The man hollered in Arabic and forced Roarke against the railing again.
They wrestled, and Roarke tried to tackle him to the ground, but the man was an ox.
Striker darted inside. The men on the enemy’s boat continued firing. Roarke jabbed his attacker in the face, smashing his nose, then threw him to the deck. He let out a roar of fury as he headed for the door.
Someone rushed him from the side, plowing him toward the stern. Roarke’s hip hit the railing, and the man gave him one hard shove. He flipped over the edge and landed with a splash in the icy, dark waves.
Laine joltedawake at the sound of gunfire. She gasped. Sweat dampened her shirt.
She was dreaming. Of course all the chaos of the night would haunt her during sleep.
Emmy’s little hand patted Laine’s shoulder. “What’s that noise?” she asked groggily.
Shouts sounded from outside.
Crack,crack!
Oh god. She wasn’t dreaming. They were under attack. She staggered out of bed, her mind racing. They had to hide. Dropping to the ground, she yanked up the bed skirt. “Get under the bed, baby. Fast!”
Emmy scampered to the floor. The bedroom door flung open, and a beam of light coated them in a white glow. Laine’s heartshot to her throat and ice crackled over her skin as the man stormed across the room.
She dove in front of Emmy, every motherly instinct screaming.
Rough hands yanked her off her daughter and shoved her face down. Emmy screamed. Big Bun fell to the ground.
Laine sobbed, her hand outstretched, her daughter’s name pulled from her throat. The man pinning her down shoved his knee into her spine and shouted obscenities at her.
“Roarke!” she cried, the word a desperate plea.
But he didn’t come.
Emmy was gone.
Chapter
Eleven
Seawater rushed into Roarke’s nose. Twisting and kicking, he broke through the surface. He sucked in a breath of air, salty water thick in his mouth.
“Rogue, catch!” An inflatable landed in front of him.
He’d already been tossed and pulled far away from the boat. He hooked his arm around the tube as Viper roped him in. His rifle was still secured across his chest.
In seconds he reached the stern, and Viper held out his arm. Roarke clapped his hand around Viper’s elbow, and his friend hauled him out of the water. His soaked clothes stuck to him like glue, adding several pounds.
The cold wind snapped at his exposed skin, but only one thought raced through his mind. “Where are they?” he demanded, securing his weapon in his hands.
A gunshot sounded from inside. Fuck. He pushed down on Viper’s shoulder, and they dropped to the deck. He needed to see who was on board and where Emmy and Laine were before he opened fire. Lifting his head, he gazed in the window that peered through the kitchen, allowing him to see the wide-open floor plan.
One of their assailants strode across the living room and through the sliding door toward the port side of the boat. He held Emmy with her back against his chest, his arms crossed over her front. She was kicking. Her little face was white with terror, and her screams were loud enough to wake the dead.
“Put her down!” Striker charged forward from the bow, his gun aimed at the man with Emmy.
A beat later, two men came upstairs, dragging Laine. “Get the kid on board, Yusuf!” one of the men shouted to the man carrying Emmy.
Laine cursed and kicked but didn’t scream. Hassan stood in the living room, his hands behind his head and his face twisted with disbelief.
Roarke stood, anger vibrating through him.
