“What about that chick in Perth.” Pete’s voice was a slimy sound that slid right through her and out the other side. He bounced a bone handled knife in his hand, waving the tip in her general direction. “The one you and Jonesy did.”

Nick gave a broad smile. “Good times.”

Fuck him and his ever-ready cock.

“Yeah. And there were those two in Darwin who took a liking to you.” Pete snuck her a dark look while Nick chuckled and sipped his drink. He never did it when Nick was looking. It gave her hope. At least they were still cautious of him, for now.

A half smile curled Pete’s lips as he threw the knife up in the air and caught it, over and over. Light from the fire flickered on the sharp edge of the blade. He sure was handy with the weapon. Justin asked Nick a question. She didn’t hear what it was. The blade kept moving, mesmerizing her. It never stopped. She could almost feel the promise of the blade against her skin. Holding back the urge to bolt was hard. Her legs tensed, her back and shoulders, her everything. God, she wanted out of there so damn bad.

Pete gave her another look, promising all sorts of violence and pain. Not just her imagination. Her lungs were working hard, but she could hardly breathe.

“Nick, how about when you shot that bloody whingeing corporal?” Pete put down his knife and started rolling the biggest joint she’d ever seen in her life. The smell of mull outdid the combined smell of their unwashed bodies. Pete and Justin weren’t big on deodorant, apparently. “You remember, just before they leveled the hospital. Can’t say that didn’t feel good.”

“That bastard,” said the man she might have been in love with but sure as hell didn’t want to be anywhere near just then. “Nah, that felt fan-fucking-tastic.”

Cue much guffawing and description of brain splatter. Ah, but they were witty tools. She kept her face calm, slack and made a list in her head of her favorite books, in alphabetical order by author surname. When Nick shot her a look she ignored him. Atwood, Austen, Bronte, Byatt … who else?

Justin smirked. “If I had to hear about his poor wife and kids back home one more time I was going to do it myself.”

Nick was just playing a part. She had to trust him. He didn’t mean it. They were going to get out of this and all would be awesome. It would.

She sat beside him on a battered old yellow lounge, his big hand curved over her knee. The army rations from dinner churned in her belly. If she could make it through the night without puking, she’d be doing well. Everything about this nauseated her. Evil emanated off these two as badly as their BO. Only Nick’s presence held them back for now, but that wouldn’t last. Pete and Justin had taken him aside for a word earlier. She didn’t even want to know what had been said. Well, she did, but she didn’t. Lecherous Neil from school looked like child’s play compared to these two. The air of menace in the dingy little lounge room was as palpable as the heat from the blazing fire, singeing the ceiling.

Her gun stayed tucked in her belt. Her back ached where it dug into her spine, but no way would she remove it.

“Time for bed, hey?” Nick gave her knee a squeeze and stood.

“What, already?” Pete said, then leered at her with a grin a hundred dentists couldn’t have helped. “Can’t say I blame ya.”

“See you in the morning, boys.” Nick winked and led her toward one of the bedrooms. The one furthest from where the bodies had been found.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Justin croaked around a cloud of smoke and passed the joint back his friend.

Nick chuckled.

Her shoulders crept higher and higher.

The door clicked shut behind them and he set the torch on the floor. There was a dingy old double bed and a motorbike, laid out in parts on a layer of newspapers to protect the carpet. Considering it had been worn bare, she couldn’t see the point. Nick grabbed the chair from in front of a desk and jammed it under the door handle, checking it twice.

“They’ve given me tonight to talk you around. I’ve got a plan.” He touched her arm and she skipped back a step.

“Ros.”

“Just … give me a minute here.”

“No. Listen to me.” He reached for her and she reacted without thought. The flat of her palm smacked into his cheek. Her hand stung. Nick just stared at her.

“Shit,” she whispered.

He looked every bit as stunned as she felt. He blinked at her again and again. His cheek was dark in the low light. Fuck, she’d actually hit him.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Then he really grabbed her. His hands wrapped around her upper arms and he pulled her in tight against him. Her br**sts were mashed up against his chest and his mouth covered hers in a brutally hard kiss. One hand squeezed her ass while the other held the back of her neck. He wasn’t gentle. But neither was she. Fear and anger fueled them both.

He f**ked her mouth with his tongue. There was no other word for it. Fingers dug into her, holding her against him. She bit at him, or tried to. So mad, nothing made sense. The things he’d said, the words were a jumble in her head. She just wanted to hurt him. The way he’d talked about other women made her bloodthirsty. If she could have, she’d have crawled beneath his skin and done him damage from the inside out.

She tore at the button on his jeans, the zip, shoved the denim down over his hips. Her fingernails scratched at his h*ps and flat stomach. Beneath his hot skin, his muscles flinched. He groaned into her mouth.