Page 92 of Dark ’N’ Deadly

Tess watched helplessly as Russo hauled Jesse from the other golf cart. Headlights lit her brother’s face. He was even paler than before, and he wavered unsteadily on his feet. He needed to be in a hospital.

More than fifteen minutes had passed since she’d first gone into the house. Eric had to be searching for them.

He’ll find us. She was sure of it. But what if he can’t?

As they’d begun driving through the tunnel, she lost track of exactly how far they’d gone. The only thing she’d been certain of was that it was more than half a mile.

The transmission limit of the tracker.

Even if it was less, she was underground. The tracker might not be capable of transmitting through ten or twenty feet of dirt. This was one scenario they hadn’t considered.

Pritchard grabbed her arm and jerked her from the cart. Pain shot up her arm, but now that she was standing, she set to work trying to grasp the penknife she’d stuffed in her pocket. For some reason—urgency, probably—they hadn’t searched her, but she’d been unable to reach the pen while she’d been sitting down in the golf cart.

“Get the door open.” Pritchard hauled her against his side, and she had to swallow to keep from vomiting.

Unfortunately, the pocket with the penknife was jammed against the side of Pritchard’s thigh. If she made any move with her hands to get to it, he would know.

Do something. Diversion. Anything.

Russo shoved Jesse toward a gray door with peeling paint, then turned the knob and pushed her brother through it.

Do it now.

She took a deep breath then slammed her body against Pritchard’s, trying to twist away, but his grip was too tight, and all her efforts did was make him hold her tighter against him.

He leaned down. His nauseating breath churned her stomach. Worse, his erection pressed against her belly.

She turned her face away, but he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. With his free hand, he began massaging her breasts through her T-shirt. Beneath the duct tape covering her mouth, she screamed, but that only made him squeeze harder.

“You like it when I do this?” He chuckled. “I always knew you would.”

“Sick motherfucker,” she said behind the tape, knowing he couldn’t understand a word she was saying.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Detach. Detach. While she endured his groping, she shoved one of her hands into her front pocket, her fingers flailing until she clamped onto the penknife.

Still squeezing her breast, Pritchard pressed his smarmy lips over her mouth. Thank god for the duct tape, or she really would have puked. Her nostrils flared as she sucked in air through her nose.

Pritchard ground his erection against her one last time. “There’ll be plenty of time for more of that after I get you home. To Alabama.”

Not. A. Chance.

She’d die first.

Grabbing her by the upper arm, he guided her toward the gray door, shoving her through it so hard she stumbled and fell to her knees.

Pritchard pulled the door shut behind him. They were in a small, unfinished basement with bare concrete walls. A rusty water heater and an even rustier boiler loomed in the far corner. The only light came from a filthy window on one wall.

Falling to her side on the floor, she popped the cover off the penknife and began slicing the tape binding her wrists.

Jesse lay hunched against the opposite wall, his eyes closed and his head lolling to the side. He looked bad. Really bad, and the thought had her slicing faster, too fast, and she nicked her wrist, pressing her lips together tightly to keep from crying out.

“You two,” Pritchard said to the other men. “Get up to the street and back the cars up to the door.”

Still sawing away, she watched as the men climbed the staircase and disappeared. By her count, only those two had guns. She hadn’t seen Russo with one, although that didn’t mean there wasn’t one hidden beneath his untucked shirt, and she was almost certain Pritchard didn’t have one. He’d made sure to grind his disgusting boner so hard against her, she probably would have felt a gun if he’d had one. Pritchard did, however, have the detonator. The bastard was tapping it against his thigh. The question was how to get to it before he blew her brother to bits.

There. She’d almost sliced through the tape. Darting her eyes around the room, she began strategizing what her next move would be. How in the world could she take down two men with one little penknife?

She didn’t have a clue, but she damned sure intended to try.