The Men of Search Team Seven

She stood rigid, jaw clamped shut, as he ran one thick finger under the edge of the metal collar. The other hand slid down her arm to cup her breast. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Nice.”

“Get your hands off of me,” she warned.

“Now, sugar, seeing as how you’re going to be here awhile, we might as well be friendly.” He squeezed, and Erin brought her knee up toward his crotch, but he blocked the move and twisted her arm around her back, hard enough that she let out a cry.

Mark launched himself at the thug, landing a knuckle-bruising blow that sent blood spurting from Tank’s nose. Howling, the guard released Erin and swung the butt of his rifle against the side of Mark’s head. Mark staggered back, his vision blurring. Erin’s screams mingled with the pounding of his pulse and the animal growl that rose from Tank. Mark fell backward over one of the kitchen chairs and tried to regain his balance as Tank lunged toward him. He scanned the area for a weapon and grabbed for the chair, swinging it up to block a second blow from the rifle. Then the barrel of the weapon zeroed in on him, stalling his heart in his chest as he stared death in the face.

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