by Sybil Bartel
His pants around his ankles, his dick still in his hand, Santos lay next to her and stroked himself again. “Can’t take your eyes off me, huh, amigo?” He grinned. “You want a piece of me or her? Maybe both?”
I counted off the number of steps up to the house as seconds in my head. Whoever had come inside would’ve at least cleared the stairs by now.
My aim steady on Santos, I stepped toward the bed. “You know what your first mistake was?”
Santos chuckled. “Not inviting you to the party?”
“Not saving any ammo to shoot me with.” Quicker than the fuck could take his hand off his dick, I flipped my rifle and struck him once in the face with the stock. Before the blood came gushing out of his broken nose, I repeated the strike on his fucking balls.
Howling out in pain, his hands flew from his nose to his junk, and he rolled off the bed. “You cocksucker!”
Ludeviene started to shake, but I couldn’t pause to deal with it. The second I broke through the window, our time was up.
Retrieving the one weapon the fucking captain hadn’t taken from me, I yanked my K-bar from its sheath clipped to my belt. Squatting, I held the serrated blade to Santos’s throat. “You know the second mistake you made, motherfucker?”
“You’re dead,” he ground out, spitting a mouthful of blood at me.
“Thinking just because Dante told me not to shoot you, I wouldn’t kill you.” I cut his motherfucking throat.
Shock contorted his face as blood spewed like a fucking faucet.
Zero remorse, I stood and wiped my blade on the bedding.
Face white, body trembling, the woman I came here for cowered away from me like I was a goddamn monster.
Santos made one last gurgling sound, and I told myself it was for the best. Pulling her dress down, I used my K-bar to cut first her wrist then her ankle restraints before reaching for her gag.
Avoiding eye contact, she jerked away from me.
I glanced out the broken window, but I couldn’t see shit now that it was dark. “We don’t have much time,” I warned. “I’m just untying the gag.” I reached for her again. “Your hair’s caught in it.”
Shaking, her wrists and ankles bruised, she flinched, but she didn’t move away.
Mission intent, I shoved my rage down at the state she was in and untied the gag, doing my best not to pull her hair. Tossing the spit and blood-soaked fabric aside, I had to address the bigger issue. “Are you injured, or do you have your period?” Either way, I couldn’t risk swimming her out of here now, not through shark-infested waters.
Heat hit her bruised cheeks as she sat up, and she barely shook her head, but she didn’t say shit. Still not looking at me, she gingerly touched one of her wrists.
Period it was. “Okay, sweetheart, we gotta move.”
She glanced at the floor, then crossed her arms and shook harder.
His eyes open, blood pooled around his head, Santos lay prone.
“He’s dead. Don’t worry about him.” I shouldered my borrowed rifle and took her arm.
A small gasp came out of her dry lips and she flinched, hard.
I gently turned her arm. Goddamn it. A gash ran the length from elbow to shoulder, but it’d started to scab. “Okay, sweetheart, it’s not bad, but it’s gonna have to wait until we get out of here before I can address it.” I reached for one of the restraints, and she jerked away from me again.
Fuck this.
I took her chin and forced her to look at me. “I’m not one of them. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m here to get you out.”
Her eyes welled, and she averted her gaze.
“Ludeviene?” Goddamn it, I didn’t have time for this. After I got her the fuck off this island, I’d address every last scrape and issue she had, but right now I needed to know if she was okay to move. “You good to go?”
She stared at nothing like it was her new religion.
Fuck. Fuck.
Not talking, not making eye contact—she was in shock. I’d seen this shit plenty of times downrange, but we were out of time, and I couldn’t address it now. So I gave her the best I could.
“I’m not tying you back up.” Dropping her chin, I used my knife to cut a length of the material before taking her forearm and holding her arm out. “I’m wrapping your cut. It’ll stop the bleeding for now.” I wound the material around her arm twice and tied it off snug.
She winced, then her stare cut to the mess on her thighs.
Fuck, the look on her face was killing me. I turned her toward the bathroom. “Go clean up. I’ll see what I can find for you to wear.” I glanced at her feet. “You got any shoes?”
She shook her head.
“All right, sweetheart, no problem. Go.” I scanned the grounds out the window again before I stepped over Santos’s body.
I heard the bathroom door close and water turn on as I shoved the fucking wardrobe away from the door. The handle still intact, I opened the door, but as soon as I did, it fell off the hinges. The hallway wall across from the bedroom was riddled with bullets. I was fucking lucky not more than two guards had shown up.
I grabbed my bag off the coffee table, then went back through the bedroom to the bathroom and knocked. “It’s me. I have some clothes.”
The water shut off, and after a beat, she opened the door. Her dress still on, she’d pulled her hair up into a bun and washed the blood off her thighs. Her face, wrists and ankles bruised, she looked like Santos had beat the hell out of her, and I wanted to kill the fucker all over again.
I handed her the bag. “Find whatever you can in here. You’ve got ten minutes. Stay here and wait for me. I’ll be right back.”
I left her and did a quick and useless search of the house for weapons, then I found the kid on the porch with the rifle in both of his hands like a death grip again. Not wanting to get fucking shot by him, I warned him of my presence before pushing the slider all the way open. “Hey. You left the door open.”
He jumped and turned toward me, taking his eyes off his post. “Oh, sorry, boss. Wasn’t sure if you wanted it closed?”
Christ. “Don’t turn your back on your post.” I stepped out on the deck.
“Oh sure, sure.” He faced the grounds and marina again.
“Give me that.” I nodded at his AR-15.
“What, why?” he asked, handing it over.
“Because you’re holding it wrong.” I positioned the stock against his shoulder correctly and put his finger on the trigger guard.
“You broke through the window,” he blurted. “Dante’s going to be pissed.”
“Santos was strangling her,” I lied. “No choice. I’m here to protect the asset, not fucking cater to that sick fuck’s sexual deviance.”
The kid whistled low. “Don’t let Dante hear you say that. I mean, Santos is known for being rough, but he usually never hurts them. Well, you know, not permanently.”
Slitting his throat was too humane. I should’ve gutted Santos. “How many men are guarding the dock?”
“During a regular shift?” he asked, keeping his finger in place.
“Yeah.” I moved his other hand off the magazine and placed it under the barrel.
“Three. And usually the captain is down there too, but he took Boss—er—the other boss and Addis for a run.” He held the gun closer and used the sights.
“Better.” I adjusted his hand slightly. “They took the yacht?”
“Yep,” he said proudly, as if the answer was a damn test he nailed.
“The other two boats have the keys in them?” Fuck, I didn’t want to have to kill this kid.
He lowered the rifle and his face fell. “Yeah, why? Are they coming?”
“Is who coming?” The last goddamn thing I needed were more obstacles on this island.
“A team, or men, or a private security outfit, whatever you want to call it. Dante thinks the cavalry is coming for the girl. He warned us to be on guard, especially at night.”
The cavalry wasn’t c
oming. I was already here.
I RUMMAGED THROUGH THE BAG of clothes that smelled like him and fought not to completely break down.
No tampons or anything else in the bathroom except towels that looked like they’d never been used, I’d cleaned myself off as best as I could, but I still had the remnants of my period and oh my God, he’d seen me naked. Everyone had seen me naked.
But I couldn’t think about that right now. Or the dead body lying on the floor out there.
I couldn’t think about any of it.
He said we were out of time.
He said I had ten minutes.
Ten minutes….
I sucked in a sharp breath. I would not cry. I would not cry.
Sifting through the neatly folded clothes that seemed in direct contrast to the man who’d put them in here, I pulled out two pairs of stretchy knit boxers and the only long-sleeved shirt, a black Henley.
I quickly used the bathroom one more time, then washed my hands again and held my mouth under the faucet. When I couldn’t stall anymore, I put on both pairs of his boxers, one on top of the other just in case any more of my period decided to leak, then I pulled the T-shirt over my dress and folded up the cuffs two turns.
The whole ritual had taken maybe two minutes.
Probably less than that.
A horrible thought occurred and fear sank to my stomach.
Oh God.
What if he didn’t come back?
No. I forced the thought away. I hadn’t heard any more gunshots or any kind of commotion at all. He was coming back.
But what if he didn’t?
Panic started to spread like wildfire. I needed a backup plan, and I needed it now. Okay, I could do this. Deep breath, look for a way out. My hands were free now, I could swim… somewhere. But I needed to get out of here first.
I looked at the bathroom door, and every threat that was beyond suddenly became insurmountable.
But I didn’t have a choice.
Not if I wanted to live.
So I shoved everything down like I’d done when my mother had had her stroke, and I opened the bathroom door.
The wardrobe had been moved and the bedroom door was hanging off the hinges, but the body was still there, and panic flooded me.
I was glad he was dead. I’d wanted him dead, but my body and my mind were on a total disconnect, and my breath started to come quicker and quicker, until I heard it.
His voice.
The deep, very much alive voice of a bodyguard.
It was the kick I needed.
Studiously not looking at the man he’d killed without so much as a blink, I tiptoed to the open door.
A spray of bullet holes and chipped sheetrock across the hall greeted me, but I ignored it. I moved toward the sound of his voice like it was my only lifeline, because it was.
He was my best way out of here.
I’d thought he was one of them when I first saw him, but then he’d come through the window and slit that vile man’s throat. I still didn’t trust him, not completely, and I didn’t trust my own father anymore, but I needed to get out of here, and I could worry about all the small details like trust and how the bodyguard had wound up here and why my father had done business with someone like Dante later.
Much later.
Creeping down the hall, my heart in my throat, I risked a quick glance around the corner into the living room.
No one.
Exhaling the breath I’d been holding, I looked toward the open slider door I’d been dragged through a few hours earlier, but seemed like a lifetime ago—a life where I hadn’t almost been raped or witnessed a cold-blooded murder.
My hand on my chest, I stood concealed in the darkened hall and listened as Ty spoke to someone on the deck I hadn’t seen before.
Ty nodded at the other man’s gun. “Give me that.”
“What, why?” The man who looked barely legal asked as he handed over the large rifle.
“Because you’re holding it wrong.” Ty repositioned the gun in the other man’s hands.
“You broke through the window,” the younger man blurted. “Dante’s going to be pissed.”
“Santos was strangling her. No choice. I’m here to protect the asset, not fucking cater to that sick fuck’s sexual deviance.”
Asset? I shivered, wondering if I could trust Ty after all.
The younger man let out a slow whistle. “Don’t let Dante hear you say that. I mean, Santos is known for being rough, but he usually never hurts them. Well, you know, not permanently.”
Ty frowned. “How many men are guarding the dock?”
The younger man watched what Ty was doing with rapt attention. “During a regular shift?”
“Yeah.” Ty shifted the younger man’s hand on the gun.
“Three.” The younger man answered. “And usually the captain is down there too, but he took Boss—er—the other boss and Addis for a run.” He held the gun up and looked down the barrel.
“Better,” Ty encouraged. “They took the yacht?”
“Yep.” The younger man smiled at Ty’s compliment.
“The other two boats have the keys in them?” Ty asked casually.
The younger man lowered the rifle as his voice took on a pound of worry. “Yeah, why? Are they coming?”
Ty palmed the rifle that had been hanging on his shoulder by a strap. “Is who coming?”
“A team, or men, or a private security outfit, whatever you want to call it,” the younger man rattled off. “Dante thinks the cavalry is coming for the girl. He warned us to be on guard, especially at night.”
It was only a slight tensing, but I saw the muscles in Ty’s shoulders stiffen. “Any extra security or anything I need to be aware of at night?”
“No, same number of men. Eight on, eight off waiting for shift change.”
Ty frowned. “Dante said sixteen men were on.”
The younger man shook his head. “That was only for today, for you know…” He leaned toward Ty and lowered his voice. “For when they brought her in. You know, in case there was trouble.”
Ty tipped his chin toward the ocean. “You got more trouble in-house than out there.”
“Yeah, Santos is… yeah.” The younger man exhaled. “But the guys say he’s untouchable because he’s Dante’s cousin.” He shrugged. “I just try to stay away from him.”
“Good plan.” Ty clapped him on the shoulder. “So there’re eight men on right now?”
“Yeah.” The younger man nodded. “Three by the dock, four on patrol around the island and me.”
“Do me a favor?” Ty asked.
“Sure.”
“Stand your post, and don’t let anyone in or out of the house. I’m going to introduce myself to the other men.”
My stomach dropped.
“What about Santos?” the younger man asked with worry in his voice.
“I’ve got him contained,” Ty evaded.
Even in the dim cast from the porch light, I could see the younger man’s eyes widen. “How?”
“Gave him a taste of his own medicine,” Ty clipped.
The younger man smiled. “No shit? You roofied him?”
“Something like that,” Ty muttered, heading for the stairs before he paused. “You want some advice, kid?”
“Sure.”
Ty didn’t hesitate. “Join the military. Get out of this line of work.”
The younger man’s shoulders straightened, and he stared straight ahead. “I was in the military, sir.”
“Bullshit,” Ty swore. “You don’t even know how to hold your weapon.”
“It’s true,” the younger man snapped. “I was in the Marines.”
“For how long? A day?” Ty asked incredulously.
The younger man shifted his feet and averted his gaze. “Longer than a day,” he said like it was a grave admission.
“What the fuck happened?” Ty demanded.
Inhaling, the younger man’s chest rose, and then it fel
l along with his shoulders. “I was medically discharged during recruit training.”
“What the hell for?”
He didn’t answer at first. Then his voice went even quieter. “It’s personal.”
“Nothing’s personal in the military,” Ty clipped.
“Yeah?” The younger man’s voice rose. “Well, this is, and I don’t have to tell you shit.”
“You do if it’s gonna affect your ability to stand guard.”
“It’s an autoimmune disease, okay?” he blurted.
“What the fuck is that? You contagious?”
“No, I’m not contagious,” the younger man practically yelled. “It’s genetic, okay? There, now you know. It’s not a big deal, except apparently to the Marines. So screw them. I can stand my post and do my job here just fine.”
“Christ,” Ty muttered.
He straightened his shoulders. “No one will get past me.”
“Great. Be back in a few.” Shaking his head, Ty went down the stairs.
My nerves shot, I quietly tiptoed back to the bedroom. Careful not to look in the direction of the body on the floor, I went straight to the bathroom and locked myself inside.
STICKING TO THE SHADOWS, I scanned the beach and the dock as I jogged toward the east side of the island. The three guards on dock patrol stood with their backs to me in front of the speed boat I wanted to use. All of them were ignoring their posts as they talked to each other.
I fell back into the shadows.
If I was lucky, they’d still be fucking off when I came back.
Wanting a goddamn smoke, but not willing to risk tipping off my presence by lighting up, I moved along the shadows of the mangroves. I needed to locate the other four guards before I took out the three on the dock.
I spotted the first guy, thankfully before he saw me. Fucker was half hidden in the mangroves, scanning the water like a fucking cranker. Worse, he was right in front of the pilings where Preston was supposed to leave my shit.
Goddamn it.
I stepped out of the shadows with my rifle pointing down. “Hey.”
The fucker spun and aimed. His eyes wild, he didn’t say shit.
“Lower your fucking weapon. I’m Ty.”
“I know who you are,” he said carefully with a Spanish accent.