Page 61 of Straight Shooter

She gagged and closed her eyes. She had to get a grip. Beanie would have way too much fun making her suffer if she didn’t hold her shit together.

“I bet that hurts,” he said, false sympathy lacing his voice. She closed her eyes as a migraine threatened to close in on her. She sunk her teeth into her tongue.

She couldn’t die like this. A small part of her begged the larger part of her consciousness to give up Jenny. Dying quickly would be better than torture.

No.

They might do worse to Jenny. It had to end here. With her life. Not Jenny’s.

Rhett would do the same thing.

The little voice in her head threw her a lifeline of strength, and she clutched it as if she were an eagle clutching its prey in its talons. Doing the right thing would move her heart closer to Rhett. She’d never be like him—she’d never be one-hundred-percent honorable, she’d never put the law above her needs—but she’d also never hand over an innocent woman to savages just to die a less-painful death.

I hope Rhett knows. I hope he knows that in the last moments of my life, I strived to be like him. That he inspired me, even briefly, to be a better person.

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks to mingle with the lingering drops of seawater. An ache the size of the Grand Canyon opened in her chest, and all her hopes for herself, the ones she’d thought she didn’t deserve, slipped from her fingers. She’d never have children. She’d never fill the deep, feminine need to be a wife and mother. She’d never know if she and Rhett could figure out this crazy electricity between them to see if tomorrow held more than yesterday.

Her quickly thumping heart slowed, just as it had when Rhett had held her to his chest. It was as if he were close, as if her body somehow sensed his presence and quieted because of his strength and security.

“What’s her fucking location?” Beanie’s hand bounced off her cheekbone, and her neck popped with the force. She cringed.

Drawing from all her reserves, she found Beanie’s eyes and smiled. “Fuck you.” She spat at his beige loafer, and blood splattered the pristine leather.

Beanie’s body vibrated. The skin over his jugular flexed and tightened. He advanced on her. Peyton curled her ribs to brace for the impact.

Nothing happened.

She blinked and lifted her lashes. Beanie stood over top of her, his abdomen level with her nose. He lifted his hand to her cheek. She flinched, but he didn’t strike her. His hand coasted down her jaw like a hundred scampering centipede legs. Bile touched the backs of her teeth, but she didn’t dare allow herself to puke again.

“I like your spirit, Peyton.” His voice rose on her name. “You and I could have more together if you weren’t so stupid. Tell me,” he said, speaking softly, “why do you care about the life of a woman you’ve never met?”

She wanted to bite the hand that still lingered on her jaw, but his creepy moment of gentleness might just save her life if she could manipulate him. She lifted a shoulder as far as the restraints would allow. “For one thing, you promised I’ll die regardless. So that doesn’t give me much motivation.” The words came out dry.

He chuckled. “Still. Don’t you care what I do to you?” The tiny crystal of hope building in her chest shattered into a million pieces. He wanted to do this. Even if she didn’t have something that he desperately needed, he’d still enjoy tormenting her.

She tilted her cheek away so his hand fell from her face. “Yeah, but I also don’t want you to do it to Jenny.”

He snorted. “She’s a hooker for fuck’s sake.”

Anger shot through her. She clamped her lips together, but the word-vomit hitting her tongue wouldn’t be squashed. “That didn’t matter to you a few months ago, did it?”

He grinned. “Not one bit. She didn’t even know or care who was fucking her.”

Peyton shook her head. “You’re the one who got her high.”

Beanie reached behind his back, and her focus dropped from his shiny bald head to his waist. “That was all Andre. I had nothing to do with getting them high. I just bought in at the last minute.” He smiled and withdrew a knife.

She blinked. Her muscles twitched with the need to run, attack—anything. The movements sent blasts of pain from her broken pinky up her arm. The need to hold her wound coursed through her. She jerked her injured hand, but the ropes didn’t budge. “And Eric?”

Beanie froze. “How do you know about him?”

Tension blanketed the air. If she told him Rhett had suspected Eric’s involvement since the incident at Max’s apartment, it might work against her. Thinking that Rhett was onto Eric, Beanie could panic and slice her throat and escape before Rhett found her.

She nodded at the stairs. “There are pictures of Eric upstairs. I figured you must know him personally if he let you bring me here.”

Beanie tapped the tip of the blade to his knuckle. “Eric’s . . . complicated. But he’s been useful on Moretti’s team.”

“Why would he betray the bureau?”