Sasha didn't care. He took advantage of Suzanne's stillness and settled his body over hers, pushed inside her slowly. Suzanne arched against him, hissing in response but not knowing if it was pleasure or pain. He let go of her arms, and she slid them around his back, scratching with enough pressure to draw blood even through his clothes. Her treacherous body reacted instantly to the familiar feeling of him being inside her, and her legs locked around his waist, pulling him deeper inside her. Sasha moaned in response, gentled his movements inside her until Suzanne whined in pleasure.
Sasha climbed into the truck and carefully placed his beloved rifle beside him out of the girl's reach, just in case. He had a reputation even among the rest of the soldiers as being particularly ruthless and talented in killing people, and so nobody else challenged him as he left the camp, with his unconscious, bruised and battered prisoner beside him.
Stop that! She chided herself for her own stupidity. It didn't matter what they would do to her, because she would not be giving them any real intel, period. And she did not need this man -- this sick and evilly twisted man, at that -- to rescue her. What she did need was time. Time to get herself into a position so that she could do what she came here for, and -- hopefully -- time enough to get back out again.
Sasha stopped, his hand raised to hit her again, when his boss growled "Sasha! If you go on like that, she'll be dead in twenty minutes."
"More like ten," Sasha replied. His breathing was heavy, but from anger rather than exertion. Suzanne was well aware that he could keep up this treatment for hours; would be happy to beat her as long as she stayed conscious. He changed his aim, ready to hit her other cheek this time and even out the bruises.