The guard who’d caught her had backhanded her in the face downstairs, after the captain had announced the party was over. Moretti had stormed down, irate his party had been cut short, and told her she would talk.
She hadn’t yet, and that was the only reason she was still alive.
“I tell you, boys,” Beanie said, pacing the length of the couch. “You can’t buy this kind of fucking loyalty. I mean, the bitch isn’t worried I might cut off her finger for whoever hired her.”
“Maybe she’ll care if she loses a hand,” another guard said.
“Or a nipple,” yet another piped up.
Ripples of terror washed over her skin, and she closed her eyes. She couldn’t let them break her. Jesus, this was a senator for god’s sake. Yeah, his family was dealing with a scandal, and until now she hadn’t cared about the details, but the allegations sure as hell had to be true if Moretti was going to let his men rape and dismember her. They didn’t even know what she’d been trying to steal. Whatever Moretti was hiding had to be big.
Beanie stopped at her feet and his knees bumped into hers. The heavy scent of onions radiated off his hot breath. Her stomach spiraled in revulsion, but she met the man’s eyes. Dark pools of vacancy stared back. Beanie’s pupils dilated and retracted. The sun had long since fallen below the horizon, and clouds covered the moon. A drop of rain splattered on her cheek, then another, and another.
“You cold, honey?” He tilted his head, making the light from the ceiling bounce off his bald head.
She clenched her jaw. She hadn’t said a word to him since he dragged her upstairs. If she died tonight, she’d go down with dignity. Something this piece of shit didn’t possess.
“How about you tell me what you came here for—or better yet, who you’re protecting? Then we can get you a cup of tea and cover you up.”
She didn’t shift her gaze.
His jaw rocked back and forth. “Smart. You know we’re not here to play nice. Here’s the deal—you tell me and I kill you quickly. Maybe I’ll be real nice and leave you in the middle of the ocean. There’s always the chance someone could find you. Or, we can do things the hard way.”
For the first time, indecision warred within her. Ratting out one of her friends wasn’t the way to go down. Max was only a small player. She didn’t know who was behind wanting Jenny Carter’s location. But one thing was for sure: she was dying tonight, and no matter what information she gave him, Beanie wouldn’t offer her a shred of mercy.
A guard at the end of the couch stood. Lankier than the others, he had a full, thick beard that mingled with the tattoos on his neck. “I think she likes things . . . hard.”
Her throat tightened, and a bolt of warning zapped her core.
Beanie’s hand went to the hem of her dress. She squirmed and jerked out of his reach, but the rope didn’t allow her to get far. He laughed as he seized her waist in both of his hands. “We’ll just fuck the information out of you.”
He stepped behind her. One guard had the decency to look uneasy and kept his stare on the deck. Another got to his feet. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he said, and stormed out of the room.
Peyton swallowed. Beanie pulled her hips back and ground the bulge in his pants against her bottom. His mouth lowered to her ear and the rancid scent of cigarettes hit her. “More for us then.”
She heard the sound of his zipper and panic seized her. “No!” She thrashed against the ropes and Beanie lost his hold. He snagged her hip again, but she turned toward him. Using all her core strength, she lifted her knee into his groin. He doubled over, bending down next to her.
His wheeze of pain fired up her instincts. Lurching forward, she sunk her teeth into his shoulder.
“Fucking cunt!” he yelled, yanking out of her bite. His fist barreled through the air and bounced off her cheekbone. Her consciousness flickered and her head dropped forward. The slats of wood at her feet swirled. Rain thundered down from the sky with the suddenness of a flash fire. The sound of ripping material—her dress—pierced the fog closing in around her. A pathetic plea hiccupped from her lips. Rough hands tugged at her panties as the rain blew into the open space, mercilessly beating against every inch of her skin.
Then a different sound floated to her senses. Hard, determined steps.
The paralyzing iciness of fear closed its hands on her windpipe, stealing the scream from her lips.
* * *
Rage, hot and fierce, ripped through Rhett. He curled his hands at his sides and pounded down the deck toward the open seating area. The skin on his forearms tightened as he fought the urge to grab Beanie by the throat and throw him off the fucking deck and into the rain-pelted ocean.
A woman dangled from the ceiling, blood rolling down her cheek, her strawberry-blonde hair plastered to her face. Her black dress hugged every curve that wasn’t exposed to the eye. Spotting him, Beanie straightened away from the woman and a flash of annoyance crossed his face, but he didn’t return to his prepared-to-mount position. Jesus Christ, was he going to rape her in front of everyone? What kind of sick bastards had he been working alongside the last six weeks?
Without breaking his stride, Rhett strode to the woman and cupped his hands around her wrists. He fished his switchblade from his pocket and snapped out the blade. The woman whimpered and turned her face from him. His chest swelled and the rage already hot under his skin turned to lava.
“What do you think you’re doing, Beanie?” He sliced through the ropes in one swoop and the woman dropped from the ceiling. Her legs buckled with the abrupt movement, but he caught her around the waist, holding her shivering body to his chest. She didn’t make a sound, but the tension in her body told him she was on high alert.
“Exactly what the boss told me to do. Getting information out of her.”
“By raping her?” The accusation whipped from his mouth. One of the men shifted on the leather couch behind him, and Rhett spun around to pin them all with his stare. “What the fuck is the matter with you guys?”
Two of the guards looked embarrassed, but one lifted his chin in defiance. The youngest got to his feet and picked up a woven blanket from the back of the sofa. Rhett accepted it with a nod, and the kid retreated.
He froze Beanie with his stare again, but the guard didn’t show an ounce of remorse. “I gave her more than one opportunity to come clean.” His mouth split into a salacious grin. “Maybe she wanted to get dicked.”
Rhett snagged a breath of air, suppressing the overwhelming urge to shoot the motherfucker between the eyes. He had to keep his cool. Too much was riding on this mission. Already a call to his team was warranted, now that a civilian was involved. They were waiting offshore in the event that his cover got blown. Over the last six weeks, he’d had to check in with his team carefully and strategically—never on Moretti’s property or while on guard duty. But he had to fill in Mandy and Eric on the change in events. The stakes had just gotten high.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” Beanie said, as he curled his hand around the woman’s bare shoulder. “But Moretti put me in charge of the interrogation. How I do it is none of your fucking concern, rookie.”
Rhett’s body coiled, and he moved his finger on the switchblade still in his palm. The dainty scent of lilacs hit his nose and brought his blood pressure down a notch. Now wasn’t the time to have a pissing contest. Besides, he’d already won.
Rhett grinned. “You didn’t hear? You’ve been demoted. Go talk to Moretti.” He shook out the blanket, wrapped it around the woman’s shoulders, then bent to lift her. With one arm under her knees and the other around her back, he carried her down the hall to the stairs. Her body shuddered in waves against his chest, and her teeth chattered. He didn’t speak. Didn’t dare say a word—because what the hell could he say to a woman who’d nearly been raped by a group of men? Plus, he didn’t know what Beanie had already done to her.
He headed to his cabin. In the short time he’d been on Moretti’s team, the old
man had taken a liking to him, so he’d been given one of the two private cabins on the lower level. Beanie had the other. The rest of the guards bunked together. Kicking open his door, he strode to the only armchair in the room and deposited the woman onto it.
Wild golden eyes stared up at him, and the bottom of his stomach dropped out. Light freckles dusted her pale cheeks and nose. Her pink lipstick was smeared around her mouth, and mascara and whatever other gunk women wore rimmed the delicate skin around her eyes. He hadn’t caught his breath since taking in her perfectly symmetrical face and full lips.
Dangerous. Tantalizing. Seductive.
But fear clouded the honey-colored irises. Her hand moved beneath the blanket to grip the edge of the material, drawing it closer to her chest. The motion brought his attention to her ripped bodice. Her pale-pink nipple peeked out.
He jerked his gaze away and cleared his throat. She pulled the blanket tighter, hiding the supple flesh. Thank god. He shouldn’t be aroused right now. Not when she’d just been violated.
“Are you all right?” he asked, looking back at her.
The tip of her tongue moved through her parted lips, but she didn’t respond. The blood around her eye and cheek was starting to harden. He got to his feet, went to the adjoining bathroom, and returned with a wet cloth. He folded it and pressed it to her eye. When she let go of the blanket to take the cloth, he caught her hand.
“Hold the blanket.” His voice came out on a stern rumble, and her hand jerked from his. “Your . . . your dress is ripped.” He moved the cloth across her cheek, removing a lot of the blood. As he worked around her eye, she kept her lids lowered. Then he pressed the cloth to the cut at her eyebrow, and she hissed and jumped away.
“You need to clean that.”
“It’s fine.” Her voice came out tight and defensive. She repositioned the blanket and took the cloth, which she dabbed around the wound.
He dropped to the bed a couple feet away from the chair and loosened his tie. Rain hammered against his window and lightning flashed. He shed his suit jacket but kept his stare on her. She sat poised, her knees pressed together and her bare toes curled. Terrified he’d rape her no doubt.
He groaned and scrubbed his hand over his eyes. Interrogating a woman he felt nothing but sympathy for was something he’d never done. He couldn’t. It was that simple. He’d get her cleaned up, somewhat comfortable, and then maybe he could stop looking at her like a victim long enough to get something useful from her lips to give to Moretti. The good thing was, the old man didn’t want to kill her. Not with the suspicion surrounding his idiot nephew.
He got to his feet. “Can you stand?”
She lowered the cloth, exposing her face. The lamp’s soft glow from beside the bed illuminated the pink hue in her lips. “I—yes.”
He motioned for her to do so. He wanted to help her, but touching her in her current state didn’t seem right. She flattened her slim feet to the floor, pinched the blanket at her chest, and stood.
“Bathroom’s here. There are towels and everything you need in the cupboard. Shower and I’ll get you something dry.”
Her injured eyebrow rose. She stepped into the bathroom and looked around as if she thought someone would jump out and attack. “Why are you doing this?” The words came out small, fearful. His heart lurched.
He rubbed the pads of his fingers together. The first rule of interrogating someone was holding them in fear. That shit had gone out the window. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He kept his focus on her cheeks because looking into her eyes did something to his gut. “And I won’t let anyone else. As long as you talk.”
He closed the bathroom door, and a beat later the lock clicked. Pressing his hands to the wood, he listened. When he heard the shower running, he went to the cabinet above the mini fridge by the bed, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and poured a shot.
He was going to need a hell of a lot more than booze to get him through the night.
CHAPTER 3
She had to have lost her mind. She was showering in one of Moretti’s guard’s cabins. Lord almighty. Her hands trembled as she worked shampoo through her hair at rapid speed. He hadn’t tried to open the door, but a flimsy little lock wouldn’t stop him if he wanted to. Steam billowed around her, and for a second she inhaled deeply, sending warmth through her bones. She’d never been so cold in her life, and she couldn’t fully shake the chill. Whether it was from the rain, shock, or just plain terror, she didn’t know.
Tears built in front of her vision and her throat thickened. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—think about what had almost happened on the deck. Mortification heated her cheeks. She rinsed her hair then scooped up the bar of soap and worked it ferociously over the skin Beanie had touched. A sob broke through her lips, and she pressed them together as a river of tears sailed down her cheeks. She had to get a grip, but if she didn’t let out some of the fear and panic that had frozen her only minutes ago, she’d turn into a mess.
Knock, knock, knock
She jumped. The bar of soap flew from her fingers to bounce at her feet.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the guard said through the door. “I’ve got some dry clothes here. I’m going to pop the lock and toss them on the floor. I won’t be able to see anything, I promise.”
She pressed her lips together again. Now the flimsy lock didn’t even provide the façade of protection. No sound reached her ears. She swiped her hand over the shower’s glass and stared at the door. It didn’t move.
“Uh. I can leave them outside the door if you want, but I just thought you’d rather not have to open the door when you’re”—he cleared his throat—“done.”
She weighed her options. Either way she was vulnerable. But if she opened the door in a towel, he’d get a closer look at her than he would if she stayed behind the frosted glass coated in steam. The fact that he was giving her the choice showed a glimpse of chivalry.
She swallowed. “The bathroom floor is fine.” She shook her head. Had that even made sense? She heard the sharp ping of the lock popping, and then the door opened and his long arm stuck through the crack. He tossed the items to the floor and closed the door.
One brownie point for the guard. She bent to pick up the soap, finished scrubbing, and then turned off the water. She snagged a towel from the cupboard and dragged it into the shower stall with her. After drying off and wrapping the towel around herself, she advanced on the door and locked it again.
She hadn’t gotten a good look at the guy, but something about him had struck her as different from the other doofus-y guards, who hung on Moretti’s every word.
Shaking out the clothes, she held up a black T-shirt and navy-blue sweatpants. Her dress and underwear were soaked and ruined, and now that Beanie had touched them, she didn’t want them back on her skin anyway. Going commando in a strange guy’s sweatpants would be a first, but at least they were dry and warm. She dressed quickly, worked a towel through her hair, and then opened the door.
The guard sat on the end of the bed, his fingers laced together and dangled over his knees, his stare on the floor. The top two buttons of his shirt hung open, revealing the lip of an undershirt and the olive skin of his throat. His eyelids lifted, and steely gray eyes stabbed into her. Embarrassment flamed beneath her skin. She rolled her lips together and knotted her hands at her sides.
“Thanks for the clothes.”
He gave one nod. She shifted her gaze to the chair. What was she to do? He sure wasn’t treating her like a prisoner, but the night was young.
“Sit.” He nodded at the chair.
She did as he directed, curling her feet under her. The mantra she and Dani had lived by scrolled through her mind: Don’t ever give more information than you have to. The phrase had carried her through life long before she fully understood what it meant. And she’d practiced it. From foster home to foster home, she’d always kept her hand close to her chest. She never let anyone get too close and always did what she wanted, when she wanted.
When she’d met Dani, at only nine years old, she’d met someone with equal pain in her heart. Dani had become her other half and had taught her how to live without depending on anyone. Thanks to Dani, stealing had become second nature by the time she’d gotten her first period.
In their business—her business now—there was always the possibility of getting caught, either by the cops or the target. Giving only the minimum amount of information was key to getting off. She wouldn’t make an exception for this dude.
She moved her gaze over his body. A muscle jumped beneath the smooth skin at his jaw, where a black five-o’clock shadow was forming. Impatience sizzled through her. A clock ticked somewhere in the room, tightening her nerves into springs.
“Well?” she asked.
He moved his hand, lifted a glass from the nightstand, and took a swig of golden liquid. “Want a drink?” he asked, putting the glass down and nodding at the mini fridge.
She wrinkled her face. “Do I look stupid enough to take a drink from one of Moretti’s guards after what just happened upstairs?”
He rocked his head from side to side. “Nah, you don’t look stupid at all. Yet here you are, on Donatello Moretti’s yacht, caught trying to steal.”
She opened her mouth but he held out a finger.
“I need to know what happened before I got there.” The statement came out hard, determined.
She frowned.
“Beanie. What did he do to you?” His stare fixed on her like a laser in the dim room. Familiarity tickled her memory, but it slipped away before she could place him.
She shook her head. “He didn’t . . . he didn’t finish.”
His chin drew back and he straightened. His shirt stretched across his chest. “He started? He raped you?”
She sucked air down her throat and shook her head. Fresh tears stung her eyes. She shook her head vehemently. “No. No, he didn’t.” The words came out strangled.
Straight Shooter Page 2