“You keep this up and you’ll break your own fucking arm. Be smart,” he snapped, using his toughest no-nonsense voice. He was deliberately rough with her. She expected gentle from him and he wasn’t going to give that to her. It was imperative he got her moving fast and the only way to do that was to be himself.
He’d never been kind and gentle in his life until Catarina. It wasn’t in his nature. He was rough around the edges, used to getting his way, and when he said move, people moved. She wasn’t doing any of that, and she still looked at him with blank eyes as if she were totally dead inside.
He yanked her to her feet, dragged her to the other side of the bed, where he scooped up her clothes and stuffed them into her travel bag. “Anything else important to you?” he snapped.
She didn’t answer. He left the cash behind and dragged her through the dark warehouse toward the door. She tried kicking him twice so he lifted her, one-armed, and tossed her over his shoulder. She sank her teeth into him. It hurt like hell, but he kept walking straight out to his truck.
He dumped her in the cab, unlocked his bracelet, hooked her seat belt and locked her free hand with the other cuff. He then locked the handcuffs to the small bolt he’d installed in his dash. She was forced to lean forward, her head down so she couldn’t be seen. He scanned the rooftops and high places as he hurried around to the driver’s seat.
A leopard could track his truck. He knew because he was a shifter and he could track almost anything, including vehicles. He should have guessed. He slammed the flat of his palm against the steering wheel. Rafe Cordeau had to be a shifter.
Eli glanced over at Catarina, his gaze narrowing. Focused. He didn’t have reactions to women like he’d had to her. His leopard didn’t tolerate a woman for more than a night or two, but Catarina had been different. When he’d been with her, his leopard had been content. A time or two it had even risen close to the surface as if wanting to be near her. The fact that his leopard recognized her meant Cat’s leopard had to be close to emerging.
What did Rafe Cordeau want with her? He already knew, he’d figured it out, but he wanted confirmation. “He took you when you were eleven years old. Had you had your first period?”
She shot him a single look. That blank stare. He wanted to shake her.
“Damn it, answer me. Do you think I’m asking for my health?” He spat the question at her, allowing his anger to fill the cab. She couldn’t know that his anger was at himself, at the damage he’d done to her, and at Rafe, for what he’d done to her. She was an innocent caught between two powerful men who played for keeps. He had a very bad feeling she would continue to be caught between them.
“I’m not going to ask you again. Answer me now.”
She didn’t look scared. She looked… broken, and he felt like a damn fucking bully, kicking the little kid that was down right there in the play yard.
“Yes. I had my first period at eleven. But Rafe couldn’t have known that. My mother was a junkie and she took me to him and offered me to him.”
He shook his head. “Think back. It didn’t happen that way. He had to have come to your house when you were younger. He had to have looked you over. Decided on you. He was the one who first made the approach. There’s a reason he wants you.”
He had taken his eyes off the road long enough to watch her face when he told her the truth. He saw he’d scored. She swallowed and looked away from him. He hated that he couldn’t comfort her. He hated that he’d cuffed her to his truck and her wrists were already bruised. She had a bruise on her cheek and her face was swollen from crying. He couldn’t pull her into his arms and just hold her. First, he had to get them to safety, and it didn’t matter to him whether or not she wanted to be safe. He had to make her safe. Not only because he helped put her in this position, but because it was a compulsion and damn it to hell, she’d gotten under his skin.
He waited, hoping curiosity would win out and she’d ask him questions, but she didn’t. She didn’t look at him again either. She kept her gaze on the floor. Her head had been down the same way, her hair everywhere when she’d bent to vomit in the police station. That was on him too. That had nearly killed him. He wanted to beat the hell out of Frank with his bare fists. He wanted to beat the hell out of Rafe Cordeau. Mostly he wanted to take back everything that had happened and play it all another way.
He pulled into the automatic car wash. He wanted a thorough wash and that meant going through twice. He had no doubt that Rafe had followed Catarina’s scent to the police department. He was grateful, at least, that the warehouse had been raided. Rafe would know she hadn’t gone voluntarily. If what he suspected were true, Rafe would never kill Catarina. He might hurt her, but he’d never kill her.
“What do you know about shifters?” he asked.
She stared at the floor, but her shoulders shrugged. Her hair covered her face, and her cuffed hands.
“You know Rafe is a leopard. So am I. And I suspect you are as well.”