses. She summoned a thread of air, enough for a mewing cry. Kicked out.

“Fuck! Hold her.”

“Bitch.”

“Keep her quiet.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

Hands pressing, fingers clawing, and her consciousness beginning to slip away …

The world exploded. “Let her go!”

The bikers dropped her to the ground and spun to confront this new threat.

Barely conscious, she sucked in air and pain. Through her mental fog she saw Panda. He hurled one of them into the dirt. The other charged him. Panda threw a punch that made him stagger, but the guy was a goon, and he came right back. Panda landed a vicious jab to his middle that knocked him into a tree.

This was no gentlemen’s fight. Panda was an assassin, and he knew exactly what he was doing. The man on the ground tried to get up. Panda slammed a foot down on his elbow joint. The biker howled in agony.

The other one was still on his feet, and Panda had his back turned. She tried to get up, call out to warn him, but Panda was already spinning, his leg shooting out like a piston, catching the biker in the groin, crumpling him. Panda leaned down, caught him by the neck, and banged his head against the tree.

The one with the broken elbow came up on his knees. Panda grasped him by his bad arm, dragged him to the long slope that led down to the water, and rolled him over. She heard a distant splash.

Panda’s breath was coming harder now. He went back for the other one and started hauling him toward the water. She finally found her voice, a scratchy thready affair. “They’ll drown.”

“Their problem.” He hoisted the second one over the edge. Another heavy splash.

He came toward her, his chest heaving, trickling blood from the corner of his mouth. He knelt beside her, and the hands that had been so brutal moved gently along her body from her neck to her limbs to the gouge on her heel. “You’re going to hurt,” he said softly, “but I don’t think anything is broken. I’m carrying you to the car.”

“I can walk.” She hated how weak she sounded.

He didn’t argue. He simply picked her up and cradled her against his chest. The images wouldn’t fit together—the lover she knew and the brutally efficient assassin who’d crushed two men.

He must have had a spare car key because he didn’t ask for the one she’d tucked in her pocket. A couple came out of the bar and stared at them. He opened the passenger door and carefully lowered her into the seat. He took his time fastening her seat belt, still protecting her.

He asked no questions as they drove home, didn’t tell her what an idiot she was to come here alone or reproach her for being so rotten to him. She didn’t know why he’d returned to the bar, couldn’t think about what would have happened if he hadn’t. She huddled against the door, nauseated, shaken, still terrified.

“I had a half brother,” he said into the quiet gloom. “His name was Curtis.”

Startled, she turned her head to look at him.

“He was seven years younger than me.” His hands shifted on the wheel. “A dreamy, gentle kid with a big imagination.” He spoke softly as they sped along the dark road. “Our mother was either drugged out or on the prowl, so I ended up taking care of him.”