Page 4 of Straight Shooter

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.