Page 7 of Viper

“What do you want?” she demanded through clenched teeth.

Her hips ached. She could swim for long periods, but treading water with her dress weighing her down and a man standing over her with a bucket of fish guts was sucking the strength from her.

Craig’s smile widened. Slowly, he lowered the bucket to the deck and motioned for her to swim to the stern.

Suspicion crackled in her ears, but if she didn’t at least take a break, she wouldn’t last long. Carefully, she kicked her way to the little platform at the stern, which was used to get on and off the yacht after a swim. She grabbed the plastic slats, immediately relieving her muscles.

“Get up here,” he commanded.

Paige swallowed but hauled herself onto the platform. Her dress clung to every curve of her body, making it difficult to swing her leg up. Water ran off her arms and hair as she struggled to catch her breath—a result of fear more than activity.

An outstretched pale palm hovered in front of her face. “Come on, Paige. Show me what you’re worth and I might just give you those couple hours more you asked for.”

In a dizzying haze of regret, the last few days flashed before her eyes. She’d been so excited for this diving trip with Chantal.

All for what?

To be a player in this twisted fuck’s game? She wouldn’t die out here. Not like this.

His fingers wiggled impatiently.

Summoning her courage along with a deep breath, she placed her hand into his and pulled—yanking him off balance. He stumbled but caught himself before he went over the edge.

Whack!

His knuckles hit her face, forcing her teeth together. Pain exploded from her temple and her ears rang. Before she could reorient herself, he sank his fingers into her hair and hauled her off the platform and onto the deck.

She staggered to her feet and grasped at his wrist as he pulled her past her full height. She strained onto her tiptoes.

“Stupid move, Paige,” he said, bringing her face an inch from his. “All you did was piss me off.”

She collected a wad of spit on her tongue and hocked it at him. The dribble hit his cheek and rolled down.

His lips compressed, and ire darkened his brown eyes. He wiped away the spit with his free hand then grasped her jaw. “You just made your last few hours so much fucking worse.”

On top of the paddleboard, Troy sliced his arms through the onyx water. Occasionally his hands grazed whatever creatures were housed below. He didn’t give a damn. Not even a fucking great white would stop him from reaching the boat now two hundred yards away.

He hit a wave and droplets splashed his face. Salty water burned his eyes and slipped through his lips, but he didn’t slow.

If only he’d had the balls to approach Paige today—or had at least talked to her before Striker called him and he lost sight of her. Maybe her douchebag boyfriend would’ve run for the hills if he’d known she had someone to look after her. Had him to look after her.

Guilt crushed him, making his chest ache. If something happened because he didn’t make it to her in time⁠—

His thoughts turned into a vicious whirlpool.

The thought of Paige being in danger, trapped on a boat and unable to get herself to safety, made him crazy. He inhaled the scent of fish and brine. A string of seaweed tangled around his bicep and he shook it free.

He was certain he’d heard voices moments ago. A woman’s feminine cadence, and a man’s angry retort. Hell, he could’ve imagined it, but sound carried over water.

If it was Paige, she was still alive.

Shit, maybe he’d been stupid not to get the Coast Guard, or a boat, but those things would have taken time to arrange. Minutes she might not have. Plus, he didn’t need to alert Craig to his approach with a motorboat. And if he found Paige hurt, he’d rip that sonofabitch’s throat apart—and he didn’t need any fucking witnesses.

Rage shrank his vision into a narrow tunnel. Despite the chilly water, his blood reached an ungodly temperature. He kept his gaze on the rocking boat as he closed in like a shark on its prey.

He drove his arms deeper, thrusting the board faster. His shoulders burned and his neck spasmed, but he didn’t quit. Wouldn’t fucking quit.

Only fifty yards now. The boat’s pristine, milky, shell-like exterior was bright against the ebony sky.