Page 27 of What Remains

Blue-Eyes reaches into his pocket and removes a small key. I stare intently at the object as a new fear unlocks.

Oh no. No, no, no.

“We do as we’re told. If we get orders to kill them when we land, we’ll do it. Until then, we stick to the plan.” He sits on the edge of the table, rolling the key between his fingers. “But she said nothing about keeping our hands to ourselves.” Blue-Eyes rolls up his mask just above his mouth and hits me with a lecherous smile. “And I’m not about to miss an opportunity to fuck Wyatt Pierson’s daughter and be the one to tell him I had my cock inside her before I kill him.” Bile rises, and noticing what’s about to happen, he reaches out and slams a hand over my mouth to cover it. “Swallow.”

I nearly choke to death on my own vomit before the fight in me kicks back in, and I sink my teeth into his finger and bite him.

He curses and pulls his hand away. “Feisty, aren’t you?” He sets aside the key. “I need you to hold her down so I can get her out of this chair.”

“And if the boss wants her for himself? Or hell, Jezebel?”

He drags the back of his gloved hand across my cheek and down my neck. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

I stiffen and turn my head. Tears stream down my face. For the lives lost at the hotel. For the future ones thanks to my rig being compromised. And for what’s about to happen to me . . .

“You have to screw her, too. I can’t have you holding this over my head. And don’t act like you don’t want her. I saw the way you looked at her on the plane when we forced her to strip.” He lets me go and undoes his belt buckle, leaving the leather in the loops. “You’re going to take her, and I’m going to watch you.”

The other guy stares at me, his chest lifting and falling with deep breaths. “One of us needs to stay in the hall and keep an eye out so no one comes in.”

Blue-Eyes picks up the key. “Fine. But prove to me you’ll go through with it after I’m done. Take off your mask so she sees you.”

I’m about to plead for mercy, hoping I can talk some sense into the semi-hesitant one, but when he removes his mask, revealing his messy blond hair, realization dawns on me. “You were at the hotel bar Friday night.” I close my eyes, my world spinning. Was he also one of the guys Natasha clocked by the pool Saturday? One she assumed was a tail sent by Dad?

When I force open my eyes, he’s standing on the other side of my chair.

“Hold her down,” Blue-Eyes commands while freeing my first wrist from the chair arm.

I take the chance to swing. If I’m going down, it’ll be with a⁠—

My thoughts die and I shriek as the blond asshole catches my arm and twists it behind my back with too much force. Everything becomes a blur of hot tears and quick movements after that. It’s like my mind is trying to protect me from the evil about to happen.

They finish freeing me from the chair, only to cage me to the wall. Cold air stabs my skin as the zipper of my jumpsuit is wrenched down, and my teeth chatter uncontrollably as I burst into a sob while they strip me. My wrists are bound behind my back with the rope, and my ankles are cuffed.

Blue-Eyes removes his gloves, cups my breast, and rocks against me. My stomach turns at the feel of his crotch pressed against my naked body. His fatigues are all that separates us from⁠—

“Go in the hall,” he orders the blond one.

I try to headbutt him but miss.

When the door clicks shut, the man’s fingers close around my throat until the edges of the room become blurry.

I shut my eyes, and my pulse roars so loud I can’t hear anything.

But then . . . the pressure at my throat eases.

I open my eyes, and . . .

Easton, oh God.

Rage is carved into every line of his face as he moves in.

My attacker’s wrist is bent at an angle no bone can tolerate, his forearm locked tight in Easton’s grip as he wrenches the bastard off me.

Oxygen slams back into my lungs. I suck in a sharp breath through my nose and slide down the wall to the floor, drawing my knees protectively to my naked body.

Easton is on top of the man now, and he glances at me for a heartbeat. But the look in his eyes is a whole sentence. Relief. Terror. Anger. All fighting for dominance.

Before I can scream a warning, he takes a hit to the jaw. He grunts, then zeroes in on the man with deadly focus. He slowly slits his throat, and I enjoy watching him die. Does that mean something is wrong or broken inside me? And do I care? He was going to rape me. Threatened to kill the people I love. He earned it, and I don’t begrudge myself the satisfaction. I’ve earned that, too.