Every Second In His Arms (Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series, #3) Read online

  EVERY SECOND IN HIS ARMS

  Book 3

  Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series

  By

  Debra Kayn

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Every Second In His Arms (Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series, #3)

  EVERY SECOND IN HIS ARMS

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  Author Bio

  Debra Kayn's Backlist

  Sneak Peek

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  EVERY SECOND IN HIS ARMS

  Escape to the Bitterroot Mountains series

  1st Digital release: Copyright© 2019 Debra Kayn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Debra Kayn. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  www.debrakayn.com

  Dedication

  To the gals in the Milwaukie Book Club who supply me with questions, laughs, and all kinds of advice that I'll never take—and they know it!

  Prologue

  The guard took Joney from the cement room. Mark curled his upper body and covered his face with his hands. The relief that Mateo hadn't picked him to participate in the next dogfight was short lived over his worry for his friend.

  Joney would never survive. Out of all six of the boys who lived in the room, Joney was the smallest, the weakest.

  The barking in the barn rose in intensity. Mark sniffed, wiping his eyes. It wasn't fair.

  "Come on, we need to hurry." Anders handed Will a short piece of rope. "Tie this around my knuckles. It'll do more damage than my bare fists."

  On the floor, Mark rocked back and forth. Their plan to overtake the guard the next time he came to pick a boy for the next fight was their only option to stay alive.

  They were no longer training dogs to fight against other dogs. The men in charge were forcing the boys to fight against the attacking dog.

  "We have to do this now. It's our only chance." Two-crow scrambled to his feet. "The next one who gets called out will never survive. The men are egging on the dogs, and they're getting thirstier for blood."

  Mark raised his knees and buried his head, wrapping his arms around his skinny legs. He hated the men forcing them to be in the ring with the dogs. He never wanted to kill anything. He only wanted them to leave him alone.

  Why couldn't they leave him alone?

  The spectators gambled away a lot of money to see them kill a dog or be killed as if they weren't human beings. The last time he was inside the ring, he'd barely survived, and the infection in his arm from the bite reminded him that he was weaker.

  If Mateo grabbed him next, he'd die.

  Shivering against the cold cement floor, he closed his eyes against the bugs crawling across his bare feet. He'd grown out of his shoes since being kidnapped two years ago. His only option was to go without.

  He was used to having clothes, food, or comfort. The group home he lived in prior to being blindfolded and handcuffed in the van gave him three meals day and clothes to wear to school. That all ended when the men kidnapped him.

  Another bug crawled over his foot. He raised his head and wiped the wetness off his cheeks with the back of his hand. Sometimes, he believed that he'd die and the bugs would eat his body.

  He stood, watching Anders prep for the attack. They had to get out of here today.

  He wasn't scared of dying. At least if he were dead, he wouldn't have to face the dogs again.

  But, he needed to stay alive. If he were dead, the six men responsible for kidnapping him would probably force Two-crow, Joney, Anders, Will, and Quint to take his place. He couldn't leave them to fight on their own. They only had each other.

  He'd lost track of how many times he'd begged the men in the barn to help him. Nobody understood him. They spoke a different language and taunted him until the dog in the ring attacked.

  No, they were on their own. That's why they'd planned their escape. If they couldn't leave today, one of them was going to die, and their death would be on the men who were responsible for stealing them.

  Richard Parker.

  Sam McCloud.

  Ken Powell.

  Don Durham.

  Owen Roberts.

  Michael Jaster.

  Will paced the small room. "What if Joney doesn't come back?"

  Mark sat back on the floor and rubbed his eyes, worried about his friend. "He's been gone a long time."

  "They'll bring him back, and if they don't, we'll find him." Anders flexed his bound fingers.

  Anders was the biggest one out of all six of them, and that's why they'd voted for him to be the one to face the guard when he returned. Compared to Anders, Mark was strong, but he was slow. Being shut in the room most of the time, except when he was training and fighting the dogs, it was hard to exercise and build up his body. His feet seemed too big, and he was clumsy and not as quick.

  "What if they sic the dogs on us when we run?" Quint tucked his threadbare shirt into his too tight pants. "We'll never make it out of here."

  "That's why we're going to get the boss-man first. He won't be able to alert the others," said Anders, sweeping his hair off his forehead. "We all have to attack him when he brings Joney back. If one of you bails and he gains control over us, or more come to his rescue, they'll kill us."

  "Where are we going to go?" Will hitched his jeans higher.

  "We run to the right of the barn toward the trees. If the others come after us, we'll have to split up." Will looked at each of them. "We need to pick somewhere to meet up if we go in different directions and lose each other."

  "Montana," said Two-crow.

  "Why there?" asked Will.

  "Because no one will know us. None of us came from that state when we were kidnapped. Nobody will be looking for us. We can finally be free. The Bitterroot Mountains are there. We can hide and live off the
land." Two-crow undid the knot at the bottom of his braid.

  That time, nobody laughed at Two-crow's suggestion. He was always making up stories about being a Native American and describing the ways of his people. Mark chewed on his lip. Maybe the stories were true. He wouldn't know. Having grown up in group homes as an orphan, he moved around from school to school whenever they transferred him to a new home. He'd fallen behind in his studies.

  But, at least, Two-crow knew his nationality. Nobody else knew what they were just by looking in a mirror.

  Two-crow was book smart. Mark was sure that Two-crow picked the Bitterroot Mountains because of the book he was always reading. A book that he had in his pocket when he was kidnapped. He read the same story over and over, often sharing information with all the boys.

  Mark grew nervous. None of them even knew where they were being held captive. How would they know which direction to go? What if they left and became lost?

  Anders studied the others. "If we get split up, we'll meet there."

  "The mountains are huge. Aren't they?" asked Quint.

  "Don't worry, we'll find each other," said Anders.

  Afraid of losing contact with the other boys, Mark started crying again. He turned away from them all and wiped his face. Anything could happen outside the cement room. The other boys were braver than him. The thought of being alone scared him.

  Men would come after them. Wild animals would attack. He'd need to steal his food to stay alive. What if he was re-kidnapped and brought back? How would he survive on his own without the others?

  He couldn't trust anyone outside the room. Two years ago, he'd trusted the state when they sent him to a wilderness therapy program for stealing food out of the kitchen of the group home.

  Somehow, he'd ended up kidnapped instead. The men in the van had forced him and the other boys into the barn to train the dogs they would eventually face in a death match where he had to fight to stay alive.

  He bit his lip. The dogs he'd killed came back to life at night and killed him in his dreams.

  "What if we're really in a different country?" whispered Quint.

  Mark had no idea where they were being kept. The men outside guarding them and gambling on the dogs were brown-skinned and couldn't understand them. The ground they walked on from the room to the barn was nothing like he'd ever seen. It was mostly clay and sand.

  "Just remember, go to Montana if we lose track of each other. I don't care how many weeks or months it takes, we all need to get there." Anders curled his fingers, making a fist.

  "Sh." Two-crow motioned for them to stop talking and stepped closer to the door. After several seconds, he looked back at the group of boys and nodded.

  Anders raised his hands, signaling the attack. Mark inhaled swiftly, balling his fists. It was imperative that they all attack at the same time. If he chickened out, they'd all be punished. Maybe shot outright instead of forced to go inside the ring with the dogs.

  He hated living here. He hated the six men responsible. He hated the dogs.

  Mark's body trembled. He tightened the muscles in his arms. The others depended on him.

  He wouldn't let them down.

  Raising his fists, he tried to make himself bigger, stronger, braver.

  Not saying a word, he clenched his teeth and pressed his lips together. If the men at the barns heard him or the others, they'd never survive

  Fight.

  Escape.

  Run.

  The lock on the other side of the door rattled.

  Anders whispered, "Make sure Joney knows where we're going before we run."

  Mark glanced down at his bare feet. He'd have to keep up with the other boys who had shoes. If he fell behind, the bad men would catch him.

  The door crashed open, and Mateo filled the doorway looking for the next boy to take to the barn. Two-crow looked at Mark. They both nodded and jumped on the guard.

  Lifted off his feet, he thrashed, punching Mateo in the side of the head. Will dove against them, adding more weight. The guard fought. Mark fell off the man and hurried to join the fray again.

  Someone stepped on his foot. Mark ignored the pain and kept swinging his fists.

  Anders punched the large man in the face, over and over. Mateo's elbow landed in Mark's stomach, and he grunted, losing his breath.

  The dogs barking outside broke through the struggle, striking fear in Mark. He wouldn't let Mateo take him.

  Mateo's body went down to the dirt floor. Mark, his legs caught under the overweight man, grabbed two fistfuls of hair and banged the guard's head against the concrete floor.

  Blood and sweat coated Mateo's head. When Mark's arms grew tired, he kept going.

  "Hold on to him," said Two-crow.

  "I'm trying." Quint groaned, holding Mateo in a headlock.

  Mark leaned back, pulling Mateo's hair, pinning him to the ground for Anders to hit. Every muscle in his body screamed, and he let go.

  The man never moved.

  He grabbed Quint's shoulder to get around him and stop Anders, who continued swinging and hitting. "It's over."

  Anders continued hitting. Mark grabbed him, shoving him away. Two-crow whined in pain, falling back on his ass. Will pushed off the man's legs and crawled toward the door.

  Breathing hard, Mark blinked, focusing on the man in front of him.

  "He's dead," whispered Mark.

  It'd worked. They'd killed the guard, and the door was open.

  Quint pulled Anders to his feet. "Let's go."

  "Where's Joney?" Anders slapped out, trying to stop them from leaving. "We need to get him."

  "There's no time. They'll kill us if they see us around the pens." Will pulled Quint toward the door. "Let's get the hell out of here."

  "No, we need Joney." Anders looked around frantically. "We promised."

  "We'll get him." Quint's voice shook.

  Two-crow crouched to run. "How do we get him?"

  "I'll go to the back of the barn and look for him. You guys go on ahead." Anders shook his hands free of the ropes.

  "You can't go alone." Quint grabbed Anders' arm. "I'll wait for you in the trees."

  "Don't get caught. We'll find you when we can," said Anders.

  "Okay. Let's go," said Mark, looking over his shoulder as he ran forward.

  Anders sprinted with them until they reached the corner of the barn where the pens were located. Where they fought the dogs. Where Joney was taken.

  "Wait." Mark grabbed Two-crow's shirt, stopping him. "Anders can't go alone."

  But Anders kept running.

  Knowing he needed to follow the plan, he said, "Let's go."

  Every pebble and stick abused his bare feet. He ignored the pain and kept going.

  The bright sunshine blinded him. The trees were further away then he'd thought.

  Will, Quint, and Two-crow gained speed. Mark pumped his arms, unable to keep up.

  "Wait for me," he said, knowing the words never passed his lips.

  Making it to the trees a minute behind the others, he stopped and braced his hand against a slim tree trunk, searching the area. Panicked, he sucked in air, stumbling through the underbrush. Where had they gone?

  Alone and paranoid the men would find him, he made his choice and ran.

  He ran toward freedom.

  Chapter 1

  The satellite phone rang. Mark finished tying his boots and walked over to the desk. Moving the stacks of paperwork, maps, and bills out of the way, he answered, "Yeah?"

  "There's a lady here who wants a guided ride," said Josh, one of the teenaged boys working for him at Discover the Bitterroot.

  "Put her on the schedule." He grabbed a sweatshirt off the chair.

  "She, uh, wants to go ASAP," whispered Josh.

  He'd planned to work in the garage doing maintenance. Mondays were usually the slowest day of the week. Those that showed up wanting to ride already knew the area and went out on their own. That's why he only went out on guide trips on Fri
day and Saturday.

  "Give me a few minutes. I'll come up and talk to her." He disconnected the call.

  Pulling the sweatshirt over his head, he looked around the room for his hat. He lived in an underground bunker with six hundred square feet. How could he keep losing shit?

  Last night, he'd taken a shower, and went straight to bed. He walked over to the bathroom and found the hat on the top of the medicine cabinet/mirror combo.

  He opened the hatch, took the stairs to ground level, and came out in the back room of the house he used for his business. He ran his fingers through his beard and headed to the main room.

  Josh stood by the door, looking everywhere but at the woman two feet in front of him. Ignoring his employee, he took in the lady and concluded that she had never sat her ass on an ATV in her life, despite everything about her pointed at a woman who enjoyed physical exercise.

  She had her light brown hair swept back into a ponytail. Her jeans were ripped at the knees. The fitted sweatshirt showed off her assets. He gazed back at her full breasts. Toned and in great shape.

  What clued him in on her inability to handle an ATV were the pair of flipflops on her feet that told him her skill level for off-roading.

  He guessed her age around thirty. A pretty little thing about five feet two inches tall. He could pick her up and toss her out the door without any exertion.

  She turned as he entered the room. Her gaze latched on to him. She had green eyes, outlined with thick black lashes. Curious eyes that made him shut down.

  He held out his hand. "I'm Mark DeLane."

  "I know." She thrust her arm out. "Carly."

  Her dainty fingers squeezed confidently. He let go and walked over to the desk. "What can I help you with today?"

  "I want to pay you to guide me on a ride." She stepped closer. "Today."

  "No, can do." He sat in the chair and leaned back. "Guided tours only take place on Friday and Saturday. Monday through Saturday, customers can rent a vehicle and go on the thousands of trails through the Bitterroot Mountains on their own. It's two-hundred-seventy-five a day to rent for five hours. If you want it for two hours, it costs a hundred dollars. That includes a full tank of gas. If you want an extra can of—"