And now, she was mine.
Then her shirt was coming off, and I was staring at the work of art that was her torso. Yes, I’d been right, she was too thin, frail even, but that would be easily remedied when we got out of here. The curve of her waist and line of her spine were beautiful. Elegant in a way that no one should be, standing there in white cotton track pants, frayed as hell, and a graying bralette that had definitely seen better days. None of it distracted from her, however. Well, that wasn’t true. One thing did. Mottled purple and blue bruises along her rib cage.
Vargas. That fucker. If he wasn’t already burning in hell, I’d bring him back just to kill him more slowly. He’d gotten off too lightly.
“Come here.” I nodded to the spot just before me.
She wrapped her arms across her chest, even though it had to hurt, and came to stand before me. A pink blush made its way down her neck. She looked every inch her age just then. Young and inexperienced and painfully unworldly.
I took her chin between my fingers and raised it so her gaze hit mine.
“You’re hurt, and I’m going to tape up your ribs to support them a little. Okay?”
She nodded and slowly lowered her arms.
I turned her slightly and checked the damage on her rib cage clinically. Then I started to tape.
“You’ve done this before? Do you have medical training?”
I shook my head. “Nope, I just had to do it to myself and my guys in all kinds of situations when there was no doctor for a hundred miles.”
She pondered that for a moment. “Military?”
I gave her a swift nod.
“Army?” she pushed.
I shrugged. “For a while, then the Col Moschin.”
“Is that where you learned it?”
I raised an eyebrow at her while tearing another piece of tape from the roll.
“To . . . kill,” she dropped to a whisper.
“No. I was born with that skill. A God-given talent,” I murmured, and smoothed the tape over her ribs.
“Well, at least you have one.” She was staring off at the wall, her eyes hazy and distant.
“Everyone has one.”
She shook her head slowly. “I think my only one so far is my ability to take a punch.” She sighed.
“Says the girl with angels in her head.” I straightened up and put my hands on her waist once I was done wrapping her ribs. Her skin was pebbled with gooseflesh, and my hands were warm.
She started at first, but I held her firmly until she relaxed again.
“Is that a nice way of saying crazy?” She glanced up at me, dark-blue eyes steady and unflinching.
She might think I’m a devil, but she wasn’t afraid of staring me down.
I liked that. I liked that a lot. I didn’t meet many people with gumption anymore. Usually they cried and begged for their lives, abandoning all dignity in the end.
I had a feeling that Katarina Dmitrova didn’t beg easily. Last night and pleading for her life had been an exception, perhaps the only one she was willing to make, and even then, she’d quickly switched to proposing a deal.
Strength filled that slender spine, and determination angled her chin at me.
No, she didn’t beg for just anyone . . .