“In the room, only my master is with the woman.”
Michael hit him in the side of the head with enough force to render him unconscious.
He looked at Gabriel, “Watch my back, will you? I’ll go into the room by myself.”
Gabriel nodded. Michael spared a quick glance behind him to see that Wang and Harfield continued to move like shadows on the upper deck, quietly overpowering the guards before they even knew what was happening. So far, they maintained the element of surprise. But not for much longer. At any moment now someone was bound to notice that the ship had been boarded.
There was a sliver of light coming from under the door at the end of the corridor.
Michael’s heart pounded. He pushed forward, reaching for the handle, prepared to crash through it if it was locked…
A door opened behind him, and a man erupted into the hallway but was quickly dealt with by Gabriel who overpowered him with a well-placed blow and dragged him back into the room where he had come from. He nodded his thanks to his friend, who tilted his head and quietly mouthed the word, “Go.”
The door handle to the pasha’s cabin turned easily. He exploded into the room, his pistol drawn and ready.
But the scene that met his gaze chilled his blood.
Josephine’s wrists were bound above her head, so high she was forced to stand on the tip of her toes. Her hair was disheveled, loose locks trailing over her shoulders and face, as if she had been pulled by it. And she was naked, her shredded chemise hanging in ribbons from her body. The helplessness and cruelty of the position struck him like a blow to the chest. Her wrists were raw from the rough rope, and a cut marred her lower lip, but although she was pale, her gaze burned with defiance. Her wide eyes met his, and in that instant, Michael knew—he would kill the pasha for doing this to her.
The bastard stood behind her, his smile sadistic and knowing. A sharp knife pressed to Josephine’s throat. “Drop your weapons,” he commanded.
Michael hesitated for only a fraction of a second before complying. He moved slowly, crouching to lower the pistol to the floor. He could see the pasha’s tension, the slight twitch in his fingers. One wrong move, and Josephine’s life was forfeit.
He had been in rescue operations before, but never one where the life of the woman he loved hung in the balance. Drawing on his training, he started talking.
“You will never get away with this,” Michael said evenly, keeping his voice calm. “The Foreign and Home Offices have already been notified. If you let her go unharmed, it may save you. But if you don’t, the queen will not take kindly to the abduction of a lady she personally summoned.”
The pasha’s sneer deepened. “You think your threats mean anything?” He called for his right-hand man—only to be met with silence. His brows knit together in confusion.
Michael allowed himself a grim smile. “Your men have been dealt with.”
The pasha’s nostrils flared in rage, but Michael saw something else—hesitation. The man was unhinged, but even he had to know he was losing control. Still, the blade remained pressed to Josephine’s throat. He needed a distraction. A moment of hesitation. He still had the blade-throwing device under his sleeve. It was his best chance. But he only had one shot. To use it effectively, he had to wait for the perfect moment. And then pray that his aim was flawless, even if the device was not designed for great accuracy.
Then—a noise outside.
The pasha’s gaze flickered toward the door for the briefest second. It was enough.
Michael flicked his wrist, triggering the spring mechanism up his sleeve.
The hidden blade shot out and embedded in the pasha’s wrist. The knife clattered to the floor, and Josephine twisted, attempting to free herself of the man’s hold. Michael lunged, sending the pasha crashing to the ground.
They grappled on the floor, fighting for control. The pasha produced another knife, slashing up in an attempt to cut his throat. But Michael evaded him easily, years of fighting honing his reflexes. It had never been a real threat to him. The man obviously considered himself an expert at handling weapons, but it was clear he had no experience of real combat. He was a bully who used his guards to do the dirty work. Grabbing hold of his hand, Michael slammed it against the floor, the knife clattering out of reach.
And then he unleashed his fury. He pummeled the pasha’s face with renewed vigor, the years of pain suffered by Josephine channeled through his fists, lending power to his blows. The pasha’s face got bloodied, the fight ebbing out of him as his consciousness dimmed.
And still he struck. One fist, followed by the other. He would kill the bastard, would take great pleasure in watching the life extinguish from him as he choked the air out of his lungs.
Footsteps sounded outside in the hallway that led to the cabin, the sound like many boots hitting the wooden planks of the deck. Any moment now someone could come through the door. And Josephine…she was naked. Tied. Vulnerable. She would be completely exposed to the eyes of whomever entered the room.
She made a sound of distress. A choked yelp, her wide eyes fixed on the door while she frantically pulled at the rope, further damaging her already raw wrists.
It wasn’t even a consideration. The pasha was already unconscious. His vengeance could wait. In a flash, he was upfrom the floor, scooping his pistol as he did so and stashing it on his waistband. He was already shrugging out of his greatcoat and enveloping Josephine with it even before, with a quick slash, he cut her bonds.
She collapsed into his arms, clinging to him while he held her against his chest.
That had been too close…
His soldier’s instinct, dulled by the moment of togetherness with Josephine, alerted him a second too late to a movement behind him. He was already turning when the pistol was wrenched from his waistband and, almost simultaneously, two shots rang out.
