Page 62 of Straight Shooter

“Eric and I go way back. He wasn’t thrilled to get roped in with Moretti’s circle, but let’s just say he didn’t have much choice.” The brittle crinkles around his eyes evaporated. “Hold still.” The warning rang through her body, halting her agonized tendons from further attempts at escape. He wedged the blade between her skin and the rope on her right hand and flicked it upwards. The binds snapped loose and slithered to the floor. He did the same to the rope on her opposite hand. She clutched her pulsating finger to her chest but didn’t dare take her eyes off Beanie.

He hadn’t removed her restraints out of the goodness of his heart. He wanted something. She watched as his mouth parted in a lewd smirk. Carnal intent stirred his brown orbs, and the sickness she’d been battling settled heavy in her gut.

He wanted her.

He held the knife up, and the sleek blade caught the light shining from the single bulb. “I hope I won’t need this anymore. What do you think?”

She pressed her knees together until the bones ground. Speaking took too much effort, so she shook her head.

“Come again?”

She urged the words to form in the correct order on her tongue. “No, you won’t.”

“Good.” He puffed out his chest and slapped the knife on the table a few feet away. “Stand up.”

A draft floated in through the window, alerting her to an opening. The fresh air danced over her skin, taunting her with freedom. So close, yet so far away. He sat in the chair that had held Max’s body. Her feet stepped in a mixture of fluids, and the acidic scent of vomit and metallic scent of blood struck her. She pressed her lips together to stop the tremble that shook her cheeks.

“Where’s L-Len?” Her words wobbled, and she gripped the outside of her injured hand.

“He’s on an . . . errand. Don’t worry, we have a good hour to be alone.”

“What’s he doing with Max’s body?” The question was moot, stupid even, but her brain scrambled for anything to put off what lay ahead of her.

“Feeding it to the gators. Same thing we’ll do to yours. Can’t have any evidence, can we?”

Numbness settled into her limbs. Her brain fizzled and her head became weightless. She wet her lips and darted her gaze around the room. Len was gone. It was just Beanie and her. Her peripheral vision took in the knife a few feet to her side. If she could reach it and stab him before he overtook her, she just might have a fighting chance at survival.

“Peyton.” Beanie’s sharp, insistent tone snapped her attention to his face. He nodded at her breasts, and his gaze drank in her belly, hips, and thighs.

She froze. Her insides swam in denial. The tangy taste of fear coated her tongue.

“Strip.”

“Call for backup.” The command whipped from Rhett’s lips as he drove along the palm-tree-lined street. He didn’t need to take his eyes from the road to know what expression Mandy had on her face. “Do it now.” This time, he swung his gaze to her, proving he wouldn’t back down.

She sighed. “Look, I think we’re out on a limb on this.”

The GPS announced the next turn, alerting him that they were only a few minutes from Paradise of the Sea. If backup wasn’t on the way, encountering Beanie and his crew would be worse than walking through a field of land mines.

“It’s the only limb we have.” Keeping his voice steady took every ounce of his control. His skin, which had recently been coated in a sheen of anxiety, was bone dry. All the moisture in his body had been burned by adrenaline. If he didn’t get his hands around Beanie’s throat or Eric’s—either would do—he’d combust.

Mandy grumbled something about being overzealous but made the call. He forced himself to focus on the road and not her annoyance. There were very few things he’d been wrong about in his career, and he’d bet his last breath that Beanie was keeping Peyton at Paradise of the Sea. Only it wasn’t his last breath he was wagering—it was Peyton’s.

A break in the trees caught his eye. He glanced at the red icon on the GPS’s monitor. This was it. He choked the steering wheel and tore down the driveway. Beyond the arrangement of tropical trees and shrubs sat a white clapboard house. The silver sedan Beanie had locked Peyton in sat out front. His heart rate ratcheted up ten notches. She was here. And he’d fucking find her if it was the last thing he did.

He lurched to a stop and sprung from the car, leaving Mandy to clamor out at her own pace. Her protests fell away behind him. He pulled his Glock from the safe nook at the small of his back and nestled the smooth, comforting steel into his palm. Being armed gave him the gall he needed. He stormed down the walkway and advanced on the front door. Every muscle in his body wound tighter than a guitar string.

He positioned his body to kick open the door, but instinct screamed at him to get inside unnoticed. He caught the door handle and turned it. He let the metal fall from his hold as the door coasted open.

Silence spilled from the house into the heat outside. He scanned the foyer. Bright, clean tile met the threshold.

Something’s not right.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He strained his neck to see as much as possible from the doorway. His training made him want to shout his credentials, but he couldn’t alert anyone he was here. Not yet.

“What are you doing?” Mandy whispered angrily behind him. “Announce yourself before you get shot.”

Rhett waved his hand at his side, motioning her to back the fuck up or shut the fuck up. Either would suffice. He listened carefully and heard wind in the trees, waves crashing, and birds calling. But he couldn’t hear a damn thing inside the house.