Page 9 of Viper

“Craig,” she snapped.

He wheeled around. Anger flying off him in sparks. “Annamay cried but she didn’t yell.”

“I’m not Annamay, you piece of shit.”

He inhaled sharply through his nose. “No, you’re a lot more fucking annoying.”

He opened a drawer in the nightstand and pulled out a leather case. After dropping it on the bed, he took out a roll of duct tape and a long black whip. The hair on the back of her neck popped with electricity.

He tore off a strip of the duct tape. “I want to hear you scream, Paige. But we can’t alarm anyone.”

She twisted and turned her head to the side. “Help!” she cried, kicking and thrashing.

His rough fingers grasped her head as he slapped a thick strip of silver tape over her lips. She strained her throat, but no sound came through the adhesive.

The cold sweat on her skin suddenly burned. Strands of hair stuck to her face, but she was barely aware of the annoying tickle as she watched her abuser grab the top of her dress and tear it down her body.

Humiliation sucked the moisture from her mouth. He tossed the garment to the floor and stood next to the bed, inches away, nearly levitating with power and lust.

She closed her eyes against the mortification swallowing her. She knew what the bastard saw—what he liked. No bra covered her breasts because her dress had a built-in. Only a skimpy pair of blush-colored panties covered her sex, but she suspected it wouldn’t be there long.

A storm of terror took hold of her senses. If she didn’t rein it in, she’d never make it out of this. Atlas wouldn’t just abandon her. If he hadn’t reached a friend to help, he’d have called the Coast Guard.

Had she given the wrong coordinates?

Oh god. What if they couldn’t find her?

His cold, sharp fingers caught her nipple again. Her eyes sprang open, and she shot daggers at him.

“Pretty thing you are. Much sexier than Annamay.”

Anger swelled inside her chest and for a split second, she didn’t give a damn about her nakedness, nor her vulnerability. She wanted to claw his eyes out and shove them down his throat.

“I bet you’re pretty everywhere.” He grabbed the waistband of her thong then froze. “Did you hear that?” The tone of his question suggested that she’d be just as concerned as his stupid ass about someone reaching the boat.

Hope flooded her. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare make a sound for fear she’d miss a telltale sign that help was here. Then anxiety floored her again. If he caught whoever was here to rescue her, things could go bad.

“Mm-mm,” she said, shaking her head to answer his question.

His eyes narrowed, and he yanked his hand from her battered breast. “If you make a fucking sound, I’ll chew your tongue off.”

Troy ducked low behind a storage bin on the starboard side of the boat, his gaze fixed on the window. Snow-colored leather couches faced each other in the living room, feet away from a large slider that led onto the deck.

The space opened up to a small dining room and kitchen, not far from that a hallway disappeared and a set of stairs spiraled up to the top level.

He’d tossed a life preserver on the deck to make some noise and draw out any other men who might be lurking. Since Striker hadn’t confirmed who might be on board besides Craig, Troy couldn’t take any chances.

No one else had come out, but Douchebag himself had appeared in the kitchen.

Troy raised his Glock and aimed at the glass, but Craig pivoted and climbed the staircase before he could pull the trigger.

Fuck.

Once he got to the second deck, Craig would have a bird’s-eye view of the outside main level. Didn’t matter. Troy wasn’t here to hide.

Leaping to his feet, he kept his weapon trained in front of him and slipped in through the unlocked slider. Adrenaline ignited his veins, making his chest quiver with anticipation. Paige was here. She was alive.

Had to be.