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her thighs, and Flick’s body was so tightly coiled she wanted to scream and self-combust.
    ‘You don’t touch my property,’ Rushe rumbled. ‘None of you. You not clear on the rules?’
    When he spoke, she was never aware of his lips moving, or eyes, or anything. And they weren’t words as much as a bassy variety of vibrations from his chest. The third man was nervous; she had no read on the driver; and Rushe... he was unreadable.
    Keeping her attention on her knees , Flick tried to forget her surroundings, the men here, and what lay ahead.
    The positive thing about the length of the journey was that it gave her a reprieve. Whatever her future held Flick didn’t want to think about what details it could involve.
    All of the men muttered , but none of them stood up to Rushe. If he claimed her the others would respect that. Maybe respect wasn’t the word, but they wouldn’t refute it.
    Rushe was broad but lean , and the heat of his rock hard thigh against her made her physically quiver. This man was athletic but agile, and while he might not say much an awareness shimmered around him that spoke of a quick mind.
    But these men feared him. His position had to be superior to theirs, or he’d asserted his authority somehow. The muttering continued, but Rushe was unaffected.
    The air was thick, humid, and the tension between the men was apparent; in this vehicle there was no honour among thieves.
    Hayden would’ve left the restaurant by now. No one would miss her. He’d be in a cab, on his way home, cursing her name. Flick was alone.
    When her family cast her out a year ago she’d learned the hard w ay what being alone meant. She’d staggered like Bambi on ice, unable to find her feet. After having her purse snatched on two separate occasions, she’d thought herself independent and bad-ass. Boy did this scenario put that into perspective.
    The black of night stretched into the souls of the men in this vehicle , and when it left the highway, they drove for more than twenty minutes into more gloom. Streetlights and civilisation were a long-forgotten dream; darkness and trees were the only things outside now.
    The trees thickened , and their vehicle swung around a narrow bend into a side lane. From the bumping and bouncing Flick knew they were off-road. This wasn’t a concrete thoroughfare. They dodged trees and the bumping increased. Cresting a ridge, they fell into a dip and Flick came out of her seat, landing on top of Rushe.
    Skeeve whooped and took the chance to grab for her breast. Rushe shoved her aside as an inconvenience but that took her out of Skeeve’s reach.
    Then after a series of mounds the whole vehicle lurched to a stop. All of the men piled out. Rushe reached over her to open the door, then shoved her outside.
    Any thought Flick had about running vanished when mud seeped between her toes and over her feet. Trees barred her view from every angle; all she could see was the truck and a shack.
    Calling it a shack was polite. A rickety old porch seemed to hold the walls in place like a belt ho lding in the beer gut of a darts player.
    As she was s till stuttering at the view that didn’t even allow moonlight through the canopy, Rushe grabbed her arm and regardless of her unstable footing, he dragged her toward the shack in the wake of the rowdy men, who had exited the truck first.
    Going up the creaking wooden stairs, Flick knew walking in there was final. Taking the chance, she dug in her heels and tried to liberate her arm. Rushe wasn’t perturbed. He hoisted her off her feet, and despite her struggling and screaming, he kicked into the shack and crossed the width of the room.
    W ithout thought for the others Rushe shoved open a door, carried her in, and threw her down onto the floor with a thud. A nearby rope was used to bind Flick’s hands, which he then attached to a pipe that ran along the wall.
    The room was small, little more than a cell, ten foot square with a single be d, and a small set of