Page 101 of Viper

The speedboat puttered up to the dock. A man in his early forties steered it. Striker caught the rope the man threw, and he tied up the watercraft. The man hopped onto the deck and shook Striker’s hand.

“Nice to hear from you, Striker. It’s been too long.”

“We’ll have to grab a coffee tomorrow. Appreciate your help, Thompson. We’ll take it from here.”

Troy nodded his thanks to the guy, and they all hustled into the boat. Thompson’s gaze drifted to the body floating in the water and he muttered a curse, his eyes wide on Striker.

“Wasn’t us,” Striker said. “But we need a bit to call it in.”

Thompson’s face was tense, but he unraveled the rope and tossed it aboard. “Get your sister back.”

Striker started the motor then waved.

The boat ripped away from the dock, and for the first time that day, a little bit of peace lightened his shoulders.

Troy wasn’t leaving this ocean without Paige.

Turned out Craig had a weak stomach when it came to vomit—go figure. Paige’s continued retching had made him uneasy enough to allow her to sneak off to the bathroom. She didn’t risk calling Troy again. It would accomplish nothing and could get her caught.

Instead, she pretended to throw up, making loud sounds and occasionally flushing the toilet. Whatever bought her time.

Only twenty minutes or so had passed. She had to stay alive for another twenty-five.

“All right,” Craig called from the kitchen. “Enough dramatics. Your dinner’s getting cold.”

She retched again—this time it was real. She got to her feet and turned the tap on cold, then splashed her face. Her hands trembled and her neck and arms were clammy. She felt as if she’d just survived a weeklong stomach flu.

Pulling a clean towel off the rack, she patted her face.

“Starfish, let’s go. If you’re not going to eat, I guess you’ll have to go for a swim.” He chuckled.

Hate blotted her vision. Knowing Troy, her brother, and the team would be here soon gave her renewed strength. She squared her shoulders and unlocked the door to Craig’s sinister grin.

“What’s wrong? No room for dessert?”

She shook her head with disgust. “You’re sick, Craig. You need help. How could you do that to a human being?” Her shrill accusation echoed in the tiny space. She was getting too brave and outspoken. But god, she couldn’t take him anymore. If he showed her another body part, she’d lose her mind.

Craig’s pupils retracted. “Want me to show you?”

“You’re going to pay for everything you’ve done.” She curled her lip with menace.

Even if he got back everything he’d done tenfold, he wouldn’t identify himself as the monster he was. Wouldn’t take accountability. He’d still be a monster—just one behind bars.

He leered at her. His eyes held nothing but emptiness. A big gaping hole where his soul should have been.

His gaze traveled down the length of her body, and her belly almost revolted again. She laid her hands on the doorframe to steady herself.

She was no longer cuffed. If she wanted to jump overboard, she could. Or at least she could try. She’d have to get close to the edge when he wasn’t looking. If he sensed her plan, he’d shoot her—or just tie her back up.

“Come with me.” He caught her bicep and hauled her out of the bathroom.

He moved in the direction of his bedroom. Panic catapulted her insides upward. She had to think fast.

“Ohmigosh, what’s that smell?”

He frowned.

She peered into the kitchen. His hold was still tight on her arm. “Oh. That’s my vomit. I should probably clean that up.”