The war-chief drew a short, wickedly curved knife from his belt as he held the tangled leathers about her ankles. With one fierce cut, he severed the material that held her legs together. His lips formed a sneer.
"Don't I dare?" He snarled.
She tried to kick at him with her newly freed legs as he drew near; he slapped them down.
He backhanded her across the face.
"Don't I dare?"
His mouth came down on hers, biting her lip until he broke skin, pulling back as she bucked and screamed, shoving down her knee as she tried to strike at him.
"DON'T I DARE?!"
Sheathing the knife, he grabbed the bottom of her jerkin, wrenching the cloth up to her rib cage and laying her abdomen bare. His hand balled into a fist and rammed into her belly.
As she tried to double up in her bonds he shoved her thighs down again, and drove a second punch into her soft stomach.
The men watching roared their approval as each blow struck the bound woman.
He raised his fist, the thickly corded muscles in his arm bulging. "Tell me again, whore! Tell me what I don't dare?!"
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