"Non-stop action, danger, and love...Absolutely perfect!"
Reviewed by Mandy Burns
Posted May 6, 2011
Romance Suspense
Acadia Gray is out of her comfort zone. After
winning the Lottery, Acadia promised herself to live for the
here and now, which is why she is in Venezuela looking for
adventure. Acadia arrived a day early to enjoy the
sights and found a hot and sexy guy to spend the evening
with thinking he would slip out in the middle of the night.
Unfortunately, he is still in her bed, but they are not
alone. Military types are holding them at gun point waiting
for someone, leering at Acadia like she was a decadent
desert completely, and freaking her out. The beautiful man
she is with exhibits a total lack of interest until
he becomes a flash of movement and lands unconscious in her
lap along with another equally beautiful man. Being
kidnapped and dragged through the jungle is not what Acadia
has in mind for an adventure. Zakary Stark and his brother Gideon are thrill seekers
looking for the ultimate high. The hot little number Zak
found in the local Cantina in Venezuela the night before was
a total bonus, until he felt the barrel of a gun at his
temple before he could sample her once again. Zak is not
totally surprised since he owns 1/3 of ZAG Search, a
internet search engine that has made him and his brother,
along with another friend, millionaires many times over.
Ever since Zak's wife's death 2 years earlier, Zak has been
wallowing in guilt because he was unable to protect his wife
from herself. He only hopes that the woman laying in his
arms doesn't do anything stupid while he attempts to get
them out of this situation; a situation Zak never wanted to
be in
again. Instead he finds himself unconscious with his head in
the lap of last night's pick-up totally at a loss at what to
do next. Cherry Adair's first book in her new Lodestone series takes
off in full throttle adventure the moment the book is
opened. The action never stops. The story features
believable characters every reader will fall in love with.
I can't wait for the
next one.
Learn more about Hush
SUMMARY
A reckless adventure in a deadly paradise. Thrill seekers Zakary and Gideon Stark travel the globe in
search of extreme adventure, but a trip to Venezuela to jump
off the world's highest falls catapults them into a perilous
game of life or death – where they don't know the rules. A one-night stand that will change his life forever. Kidnapped with a woman Zak knows nothing about, the brothers
are held prisoner deep in the jungle. A risky, death-defying
escape separates them and nearly claims Zak's life…until his
recovery reveals a baffling new sixth sense. An unexpected diversion with lethal consequences. Now, to find his missing brother, Zak and the mysterious
Acadia Gray will have to out-smart, out-gun, and
out-maneuver not just the brutal kidnappers but also a new
player who joins the adrenaline game: a ruthless opponent
who wants the Stark brothers dead – at any cost.
ExcerptONE
Venezuela Tuesday 5:33 A.M.
Three things happened simultaneously: the soft, warm curve
of a woman's bare ass tucked enticingly against Zakary
Stark's good-morning-happy-to-feel-you erection, the
familiar gut-wrenching realization that she was the
wrong woman, and the cold hard metal of a gun barrel
pressed to his temple. The tantalizing fragrance of fresh, jasmine-scented female,
coupled with the erotic base note of last night's sex, was
obliterated by the sour stench of stale male sweat. Fuckit. Hell of a way to start the day. Zak's heartbeat ratcheted up a notch, and his entire body
stiffened in reaction to the threat. "¡No te muevas!" Pure menace infused the instruction
to remain still; the words, spoken in the local dialect and
punctuated by another motivational jab a millimeter from his
eye, got Zak's head back in the game. Zak spoke fluent Spanish, but he wasn't going to show his
hand until he knew what the guy wanted. His gut urged him to
get the hell off the swaybacked mattress. Fast. But he
wasn't going to be speedy enough to beat the man's finger on
that trigger. He processed the situation. While he was all for taking
crazy risks in an attempt at kick-starting a spark of giving
a shit about life in general, he wasn't alone. He
might not give a flying fuck if he died one way or the
other, but Zak suspected the woman probably didn't hold the
same disregard for her life as he did for his. He was no goddamn hero. Pissed him off to be put in a
position where he had to accept that he was going to be
responsible either for another woman's death or, worse, for
ensuring that she stayed alive. Hero or coward. It was a toss-up which would kill him quicker. The bed was shoved against the wall, and she lay
between him and the man with the gun. God damn it. He
hated guns. Kathy? Christy? ... the American he'd met
in the bar the night before went from limp to tense between
one heartbeat and the next as she realized they weren't alone. Zak cracked open the eye not pressed into the fragrant curve
of her neck and looked through a mass of corn silk blond
hair. Fuckit. Not just one intruder. In the murky
light of dawn he made out three silhouettes, and heard the
shuffle of several more pairs of boots out of his line of
sight. Fatigues. Boots. Weapons. More than an audience. A whole
fucking predawn party. Military? Locals? Guerrillas? Three crappy choices. Lips against the woman's ear, Zak whispered, "Stay still,"
and felt the uneven thud of her accelerated heartbeat
beneath the hand cupped around her breast. She let out a
small shuddering breath and froze as he spoke more loudly to
the guy with the gun. "I'm unarmed." She unfroze. "¡Él no tener una arma!" she
translated urgently in bad Spanish. Jesus. "He got it the first time," Zak snarled. "Don't move,
don't talk." Don't be so fucking conspicuous.
Impossible. Her lush body was displayed like a delectable
smorgasbord, ripe for the taking and within easy reach, on
the sex-tangled sheet. Christ, there was nothing more than a
sheen of sweat gluing their entwined limbs together. Hardly bulletproof. As if determined to be the independent woman he damned well
didn't need her to be right now, she turned her head so
their lips were mere inches apart and said in a furious
undertone, "I don't want to get shot because he doesn't
unders—" The barrel of the gun gouged a deeper dent in Zak's temple.
"Lady," he managed between gritted teeth, "shut the fuck
up." He squeezed her breast in warning. Her entire body bristled. "How dare y—" "Six of them. Six weapons. Us? Naked. Worth it to you to
make a point?" Zak could practically hear her brain turning over in the
brief pause before she whispered tightly, "Fine," and
faced forward again, body rigid. "Callate." The guy standing beside the bed was
wearing some sort of pseudo military uniform, camo pants
tucked into heavy boots. A man of few words, clearly,
willing to let his gun do the talking. Zak recognized a
Russian-made Uzi when he saw one. In full-auto mode, the
weapon was designed to put a lot of lead into a small area
very quickly. It also had a strip of electrical tape over
the grip safety to prevent a sweaty hand from sliding off
the rear of the grip assembly and leaving the shooter with a
locked piece. The language the weapon spoke was universal:
Obey or die. Despite the erratic thwap-thwap ... thwap of the
ancient ceiling fan, the room was hothouse stuffy from the
jungle heat of the previous day, and ominously quiet.
Everyone staying at the small, seedy hostel-type hotel was
probably asleep at this hour. Frankly, he doubted anyone
other than his brother would respond to gunfire or yelling.
Small-town people in this neck of Venezuela's woods tended
to mind their own business for good reason. No one would
come running to aid a couple of gringos and risk getting
killed. Chances were they were waiting for their own payout
from the takedown. He carefully uncurled his fingers from the smooth, warm
globe cupped in his palm, then slowly raised his hand to
show that he was unarmed and compliant. He whispered close
to her ear, "Stay quiet, and wait for me to tell you what to
do. Then fucking do it. Got it?" Fine tremors shook her body, but she gave a small nod, which
dragged a filament of jasmine-scented silk across his cheek. Zak suspected he was the one who'd endangered them
both, but his task would be a hell of a lot easier and less
complicated if she weren't sex appeal
personified—weren't there in the goddamned hotel room
with him. As far as he knew, there were only three Americans staying
in this fleabag hotel just inside Canaima National Park.
Himself; his brother, Gideon; and the blonde. Her bad luck. Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong man. The men had been in the room for approximately two minutes.
Long enough to kill them, take them, or rob them. None of
which had happened. Yet. This was too organized to be random. There were more
extremely-well-armed men than they'd need if their objective
were merely to rob him. No, not a robbery. And he and the
woman weren't dead yet, so, not a homicide either. They
weren't here for the blonde, no matter how good she was at
stripping or whatever her dance of choice was. They were
here for the Stark brothers. He wondered if Gideon was in
the same predicament right now. Zak considered another option. Kidnapping. Big business in Venezuela. The fact that they wanted him lying down indicated they felt
safer with him flat on his back. Naked was a bonus, meant he
was even more vulnerable. The fact that he was still alive told him that they didn't
want to kill him, at least not now; always reassuring. The fact that they weren't doing much of anything meant they
were waiting for someone else to arrive. He had to act fast.
He knew the odds now. Any second those odds would
change. And he'd bet his Rolex they wouldn't improve any. Hell, might as well kiss his Rolex good-bye. He heard the shuffle of booted feet changing position out of
his line of sight. The ultimate goal was to get himself and
the woman away from those weapons alive. He was at a
distinct disadvantage, though, lying there with an armful of
fragrant, interfering, naked female blocking his exit from
the bed. First things first. The plan of action was to be on his feet for whatever was
coming down the pike. "Look," he said in a reasonable tone,
addressing the man's groin, since it filled his field of
vision. "Whatever you want, we can work it out. Let the
woman go. She's got nothing to do with this." The gun barrel
drilled harder into his temple. "Que te calles, coño," the man growled. Loosely
translated, "Shut the fuck up." Think faster. What the hell could he do with her that wouldn't get them
both killed in the next minute? Zak was used to thinking on
his feet. He was a risk taker, a daredevil, a master
thrill-seeker. But that was him. Now he had another
life to consider. Been there, failed at that. What else you got, Stark? "You want money?" He eased his leg from between hers very
slowly, and inexplicably felt his dick respond to the silky
glide of her firm, smooth thighs clasped around his. Jesus
fucking hell, not now. "I'll give it to you. Just
back off. Let me grab my clothe-" "¡Date prisa, cabrôn!" the guerrilla shouted, no
longer bothering to keep his voice down. Not a good sign in
the quiet of the small hotel. The Uzi never wavered in his
grip as he stepped far enough away from the bed for Zak to
see greasy perspiration glistening on his upper lip and in
the creases of his thick neck. Big barrel of a guy. Buzzed
black hair. Camo gear. Handgun in holster on utility belt.
KA-BAR knife strapped to his thigh. Not military. Not officially, anyway. Guerrillas. Well-funded. Christ, what a clusterfuck. The Uzi was pointed at Zak, but
it was the woman who had the man's avid attention. "Hey,
buddy"—he got the guy's eyes back on him—"plenty
of dollars and bolos in my wallet. Over there, in my
pants." Which he'd practically ripped off before tumbling
the blonde onto the bed the night before. "¡Me hables una vez más y te corto la verga!" the man
shouted, face mottled. He leaned forward, reached out with
one meaty hand, grabbed the woman by the wrist, and yanked
her unceremoniously off the bed. She screamed like a fucking
banshee as she staggered to regain her balance. The guy
backhanded her and the scream was cut off mid-decibel. "Don't let them—please!" she begged Zak through
lips gone white and stiff with terror. The wild tangle of
her long blond hair tumbled around her shoulders as she
stood there, not sure which way to go. What to do next. Her
skin looked pearlescent in the half-light as she gave him a
pleading look from tear-drenched eyes. Without breaking eye
contact, she whispered, "Do something." Still lying on the goddamn bed with a gun aimed at his head,
he shot her a hot stare in return. Sympathy wasn't going to
help. Buck up, Barbie. It's gonna get a helluva lot
worse. "Any suggestions, considering the odds?" "Y-yes, I—" She dragged in a jerky breath and held it.
"I can give th—" "¡Cállate la jeta, traga leche!" The annoyed
guerrilla swung her away from him. Zak winced as she crashed
into a nearby chair, fell against the wall, then slid to the
floor. It happened so fast, he could see by her bewildered
blink when she lifted her head that she hadn't processed
what was happening yet. Two men raced to her side, grabbed
her upper arms, and hauled her roughly to her feet, groping
her everywhere they could in the process. Everything in him wanted to haul ass across the room and
beat the shit out of both of them. But there were four
weapons trained on him, two on her, all at close
range—he'd be no damn good to either of them dead. "Easy," he said calmly, sitting up and raising his arms,
palms out. When he wasn't immediately drilled full of holes,
he swung his feet to the gritty floor. "No need to hurt her.
She has nothing of value. Just let her leave, she won't be
any trouble." "Right. I won't be any trouble at all," she assured them
fervently, her eyes darting from man to man, then back to
him. She dragged in a shaky breath. "Look. I don't want ...
Just take ... Damn it. All I wanted was one night of—"
She blushed. She goddamn blushed. "Which was
great—but I don't think I deserve to get the hell beat
out of me because I made a bad choice. Not that you were
bad," she hastened to add, "but, well, this situation is ..." She shot him an annoyed glance. "They don't appear to
speak much English, and you don't speak Spanish, so
..." She turned to one of the men and said in halting,
Rosetta Stone Spanish, "Si vas a disparar, me gustar
morir con mi dignidad. Y con la ropa encima." If you're
going to shoot me, then I'd really like to die with my
dignity. And fully clothed. She motioned with her chin
to her clothes scattered on the floor. He'd ripped the scrap of dress off her in his haste to get
her naked the second the door closed behind them the night
before, and it wasn't going to do much to cover her even if
they let her have it. "Es aquÍ mis cosas. ¿Yo poder
...?" "Lady? Last time. Shut the fuck up," Zak repeated, coldly,
ear cocked for his brother. Where was Gideon? His brother
was a light sleeper. He must've heard the scream if nothing
else. Fuckit. Had the men dealt with Gid before
coming here? "I talk when I'm nervous. Which you might agree I'm
justified in being," she snapped. Apparently, realizing she
wasn't going to be able to do anything about her nudity, she
behaved like the emperor with his new clothes. Just stood
there haughty as hell and as if she were fully dressed. Her
chin rose as she gave him a hot look. "The circumstances
notwithstanding, stop telling me to shut up. This is my
room, and I can say whatever I damn well like in it. You
don't like me chatting? Take a hike." Unbelievable. Bare-ass naked and surrounded by military
grade hardware, and she still had a mouth on her. He'd liked
it last night, but then again, they hadn't exactly been
talking. Standing there sleek and naked, blond hair wild and
just-been-fucked sexy, she was escalating an already
volatile situation just by looking the way she looked. "For fuck's sake. They hold all the cards." And it would be
worse for her if they decided to shoot him and take her. Any
way, anywhere, they wanted. She gave him a fulminating look and snapped her mouth
closed. Zak could almost read her thoughts in a word bubble
over her head. Fear radiated off her in waves. One of the
men holding on to her shifted to hook his arm across her
throat. Her pearly skin gleamed in the semidarkness as she
struggled to remain on her feet while the two men tugged her
this way and that, which they found vastly entertaining as
she fought uselessly to get free. Two dogs with one bone might work after all ... at the
least, she'd keep them distracted. He kept his arms up: Patience. His mother used to
say, "You wait until your father gets home. He'll deal with
you." This was like waiting for the shoe to drop, and for
his father to mete out the usual punishment when he
eventually got home—be it at seven that night or a
week later. The only difference was the amount of blood this
shoe was going to take with it. "Well?" He kept his tone fairly civil. All things
considered. "Take what you want, and go. We won't call the
authorities." The man closest to him laughed. Besides eye-watering BO, he
stank of a several-pack-a-day cigarette habit. "We don't
need your permission, pendejo," the guerrilla in
charge said in slow, deliberate English. "We take what we
want." He jerked his chin to indicate the two men searching
the room. One pocketed Zak's wallet from the bedside table,
another helped himself to his watch. The Rolex had
sentimental value, but Zak wasn't prepared to die for it. The woman cried out indignantly as one of her captors
grabbed her breast. Zak decided he'd kill that son of a
bitch first. He was stunned that she wasn't already in
full-blown hysterics, but knew it was just a matter of time.
"Take it easy. Let the lady go." He rubbed his fingers
together in a universal gesture for money. "I have more
money in the safe downst—" The man shoved her in Zak's direction, with an obscene
suggestion he didn't dare acknowledge. "No hay bolos
suficientes aquÍ, marica." Zak jumped to his feet just in time to catch her up in one
arm. Her entire body quaked with terror. Nothing he could do
about it. He kept his voice impersonal. "Pull yourself
together. They're feeding off your fear." "I can't ..." She wilted against him. "Jesus. Are you going to faint? Don't faint, for Christ's
sake!" "¡Ya basta con la puta charla!" the guy in charge
snarled, not enjoying the chitchat. He raised the barrel of
the Uzi to cover them both. Zak let her go, but she remained glued to his side. "Get it
together and do it fast." As women usually did, she was
exacerbating the situation without even trying. The guerrilla motioned with his weapon for them to separate.
Her nails dug into Zak's waist as she clung to him like a
baby monkey. The man motioned to the two guys. Blue Bandana
and Gold Tooth looked like equally butt-ugly identical
twins. They peeled her off him. Cursing him, she fought them with everything she had,
blond hair flying, spitting disjointed words in a mixture of
bad Spanish and English. They shoved her into a corner and
held her there at gunpoint. Acadia Gray pressed her naked back against the cold cement
wall as she accidentally made eye contact with one of the
men who'd cornered her. Leering, he licked his lips and
rubbed his crotch suggestively. Bile rose in the back of her
throat as she saw every sick fantasy he was entertaining
play out in his eyes. She looked around wildly, struggling not to hyperventilate
as she tried to decide whom to offer her freaking lottery
winnings to. Because dollars to doughnuts, that was
why they were in her room. Somehow they'd read or heard
about her lottery windfall, and they'd come to collect.
Although how they'd known to come here, so far from
Kansas, was a mystery she didn't have time to figure out. Her fellow captive was
trying—unsuccessfully!—to negotiate their
release. In English, for God's sake! One would think
he'd at least make an effort to learn the language of the
country he was visiting. The men clearly understood but a
few of the words he was saying. But he was pigheaded enough
not to let her try to talk to the soldiers in their own
language, which she'd been practicing for weeks. His ego was going to get them both killed. Or worse. Acadia
stopped hoping he'd save the day and get them both out of
this alive. He wasn't doing ... anything useful, just
standing there naked with his hands in the air. Trying to think when she was scared out of her mind was no
easy task. Heartbeat manic, she stiffened her muscles,
willing her body to stop shaking. It didn't work. Uncharacteristically, she'd made a series of extremely bad
choices in the past twenty-four hours, and they were all
culminating right here in this tiny room. Damn it, she was
going to die before her long-awaited big adventure really
began. Her muscles, especially in her legs, felt as weak and
unsubstantial as tapioca pudding, and the erratic pounding
of her heart throbbed loudly in her ears. Locking her knees,
she told herself to think hard and smart. She was good at thinking. At preparing. She just had
to get the fear untangled from the process. Breathing
deeply, and several stages beyond abject terror, she
considered the facts. Waking to find herself in a living
nightmare was bad enough. Waking up naked in front of all
these men was beyond unacceptable and took humiliation to a
whole new level. Though the travel agent had said to expect
unusual customs in Venezuela, Acadia doubted he'd been
talking about this. Oh, she'd been warned that there were military types, but
she certainly hadn't expected them to be crotch-to-face with
her in her own damn hotel room first thing in the morning,
waving guns about, forcing her to stand there naked in front
of them. Leering at her. Touching her. She struggled uselessly to break the soldier's grip on her
arm while her one-night stand—stood there doing
absolutely nothing. Zakary Stark was hot in bed, but
he was piss-poor at hero stuff. He looked shockingly bored
and disinterested—he might as well be sunbathing on a
nude beach on the French Riviera, for all he was doing. Without warning, the man let go of her arm to jam a hand
between her legs. She let out a wild, choked-off scream,
grabbing his wrist and digging her nails into the sinew and
bone with all her strength. For all the effect it had. He
jammed his hand against her harder. "Whoa, whoa," Zak protested. Too little too late. It was the man in charge whose sharp warning made the
soldier slowly withdraw his questing fingers from between
her legs. He grinned lasciviously, his eyes promising worse
to come. Panting, light-headed with dread, and holding back hysteria
by sheer determination, Acadia fell back against the wall.
Her skin crawled, and bile refluxed in the back of her throat. "¡Ponte de pie nojoda!" The barrel pressed hard
against Zak's throat. Raising his hands higher, he appeared
completely relaxed as he kept his attention on the guy in
front of him. God. How could he be so calm? Acadia was
trying not to blubber like a baby; her breathing was so
erratic she felt dizzy enough to pass out. Pull yourself together? she thought furiously,
incensed by his dictatorial attitude that so far had done
absolutely nothing to help either of them. Clearly
unconcerned by his nudity—well, sure, because none of
the men seemed interested in his spectacular
physique—he just stood there, big and bold and naked.
Even the fully armed soldiers didn't seem to give him pause.
Acadia envied him his sangfroid. She'd never felt so exposed, or so vulnerable, in her life. And this on the advent of one of the biggest life-changing
things she'd ever done. Only she could be so unlucky as to
wake up to a roomful of armed men days before embarking on
what she'd thought, until now, was the ballsiest thing she'd
ever done in her life. Somehow, enrolling in architectural school at her age didn't
seem so daunting anymore. She'd spent most of her life with
constraints that hadn't allowed her to move forward. This
trip was supposed to jump-start her "new normal." But the
men holding her weren't going to let them go. They weren't
going to stop leering. No point drawing any more attention,
or hands, to herself than necessary. She had to calm down,
had to start thinking rationally and methodically. There was
a way out of the situation; there was always a way
out. Letting her brain run around like a rat in a maze was
counterproductive. Acadia drew in a calming breath and let
it out slowly. Keeping her attention on Zak, she blocked out
everyone else. She knew his features by feel and taste better than by
sight. He wasn't that good-looking, she thought,
eyeing him critically. His hair was dark, a little long, and
shaggy. His face was a little too rugged, his mouth
bracketed by lines that could have come from a grim life, or
long-hidden dimples—though he didn't give the
impression he was a man who smiled much. He had plenty of
scars. One dark brow was bisected by a thin line, while
another, a good two inches long, slashed his left temple
near the corner of his eye. He had a puckered scar high on
his right shoulder, and another on his left hip. She'd
kissed all of them last night. Acadia couldn't see the color of his eyes in the meager
light, but she remembered staring into them across a
candlelit table in the cantina the night before: dark and
heavy-lashed. Sexy. Hypnotic. Zakary Stark was unlike the
men she usually dated. Different enough that he was exactly
what she'd needed last night to kick off her grand adventure. Clearly a lover, not a fighter. Unfortunately, she needed a
different kind of man right now. Preferably one who was well
armed and willing to kick some butt. "I get that we're waiting." Zak's voice cut the unnerving
quiet in the people-filled room as he spoke with
mind-blowing, annoying calm to the leader.
Waiting was news to Acadia. Had she missed something?
"While we're just hanging around, why don't I go ahead and
get dressed? Save you all some time?" "Waiting for what, exactly?" Acadia couldn't keep the
sarcasm out of her voice. Zak ignored her. His broad chest was lightly covered with crisp dark hair
arrowing down his belly to ... Oh, Lord. He wasn't aroused,
but his penis lay against his well-muscled thigh, and it
was—Wow. Acadia swallowed. It took some
concentrated efforts to disengage her attention and draw her
gaze back up his body. Just looking at the ripple of muscle and satin-bronzed skin
on the way up made her brain conjure the feel of his mouth
between her legs, and the rasp of his callused hands as
he— She blushed from her head to her toes. Every man in the room
was suddenly staring at her as if he too were imagining what
had happened right on that very bed hours before. A whole new wave of fear-fueled adrenaline zoomed through
her system with nowhere to go and layered with the sudden
surge of lust, making her so woozy that she swayed. She was
standing there with two thugs gripping her upper arms, their
dirty fingers leaving streaks on her bare skin, and she
couldn't stop staring at Zak's package? What the hell was
wrong with her? On the other hand, it was a diversion from relentless terror. Zak turned his head slightly, as if he could feel her focus
fixed on him like a tractor beam. Intense dark eyes clashed
with hers across the twelve feet separating them in a brief
and all-encompassing look. Acadia's gaze skittered away like
spit on a griddle. She had absolutely no idea how to interpret the look he'd
just given her. Run? Stay where you are? Dive for the
floor? Drop dead? In books and movies, the helpless
heroine always knew exactly what her hero's silent stares
meant. Hell, those heroines could read a whole chapter into
a single glance. In real life—not so much. Long strands of her hair stuck to the sweat on her face and
throat as she gave the man on her left a cool look. "I'm
getting dressed now." She made a move toward the scattered
clothes she'd put out the night before, which were now on
the floor. The man on her left blocked her with the barrel
of his gun, warning her to stay put. To hell with that. The room was like an oven. They were all sweating, and
God—they smelled so rank her eyes stung. She made
another useless move to break free, but the men beside her
restrained her. Acadia screamed her fury and tried to kick
them as she fought to break their hold. The guy in charge turned to see what the commotion was and
shouted, "¡CompaÑeros, ya basta de rumba! Pueden jugar
con ella mÁs tarde." She understood Spanish much better than she spoke it, and
knowing there'd be a later was good news. Good news
she had to get across to her seemingly disinterested lover
before— Without warning, Zak exploded, taking advantage of the
soldier's inattention. He grabbed the barrel of the Uzi,
ramming the stock hard against the man's chest and driving
him against the wall beside the bed. The mattress went one
way, the metal frame the other, as the man was slammed
against the cement wall with a bone-jarring thud. "Get down! Get down!" Acadia didn't need to be told twice. Her two captors let go
of her to reposition their weapons, and she dropped to the
floor and rolled against the wall, trying to make herself as
small as possible. Still grasping the barrel in his bare hand—was the man
insane?—Zak ripped it out of the guerrilla's
hand. The following explosion was deafening, and the bad
guy's shirt erupted in a surreal blossom of red. The retort of the discharged bullet must've been loud enough
to wake people in far-off Caracas. Half the plaster crashed
from the ceiling to the filthy floor in a shower of masonry
and choking dust. More shots echoed in the chaos as the men
swung their weapons around looking for something, someone,
to shoot. Acadia stared uncomprehendingly at the gaping, bloody hole
in the middle of the soldier's chest and curled her arms
over her head. Like that would stop a bullet. There was
nowhere to hide, nowhere to take cover, and the door leading
out into the hallway was still blocked by two men who looked
as though they were rooted in position, guns pointing into
the center of the room. Not waiting for the debris to settle, her newly minted hero
swung the gun around and pulled the trigger as another man
lunged. The Uzi clicked uselessly, and Zak dropped it in one
smooth motion as he went in fast and low from the cloud of
plaster dust while the soldiers tried to regroup. Using his
shoulder, he rammed the closest man in the belly, driving
him across the room. They crashed into the wall, so close to
her that Acadia heard the soldier's breath escape in a
strangled whoosh as his spine made contact with the
unyielding wall. She winced. Zak didn't let up for a second,
lashing out with a swift undercut to the man's unshaven jaw.
Unconscious, the soldier slid to the floor beside her. "Two down, four to go," she said, unaware that she was
speaking out loud. Where the hell were her clothes? They'd
been on the chair ... She found one boot and clutched it to
her chest as she looked for something a little more concealing. She glanced at the men blocking the only exit. If they'd go
and help their pals ... but no. They were still there,
weapons fixed on the moving target of the naked guy without
shooting. Considering the size of the small room, maybe they
realized that a stray bullet could hit any one of them. With a metallic jangle and the scream of metal grating on
the wall, the bedsprings flipped end over end, coming to
rest against the wall. Zak, bare-assed and suddenly
proactive, grabbing anything he could get his hands on, now
wielded it as a weapon. One of the soldiers came up behind
him, locking his arm across Zak's throat in a wicked choke
hold. Acadia lurched to her feet. Without consciously making the decision, she drew back her
arm and let her boot fly. It missed her intended target, but
hit another man smack in the nose. Blood spurted; he made a
garbled shriek-y kind of yell, then dropped like a rock and
lay still. "Three left," she yelled, looking for another weapon. The
man she'd beaned still had his Uzi in his slack hand. She
crouched down and started across the room. The soldier she'd aimed at and missed tightened the bend of
his elbow against Zak's throat as he fought to get free.
With superhuman strength, he half twisted his body, enough
to bring a bent arm up in a lightning-fast move, and put his
full weight behind it. Fingers spread, Zak jammed the heel
of his hand up under the guy's chin and dug his fingers into
his opponent's eye sockets. The bruising blow to the chin
made the soldier's hold loosen, while blood spurted from his
bitten tongue. Zak grabbed him by the hair and gave him a
swift knee to the balls. With a shriek, the man dropped to
writhe on the floor. Whimpering, he clutched his hands
between his legs. "Two to go." Picking up the Uzi, Acadia realized it was
heavier than the shotguns and rifles she'd handled at the
sporting goods store where she worked. She knew the basics,
though she'd never fired an automatic weapon, but it didn't
take an action hero to know which end to point in which
direction. "Great. A naked blonde with an automatic," Zak drawled.
"You're giving these guys their fondest wet dream." "Help or shut the hell up," she snapped. She didn't make eye
contact—with any of them—as she swung the
business end of the Uzi from man to man. At this range she
couldn't miss, and they knew it. Suddenly someone grabbed both bare breasts from behind.
Hauled off her feet, she was slammed against the wall
face-first. The Uzi went flying, clattering to the floor
across the room as the man pressed his entire body weight
against her and pinned her to the wall. Sound was obliterated by the hard drumbeat of her own
terrified blood racing through her veins and the ringing in
her ears. Face smashed against the wall, Acadia's vision
darkened around the edges. Don't faint don't faint don't
faint. Choking on her tears and the black rage pouring through her,
Acadia reached behind her, digging her short nails into the
man's hand, which was wedged between them. Nothing was going to stop what was about to happen. She knew
that. And yet she kept fighting, finding more hidden
strength when she was sure she couldn't find one more drop. Somewhere, over the din of her own fear, she heard shouts,
but they were meaningless. Her survival instinct filled
every atom of consciousness. The loud crack of a gunshot, from very close range, made her
world stand still. The hot, sweaty weight of the man slid in grotesque slow
motion down her bare back; then he crumpled to the floor
behind her with a heavy thud. Acadia couldn't breathe.
Couldn't move. Couldn't think. But her internal organs
shrank as something warm, wet, and too horrific for her
brain to identify dripped slowly down her naked back. Afraid to turn around and see what had just happened, Acadia
was relieved by what had not happened. "Porqué está desnuda esa puta?" (Why is the whore
naked?) an authoritative gravelly voice ground out in
rapid-fire Spanish. © 2011 Cherry Adair
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