She sat. Her mind was still whirling, grasping at ways she might conceivably escape. If he shot her now, which she had no doubt he would, there would be no escape.
“What do you want from me?” she asked him.
“I want you to shut up,” he snapped. “Put your feet together.”
She did as he asked, suppressing a shudder when he wound the rope around her ankles. She could kick him, she realized. Use both feet at once. She wore sturdy boots tonight because the sky had been overcast and she had supposed it would rain.
One kick, perhaps to his chin…
Suddenly, the door burst open. Drummond scrambled to his feet. His instincts were quick, far quicker than hers. Before she could attempt to flee, he was behind her, an arm pressed tightly around her throat.
The lone man standing on the threshold was painfully familiar. Painfully beloved as well.
“Felix,” she cried out, though the pressure of her brother’s arm on her throat was almost enough to choke her.
His gaze did not waver from Drummond. He held a gun in his hands, as naturally as if it were an extension of himself.
“McKenna,” he said in a low, angry growl. “We meet at last.”
“Winchelsea,” Drummond greeted, training his pistol upon Felix’s head. “Lower your weapon now, if you please.”
Felix’s jaw clenched. His gaze flitted to Johanna’s before returning to her brother. “I will not drop it until you release her.”
“I knew you would come,” Drummond said, triumph in his voice as he ignored Felix’s demand. “My whore of a sister did her job well.”
Dear God.
He had planned for Felix to find them.
And there was only one reason why he would have such an aim.
Horror clawed at her.
“Felix,” she called out, her mouth dry, her voice barely functioning, so great was her terror. “Go. Save yourself. Think of Verity!”
“I told her to bed you,” Drummond continued, his tone taunting now. “And she did. How does it feel to know you lied to protect a traitorous whore?”
“He is lying,” she denied, tears swimming in her eyes. She clawed at her brother’s arm to no avail. He would not release her, and her efforts only earned her a vicious blow to the side of the head, courtesy of his pistol.
“Silence,” Drummond ordered. “Stop moving, or this will go badly for you, sister.”
She struggled for a breath, but his arm had tightened.
Felix looked as if he were made of stone, all his attention upon Drummond, the gun still pointed at him. He crossed the threshold slowly. “Your true quarrel is with me, is it not?” Felix asked. “Let your sister go.”
“Stop right there,” Drummond warned, and then the barrel of the pistol was a cold metal threat butting into her temple. “If you take another step, I will put a bullet in her brain.”
Her breathing was already altered from the tightness of his hold upon her, but now she could scarcely breathe at all. “Please,” she managed to croak. “Go, Felix. This is not your battle.”
It was hers.
It had always been hers.
She had run, but not far enough. And she had been strong. But not strong enough.
That was going to change today. Because the man she loved was in danger, and she could not bear for anything to happen to him.
Her hands were free. Though she did not possess strength enough to tear her brother’s arm from her neck, there was the possibility she could move slowly enough—stealthily enough—to attempt to hit the hand holding the pistol. If she could knock it away from him…
