“Move, or I’ll fucking drag you by your hair.”
She clenched her teeth and got to her feet. Sand and silt stuck to her sopping-wet leggings and palms, and her wet clothing and aching body weighed down every step. Tiny stones dug into the soles of her feet. The stairs loomed before her. The wooden slats glistened in the rain. Her gaze flew to the sea and searched the endless, choppy surface for help.
She needed to do something. Run, fight, swim. She couldn’t let them take her back to the house.
She trudged forward. The rain fell in sheets, the sound loud against her senses.
The dock came into view. The motorboat bobbed and swayed violently, bumping loudly against the wood.
The chances of her reaching it were slim. The chances of her getting away and surviving the ocean were even slimmer.
She needed a weapon. She scanned the wall of the bluff and the ground in front of her. Just stones upon stones and . . . a rock a little bigger than a baseball, smack-dab in front of her.
She pretended to trip over her own feet and let out a sharp squeak as she went down next to it. Grasping its smooth, wet surface, she murmured a prayer.
“Get up!” Chris bellowed.
She got to her feet. His mean fingers gripped her bicep. Summoning her strength, she swung the rock at his head.
Crack!
Chris let out a grunt then collapsed in the sand. Blood gushed from his head. The other man leapt toward her. She swung the rock at him but missed. He caught her arm and flung the weapon from her fingers.
“You’re going to pay for that!” he yelled, furious.
She fought away the terror. If she didn’t escape now, she might not get another shot. She’d taken one down. She wouldn’t let her efforts be in vain.
He pinned her wrists together at the small of her back. “Chris!” he shouted over the rain. “You all right?”
Chris rolled into a sitting position, his head cradled in his hands. “Take her back to Willy and send someone down here.”
“Got it.” He nudged her forward with his free hand, his fingers piercing a spot between her shoulder blades. “Move!”
She took three steps and her gaze landed on a log just two feet ahead of her. She dug her heels into the sand and, using all her force, tore her wrists out of his grip. Diving for the log, she snagged it and then swung as he lunged for her.
The wood collided with his face. He staggered, cursed, but didn’t go down. She swung again. He stopped the blow, catching the log with his hand. Rage sparked in his eyes. She let out an animalistic cry and kicked him between his legs.
He groaned and his eyes went wide. Cupping his jewels, he sucked in a breath and dropped to his knees. She took one more swing. The blow sent him sideways into the sand.
“Fucking cunt!” Chris got to his feet, his stance wobbly and his head still bleeding.
No!
Molly turned and ran, dropping the log.
The quick rasp of Chris’s feet moving over the sand grew closer and closer.
She’d never make it.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Atlas hooked his thumb around his vest. With Rex gone and a lot of his men dead, he didn’t need to ambush the strip club with a rifle. His Glock was nestled in his waistband at his back if he needed it.
He and Viper approached the bouncer at the door. Music bumped from inside as if shit hadn’t just gone down hours before. Recognition flashed on the bouncer’s face. He reached for the mic clipped to his shirt pocket.
Atlas held up a hand. “I don’t want trouble. I need to speak with Jenna.”
