First Class Male by Jillian Hart

it, and I’ll make you wish you were dead. And wish it, and wish it.”
    She heard the smile in his voice, the threat that seemed to bring him so much pleasure, and she shivered. She couldn’t blink back the tears fast enough. Those scared, vulnerable tears spilled over her lashes and rolled down her cheeks one by one.
    “That’s what I thought.” He grabbed her by the throat, wrapping his filthy, brutish hands around her like a vise and clamping tight. She couldn’t breathe, her lungs spasmed, her body jerked. Air, she needed air. Desperate, she reached up to try and claw her way free, but he released her suddenly, giving her a shove, laughing heartily.
    “Lew, stop playing with her. Get her up on one of the fresh horses.” The old outlaw sounded irritated as he held the binoculars up to his eyes. “Looks like our men didn’t hold off that marshal for long. He’s riding fast, just leaving town now.”
    Mason! Callie gulped, relieved he was okay after that intense gunfight, elated that he was coming for her, but—he would be riding into more gunfire. Maybe if she could sneak off while the two outlaws were talking—
    “Well, that blasted marshal is smarter than we thought.” Lew grabbed Callie around the waist and carried her around the huge boulder.
    “And a better shot,” the old man added dryly.
    Her plans defeated, Callie felt herself swinging through the air again, skirts tumbling upward enough to expose her, landing with a stomach-jarring
whomp
on Lew’s bear-like shoulder. The summer air breezed against the back of her bare knees and thighs as she bobbed long, wondering what her chances were for escape now. That window seemed to be slamming shut.
    More outlaws and fresh horses stood in a large, protected hollow of land, a dip in the hillside. One of them must have been keeping watch too, for he was swatting dirt off the front of his denim legs, gun in hand.
    “Lew,” he said. “We’re ready to ride. That lawman isn’t far behind.”
    “He’ll get lost up in the bluffs. Keep ahead of him, we’ll be all right.” Lew hefted her off his shoulder, laying her across a saddle like she was a sack of potatoes.
    Callie scrambled upright, noticing there were five men now, five armed and violent looking men. She didn’t have a chance, she thought, her heart sinking. It felt as if the light drained from the sky. She couldn’t fight them all and win, there was no possible way. And all those eyes on her would make it really tough to sneak off and escape. Worse, she realized the horse she was sitting on didn’t have a bridle. It was tied to one of the other saddled horses.
    “Oh, I am mighty glad you got her back. Sweet little virgin like that.” The man with the dusty denims came up to her horse, hooked his fingers under the hem of her dress and lifted, getting a look at her bare calves. “Ooh-ee, I can’t wait to get at that.”
    “Stop that.” She slapped his hand, pushed her dress down into place. It happened so fast, it surprised her and it stunned the men.
    Dusty Denims laughed, amused. He winked. “Good, I like ‘em feisty,” he said, strolling off to mount up. “I get to smack ‘em around that way.”
    The other men laughed darkly, for it was no joke.
    Callie gulped, feeling her skin crawl. She swung her leg over the saddle horn, careful to arrange her skirts so the least amount of bare leg would show. The horse beneath her stood obediently as the outlaws mounted up. Remembering the gelding she’d ridden up on, she glanced over her shoulder. He was on his knees in the dirt, head down, sides heaving, mouth bleeding, his dark coat white with lather. He’d been ridden too hard, treated too badly, he looked defeated. She hoped that after he’d rested, he’d turn around and go home to his stable, where his owner could care for him.
    “Let’s ride,” Lew ordered from the back of his horse, pulling his red bandana over his face.
    “I’ll stay behind and deal with that marshal.” The