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Blood.She fished the berry up, murmuring an apology. His fingers slid into her pubic hair, groping.
“Before we take the boat out, would you like to have her?” the Spider offered, as casually as if he were offering his guest a drink.
“But I—but—” Her protest choked into a squeak as his hand turned to a claw, and his long fingernail dug into her clitoris.
The pain was awful. Faintness rolled over her. If only she could just let go, fall back into the dark. Forever. She stared at the obscenely red, wet, gleaming fruit on the plate. Hung on to consciousness.
“You could have her right here, or there are bedrooms upstairs, if you require privacy,” the Spider said. “Whatever you prefer.”
The other man cleared his throat. “My. I am tempted.”
She looked into the man’s eyes. It was true. He was considering it. She could tell from his flush, the slackness in his mouth, the emptiness in his eyes, that he was imagining it. That he was aroused. He looked right at her, but he still didn’t know she was there. All he saw was himself, using her.
The hatred she felt was so intense, she wanted to spit into his eyes, grab a knife, stab it right into his throat.
She could never endure that smug, self-satisfied face, reddened with wine and lust, hanging over her as he humped away. Her stomach lurched. Good thing she’d emptied it. Or maybe not. Projectile vomiting was one sure way to kill a man’s sexual buzz.
On the other hand, the Spider would be unamused.
Buy me time, Mr. Big had said. But what would she have to pay for it?
She focused on the Spider’s pudgy face. “What about dessert?” The voice that came out of her was pure restaurant robot, breathlessly feminine. “I’m flattered at the attention, gentlemen, but you don’t want to miss my Grand Marnier Angel’s Fall cake. It’s a flourless but tender chocolate torte that melts in your mouth, flavored with orange liqueur, layered with mousse, and enveloped by a thick layer of dark Belgian chocolate.”
At the mention of dessert, the Spider released her clit. Her knees almost buckled in relief. He gave her buttocks an approving squeeze. “Perhaps we’ll wait then, my dear. Just long enough to sample your masterpiece.”
The other man blinked. “Certainly,” he muttered. “Whatever you wish. A very small piece for me, please.”
Smile, smile, smile.“I’ll go prepare the dessert tray.”
She made it out the door, but that was it. No more buying time for anybody, for any reason. Her sanity was shattering.
She would use what time she had left to search the utility closet for something toxic to drink, or else run out screaming into the night and let them shoot her in the back. She would do any crazy, desperate thing before going into that room again.
That resolve firm in her mind, she hurtled towards the kitchen—and tripped over something big and dark sprawled across the corridor. Splat, she landed facedown and hard, in a puddle of—
Blood. Lots of blood. Her head lifted, slowly. She squinted into the kitchen, tried to focus her nearsighted eyes.
She abruptly wished that she hadn’t.
CHAPTER10
Becca’s timing sucked. Why was he not surprised?
Nick lowered Yevgeni’s twitching body to the ground and wedged as much of it as he could into the video camera’s blind spot. Damn. Five more seconds, and he’d have been able to intercept her in the corridor.
Still, he was cool—back in the ice cave. The more blood he spilled, the deeper he went. It was always that way.
Don’t scream, he told her with his eyes. He’d left Anatoli in one of the video camera’s other calibrated blind spots, but anyone watching the monitor would have noticed her tripping over an unseen obstacle. Luckily, the arterial gout had aimed itself down. Walls spray-painted with blood tended to catch the eye. He wiped his knife hastily on the guy’s shirt.
Becca looked, appalled, at the blood she’d slalomed in on, at her crimson hands, at the wet red knife in his fist. Her pupils dilated. Her mouth sagged. Time to beat hell out of there, Nick thought, before she sucked enough air into her lungs to start the screaming meltdown he could sense coming.
He yanked her to her feet, staying low, and dragged her over the pile of dead meat formerly known as Anatoli. She was slippery, but blood got tacky soon enough. Like glue.
Back through the corridor, onto the side deck where she’d lost her lunch. She made a high-pitched noise when he dragged her over the third corpse, shoved into the shadow of a conveniently overgrown tree.
Three down out of seven. Pavel was bodyguarding Zhoglo in the dining room, Mikhail was guarding the boat, Kristoff manned the video monitors. One more was unaccounted for, probably on his way back from the dock. In a very few seconds, Kristoff would notice that he had lost visual contact. He would try to raise the other guys on the comm gear. He would fail. And Nick and Becca would be toast.
To her credit, Becca was quick and light on her feet. She made a lot of noise gasping for breath, but she wasn’t screaming.
