Hard to Hold

by Incy Black

  Kicking, scratching, she lost herself in a frenzied fight for her life. She didn’t even realize she was outside in the thick night air until a voice she’d thought never to hear again split the dark.

  “Let. Her. Go, Bates. You double-crossing bastard.”

  Rob swung her around, using her as a shield as Will Berwick, his chest heaving as if he’d run a mile in three minutes flat, emerged from the shadows, his gun drawn.

  “Not a chance. I’m not going to hurt her, nor is Antila. He just wants what’s his. And I deserve this chance of clearing my debts, of starting over again.”

  “Yeah, well, if you don’t release her, your debts won’t matter. You’ll have taken your biggest gamble—and lost.”

  Rob’s arm now round her throat tightened, and she felt the kiss of his knife against her throat, cold, the serrations nipping her skin. “Will, please, he’ll cut me if he has to,” she pleaded. “What’s one more body to him? He’s already taken one down, and he probably killed Seth and Mike, too. ”

  Will edged forward. “He’s not going to hurt you, Anna. He knows what Antila will do to him if he does. But it’s Marshall you should be truly afraid of, Bates. That’s his woman you’ve got by the throat, and he’s not what you’d call a forgiving man.”

  Anna choked as the arm flexed even tighter around her neck, the blade biting a little deeper.

  “I don’t give a fuck about that icy bastard. With the money Antila’s paying me, I can disappear for good, and I want Marshall to bleed. Bleed in the knowledge that this is his fault. He beat one of our own to death, Will. Agent Belingham, Sam, was the closest thing I had to brother, and that bastard pulped him—just for being on the take.”

  The blade bit deeper still, no pain, but she felt the trickle of something warm slide her neck. Not sweat—she was far too chilled. She held stock-still, shut down every muscle, the image of the slit throat and sound of the desperate gargles of the man lying dead back in the house, torturing her mind. She didn’t want to die, not like that, not drowning in her own blood.

  A heavy rumble cut the dark. “Oh, I’ve bled, Bates, more than you’ll ever know…”

  Nick! Her heart remembered how to pump, her blood remembered how to gush, pity her legs forgot what they were for. She slumped heavily against Rob.

  “Which is why I won’t hesitate to plant a bullet right in the center of your forehead if you don’t let her go this—”

  Gunfire shattered the dark. She watched Will jerk twice, step back, and fold in slow-motion. The ground dropped from beneath her feet, a heavy weight landing on top of her, driving the breath from her lungs. Her head screamed in agony, the synapsis of her brain flashed then short-circuiting. Her last thought—bomb? Grenade? Nick?

  …

  Anna gave up trying to regulate the ever-shifting volume of the pointless conversation teasing the fringe of her consciousness. She much preferred the voices in fade mode, when loud, they split her head and her eardrums risked perforation.

  And why wouldn’t her eyelids lift? She’d never had any problem with their weight in the past.

  Confused. Exhausted. She stopped wrestling the empty darkness. Its embrace was oddly comforting.

  The irritating patting wouldn’t stop. She turned her head to protect her cheek from the unwanted assault.

  Flames, hot and foul, shot up her nostrils.

  Her eyes flew open, and her body arched in violent protest. Wrenched from the soothing arms of drifting semi-awareness, her arms flailing erratically, she fought to escape the offensive stink that scorched her mind and burned her lungs.

  Firm hands, pinned her shoulders, insisting she lie still. Her body obeyed. Her pulse didn’t.

  Her eyes scouted, high, low, left to right. She didn’t recognize her surroundings. Not the smooth, honey-colored wood lining the walls, nor the vertical fall of cream gossamer, billowing gently in the draught of floor-to-ceiling windows thrown wide open.

  And, certainly, nor the stranger leaning over her, his expression strained.

  Her heart hitched. Where was she? And where the hell was Nick?

  She struggled to sit upright, batting away the unknown hand that reached forward to calm.

  “Are you sure the baby is well?” she heard a vaguely familiar voice ask. Not a kind voice. Hard. Brutal. Unforgiving.

  “Every care has been taken. Both the mother and baby are unharmed.”

  “Good. Make sure it stays that way. Have the reinforcements arrived?”

  “I believe they came on board last night.”

  On board? That didn’t sound right. Anna reached at the edges of her fraying senses and tugged them into some semblance of order.

  The fog and shadows lifted, Antila took form, his death stare searching her face. “How do you feel?”

  Dizzy. But she refused to show weakness. “Where am I?”

  “At sea. On Devil’s Whim. You have been for close to a fortnight, but we had to keep you sedated. There is nowhere safer. So, relax. For my son’s sake. I have no wish to have you medicated again.”

  At sea? That meant water. Heaving, sucking, suffocating water. She stamped down terror before it could get a grip. “Where’s Nick…?” Her voice was thick, still slurred. She cleared her throat. “Marshall, where is he?”

  Antila shoulders rose and fell in a who-gives-a-shit shrug. “I warned you what would happen if he tried to cross me.”

  A life-sucking chill flooded her veins. “That’s not an answer, you evil bastard.”

  Another shrug. “He’s gone.”

  Gone? No. Not a chance. Unless…unless, Antila meant dead.

  Pain tore through her chest. The swirling darkness, rich with a promise of peace and nothingness, grabbed for her again. She fought back, her legs kicking, her arms flailing. Why wouldn’t they work properly? What the hell was wrong with her muscles?

  “She’s getting agitated. She needs to rest,” advised an anxious voice she didn’t recognize.

  “Rubbish. As the mother of my child, she was chosen for her strength. She has slept enough. Give her some water if you must, but she will listen to what I have to say.”

  Anna felt the cool press of glass against her lower lip.

  She swallowed by reflex alone. The trickle of iced water sliding her throat, bringing no relief. Not against the stone-cold numbness that held her body stiff.

  “Your Nick is dead, Anna. And, for you, there is no escape. Not from this ship, and not from me. Your life is mine. Until the moment my son’s head crests between your thighs. Then, you may choose your own freedom. By death, if that is what you wish, and I will pull the trigger myself. But, should you prefer to live, understand that you will forever be under my control.”

  Some choice. She closed her eyes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Having rappelled down the side of the yacht to the small inset balcony outside Anna’s quarters, Nick crouched low and listened keenly. Aside from the quiet hum of the engines and the gentle slap of waves against the hull, all was quiet.

  His presence on board Devil’s Whim had contravened direct orders. The Commander had damn near deafened him with a furious tirade when he’d radioed through his location requesting backup. Not that he gave a damn about the Commander’s promise to can his ass. His instinct to protect Anna had been stronger than the need to obey orders.

  After unclipping his narrow wire harness, Nick slid the glazed door open, pausing only to make sure the soft rasp of metal on metal hadn’t alerted anyone to his presence. He pulled a jamming device from the black utility belt lying low and snug across his hips, ducked down, and placed it on the floor. The small metal box would neutralize any sound bugs hidden in Anna’s cabin—not a problem if they believed her to be asleep—but he’d be plumb out of luck if Antila had cameras planted.

  Silent as a shadow, he crossed to the bed and placed a hand across Anna’s mouth, gently, but with enough pressure to stifle her cry. Antila’s men were stationed just outside in the corridor.

 
Her eyes flew open, and her resistance was immediate. She’d have bucked herself clear off the bed had he not held her down with his weight.

  “Anna, stop. It’s me,” he reassured urgently, keeping his hand in place. He yanked off the ski mask and drew his face close, giving her the chance to see for herself who it was. Only when she relaxed beneath him did he withdraw his hand. He shifted his weight sideways but kept her curled tight to his side, calling himself every kind of idiot because he suddenly seemed incapable of letting her go.

  At least, until she hit him. A good one, deep and forceful against his shoulder, catching one of the bruises he’d picked up when the grenade had gone off.

  “I was terrified you were dead, you stupid man, badly injured at least.”

  “Hit me like that again, and I might well be,” he said through gritted teeth. “Damn it, Anna, that hurt.”

  “Serves you right, creeping up on me and the baby. You made us both jump, and now she’d got hiccups again, and you don’t want to know how disturbing the constant tic can be.”

  He gave her a wary look, then shifted to get a better look at her belly and felt a strange relief now that she was showing more prominently. He muttered a sharp curse not directed at her but at his fingers, which itched to stroke. The change in her body over the course of ten days amazed him, and he wasn’t normally given to fascination.

  Her breasts were bigger too, the swell of their added roundness unmistakable. The dull pain in his shoulder shifted to his groin. Fuck. Life had a fierce need to be affirmed but damn it, the timing was off.

  He shifted backward, twisted, breathed a little easier when his feet hit the floor. Now was not the time to submit to temptation. Anna wasn’t what you could call a quiet lover, and he doubted his body could take another bruise from the slap she would deal if he seduced her when both their lives hung by a thread.

  He threw a glance over his shoulder. Anna had scooted upright. Her knees were drawn high, her arms hugging them tight. She even rocked a little. A motion he was damn sure had little to do with the swelling sea surrounding Devil’s Whim. Shit. She wasn’t relieved to see him. She was conflicted, uncertain. She’d always hated surprises. She’d never known anything good come of them.

  “You’re here alone, aren’t you? I’d be surrounded by men if you were leading an assault team. Of all the dumbass, idiotic, insane…you should have waited.”

  He had waited. Just long enough, for the medics to patch him up and get him back on his feet. After that, nothing could have stopped him. She’d been in danger. Knowing he wasn’t there to protect her had half killed him. “When threatened, Anna, your reaction is as unpredictable as an unpinned Catherine Wheel with its fuse lit. You can’t swim. But, I know you, that wouldn’t have stopped you jumping overboard and giving it a go, if you had to.”

  He sensed her gape rather than saw it. “Me? Go in the sea? Nick, someone would have to throw me overboard before that happened, and even then, I’d die fighting to stop them. I’m fucking phobic about water.”

  He turned to face her. “I know. I’ve always known.”

  “How? I never told anyone. Not even you, and you were my best friend.”

  “I was also your lover, your husband. You cry in your sleep. I’ve held you tight while you unconsciously wept your deepest fears, more times than I can count.”

  The sheets rustled. He hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable. “Why did you never say anything?”

  Because she’d been fiercely proud of her fearlessness, and it would have been cruel to poke her one secret vulnerability, when she had so many others she couldn’t hide. “Love. Respect. My way of honoring you. We’re all entitled to some privacy.”

  “Oh, God, and I invaded yours. I forced you to tell me about Mad Mickey.” Suddenly, she looked ill. He couldn’t stand the guilt that drained her face of all color. Reaching forward he caught her chin, leaned in, and covered her lips with his own. He pulled back—his self-control already straining at the leash—when her need for forgiveness became dangerously fervent. “That was different. Something I had to confront. You helped me get past that bastard.”

  He tried to unplaster her from his chest. She clung like a limpet. “What are we going to do, Nick? Knowing all that water’s out there…Christ, I haven’t dared leave this cabin. And, I can assure you, nothing exists that could ever have persuaded me to jump overboard.”

  He succeeded in peeling her free, but kept his hands on her shoulders. “You haven’t met Antoinette Borosky-Antila. Thank God. I’ve seen her. She’s not raving, she’s worse. The woman’s soulless. Devoid. I’ve dealt with stone-cold killers. None scared me the way she does.”

  “She’s a victim of her birth, Nick. Just like you and me. You got over your father. She deserves the chance to get passed her family and Antila. When we escape this floating death trap, we take her with us.”

  Her words held a stubborn edge. One with which he was all too familiar. Him ranting that she needed to focus on her own safety, wouldn’t be worth a damn. “The attack-and-extract team will take care of her. By now, they’ll be about an hour out from here. The storm’s building nicely. It’ll cloak their arrival. You—”

  Her hands curled into the cotton of his shirt, twisted, and pulled him close. “Storm? What storm?”

  Certainly not the one flashing in her eyes. “Don’t you dare start panicking on me now, baby. I came on board with the reinforcements Antila summoned. He doesn’t know I’m here. I need you calm. I need you ready. For when I come back for you.”

  She pushed him away, flung back the sheets and was halfway across the cabin before he could stop her. “Back for me?” she all but screeched.

  Rushing forward, he covered her mouth with his palm. “Shush. I have to help the team. Cause a distraction so they can get on board. I can’t do that from here.”

  She shook her mouth free. “You crazy son of a bitch. With the small army Antila has guarding this boat, you’ll get your ass shot off. You—”

  The door crashed open, cutting her off mid-tirade.

  Men streamed in, the first two barreling into Nick with sufficient force to lift and carry him six feet across her cabin before crashing down on him in a tangle of resisting arms, legs, and foul language.

  Anna’s yells added to the symphony of shouts.

  The light flicked on. Antila stepped in.

  “Let her go,” he ordered the two men who held her. “But you can continue to be as rough with him as you like,” he nodded to the men pinning Nick to the carpet. “But not in here. Take him below.”

  Anna tried to scoot between the wall of Antila’s gorillas to get to him. Before he could yell a warning, one of the men strong-armed her, knocking her off her feet.

  A cacophonous noise damn near shattered the walls of the cabin. The man who had hit her collapsed beside Anna, most of his chest missing.

  She used her heels to skid backward until her spine hit the wall. She swiped wildly at the damp matter flecking her cheeks. When she looked down and saw it was blood, her wail morphed into a scream.

  Though it killed him to do so, Nick resisted the urge to fight his way to her side. With tense, ripe violence already poisoning the air, he daren’t make matters worse.

  “Get her out of here,” Antila ordered furiously.

  There was a general reluctance to even approach Anna.

  “You,” Antila said, turning his gun on Nick. “Calm her down, or by God, I’ll drop you too.”

  Nick shook himself free of the men restraining him, leaped to his feet, and took a few steps forward before dropping to his haunches a few feet in front of her.

  He held his arms loosely extended in front of him, his palms raised to calm. “It’s okay, Anna. It’s okay now. Don’t look at him. He’s gone, look at me. Come on, baby, look at me. That’s right, keep your eyes on me.”

  Inching forward, he continued to soothe until close enough to drag her to his chest and muffle her scream that refused to abate.

  “Yo
u son of a bitch,” he spat over his shoulder. “You could have killed her, and the way she’s shaking, you could still lose your son.”

  “Pick her up,” Antila ordered. “Dice will show you where to take her. You’re a very lucky man, Marshall. If she didn’t need you right now, you’d be as dead as that man on the floor.”

  Slipping his arm beneath her legs, all the time murmuring inconsequential comforts into her ear, Nick thrust upright, adjusting Anna in her arms to hold her tight. He paused long enough to let his eyes promise Antila the death sentence.

  He nodded to a man who grinned a row of bad teeth, a sight not helped by the puckered scar that pulled his lip up toward his left nostril. “If you’re Dice, lead the way fast. She’s going into shock, and you”—he snarled turning back to Antila— “you had better pray that the doctor you’ve got on board is good. Very good, or you might have to kiss your heir good-bye.”

  Anna stiffened in his arms. He tightened his grip and hoped she’d read his message correctly. He was laying it on thick to scare Antila, not her. As long as Antila feared for the baby, Anna and he had a chance. A small one, but right now he’d take any break he could get.

  As soon as they entered her new accommodations one level above, he turned to the thug who’d escorted them there. “She needs something fresh to wear, but first she needs a shower. And make sure you find something for me, too. I don’t want to be wearing that dumb dead bastard’s remains for any longer than I have to.”

  A ham-sized hand fixed around his biceps. “Even the luck of the devil has to run out sometime. Don’t push it, Marshall.”

  Nick turned, praying his bluff would work. He relaxed his grip on Anna and eased her slightly forward in his arms. “What, you want to take her? You want to hear her scream again? You want Antila to come thundering in here guns blazing? He didn’t hesitate to shoot the last man who hurt her, but if you don’t mind taking the risk, here, be my guest.”

  Dice stepped back, gestured with his gun. “Just leave the door open.”

  Nick strode forward, entered the sizable en suite, and kicked the door shut. He engaged the lock just to make a point.