His hand slid off her mouth. She didn't dare lick her lips. She couldn't wait to wash her face later.
Slowly, he stepped in front of her. Uncomfortably close. She smelled cigarette smoke wafting from his clothes, but his breath held an overpowering minty scent. He'd made an effort to cover his habit for some reason, but he wasn't scoring any points as for as Lena was concerned.
"I know Cassidy's on the island," he said. "Don't try to tell me she's not here. And I know you're here because ofher. So you're gonna tell me where your cousin is. This doesn't have to get messy."
He hadn't mentioned the jewels or Emil. She was shocked and terrified that he was only interested in Cassidy.
She didn't know if Nash was close enough to hear her scream. If she could keep the man talking for another minute, then she'd make her move—throw the door open, yell for Nash.
Her breaths came quick and shallow. She told herself to stay calm, but her body wasn't listening.
The man's bushy eyebrows knitted together. "Don't try to lie to me. Don't try to make anything up. I'm only here to talk to Cassidy. If you send me off in the wrong direction, I'll be right back. You're not going to leave this island without my knowing it. I know how to find you. You're my only lead in tracking down your cousin, and you're going to help me one way or the other."
"Why are you looking for Cassidy?" Lena asked.
"No." He wagged his finger. "You are going to give me information, not the other way around."
"I . . . I don't know where she is. I came looking for her, but I haven't found her yet."
The space between them evaporated. His left hand grabbed her right wrist, and his right hand wrapped around her throat.
"I know she called you today," he growled.
His tight grip on her throat barely allowed her enough air to answer. She wondered if it would be enough air to scream. His fingers dug into her neck. She couldn't breathe.
Nutmeg was hysterical. Maybe Nash would hear his panicked barking and come soon.
She clawed at the hand gripping her neck, but her efforts only made him sneer, revealing his yellow teeth. The steel in his eyes frightened her as much as—or maybe more than—the hand around her neck. He wasn't bluffing, and she wasn't sure how far he'd go to get what he wanted.
No way in the world was she going to lead this heartless vigilante after Cassidy.
He twisted her wrist in a painful, unnatural direction. "Where is Cassidy?" he asked again. "I don't—"
An explosion of motion burst through the door. A whirlwind of muscle and overwhelming force ripped the man away from her and threw him to the ground before she realized it was Nash. The man fought back for aboutthree seconds, but Nash was a machine of efficient violence. Yellow Teeth didn't stand a chance.
If she hadn't spent the last couple of days falling into trust with Nash Stone—or maybe falling into more than that—she'd be afraid of the assault he inflicted on the man.
Nash held his captive on the floor and laser-focused his gaze on her. "Are you okay?" he asked, eyes sharp and intense.
She rubbed her throat. And coughed. "Yes. I'm . . .okay." Her throat was sore. She didn't recognize her voice. Nash fused his eyes to hers for a few seconds, then pivoted to the groaning stranger on the floor.
In less time than it took her to get her breathing under control, Nash patted down Yellow Teeth, removed a handgun, and slid it across the floor to the other side of the room. Still dazed from Nash's attack, his captive didn't resist when Nash pulled some zip ties from his pocket and secured the man's hands behind his back.
Nash drew his own gun and directed the man to sit up. The man spat some blood on the floor, then obeyed.
Nash kept his weapon aimed at him, but stepped back, closer to Lena.
She scooped sweet, terrified Nutmeg into her arms. He nuzzled under her chin and leaned against her chest. Fear vibrated through him. She rubbed his back, hoping to lower both their heart rates.
Her fingers touched her neck, and she hated the fact that even though Yellow Teeth was now in Nash's custody, she could still feel his smelly cigarette fingers squeezing her throat. She wanted to rub away the sensation. She wanted to rub away the entire memory.
"Who are you?" Nash asked.
He glared at Nash and fumbled with his bound hands, trying to wipe dripping blood away from his nose and mouth.
"I didn't find a wallet on you," Nash said. "But that's not a problem." He slipped his phone from his pocket with his left hand and snapped several pictures of the stranger without taking his eyes off the man. He handed his phone to Lena. "Text the pictures to Jason. Tell him I need an ID. He's in my contacts."
Lena took the phone and sent the message while Nash and the man warred in an unsettling staring contest.
