I’ll prove them wrong.
She was no weak, defenseless creature. She was a strong, independent woman. Strong enough to do what was necessary to escape, and find her way back home.
Mikey and Jake had taught her a few self-defense moves years ago, when they’d come back home from basic training. They both wanted to make sure she could defend herself, should the occasion call for it.
After that, any time they were on leave, they’d force her to practice the moves. Over and over. Olivia just prayed she remembered everything they’d taught her so she wouldn’t freeze up like before. Don’t go there.
Shoving the guilt back, Olivia sat on the edge of her cot, both hands clenching the metal frame so tightly her fingers ached. Forcing herself to stay focused, she mentally ran through the plan one last time.
She’d proposition her guard. Once he was in a vulnerable position, she’d disarm and hopefully maim him enough to be able to make an unnoticeable escape into the trees. From there, she had no idea where she would go, since she had no idea where she actually was.
At least out there, she’d have a fighting chance. If she continued to sit here, she’d be taken somewhere else tonight. God only knows what would happen to her, then.
Needing to do it before she chickened out, Olivia stood. She filled her lungs several times before walking toward her tent’s entrance.
Reaching for the flap, she jumped when the sound of several men yelling startled her. They weren’t screams of celebration, like before. These men sounded panicked.
Olivia quickly made her way back to her cot. She was wondering if whatever they were yelling about would interfere with her plans to escape, when a man suddenly burst into her tent.
He was tall and dressed in camouflage like the others, but the nasty scar running from the outside corner of his right eye down to the edge of his jaw set him apart. The expensive clothes were gone, but Olivia knew this was the same man who’d not only orchestrated her friends’ murders, but was also planning to sell her tonight.
Stalking toward her, he stopped directly in front of where she sat. He was definitely pissed about something.
With fear nearly choking her, Olivia forced herself to continue breathing. Without a word, Scarface—as she'd come to think of him—grabbed her by the arm, yanking her painfully to her feet.
Olivia yelped, her heart leaping into her throat as he roughly led her toward the tent’s entrance. Oh, God! I’ve waited too long!
The need to vomit was instant and fierce. Thinking past the panic was damn near impossible, but she had to do something, anything to try to stop him before it was too late.
“W-where are you taking me?” Olivia attempted to wrench her arm free, but he was too strong.
“Doctor.” The man’s bark was laced with a heavy accent.
What? “I-I don’t need to see a doctor.”
They kept moving forward, the man speaking without looking at her. “No. You doctor.”
She shook her head, digging her bare heels into the ground. “I’m a nurse, not a doctor!”
Scarface continued to pull her forward, unfazed by her clarification. “Same thing.”
Uh, no...it’s not.
When he yanked on her arm again, Olivia flew forward through her tent’s opening. Her legs had to work double-time just to keep up with his as he led her into another, larger tent nearby. Understanding hit the minute she walked in.
In the middle of the tent—on a cot much like hers—lay a man. Correction, a boy. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen, and he was bleeding. A lot.
Several men filled the tiny space. Their guns were at their sides, their faces grim. The place reeked of sweat and blood...and fear.
Scarface shoved her roughly toward the cot. “Fix him,” he growled.
At first glance, Olivia could already tell the boy had lost way too much blood. She shook her head nervously. “I-I have no supplies. He needs blood, and I have nothing to—”
“Fix. Him!” Scarface yelled loudly.
Olivia flinched at the fury and determination on the man's face. Then, she noticed something else. Scarface bore a very close resemblance to the wounded boy.
He seemed too young to be the boy’s father. Older brother maybe? Well, crap. Something told Olivia she'd better at least attempt to save him, or they'd both be dead soon.
Approaching the boy with caution, Olivia tried to pretend as though she was working in her emergency room back home, rather than a filthy tent surrounded by a group of ruthless killers. A difficult, if not impossible, task.
Her hands trembled as she checked his pulse. It was barely discernible, and his breathing was so shallow she had to watch his chest closely for any sign of movement. The front of his shirt was soaked with blood, and there was a hole in the material’s lower half.
Wishing for a pair of gloves, Olivia carefully moved the sticky, wet material back to get a better look at the injury. Her heart sank when she saw the large wound just above his navel. Damn.
She’d seen enough of these to know that, even under the best of circumstance, his chances wouldn’t be good. Given their isolated, unsanitary location and lack of supplies, Olivia already knew how this would end.
Just as she had done many times before, Olivia pushed her nerves aside and called upon her professionalism. She straightened her shoulders, turned around, and addressed the group.
“He needs drugs. Something strong for the pain. I need to make him comfortable.”
One of the men looked around at the others. His broken English did nothing to hide his nervousness over her request. “W-we no have drugs here.”
Olivia barely resisted rolling her eyes at the whole lot of them. They’d kidnapped her and
