Hush (3 page)

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.