Page 97 of Viper

Craig laughed, the sound derisive and pitched. “I knew you’d have fun. Now stand up. Dinner’s almost ready.” The lilt to his voice sent a shiver down her arms.

She pushed into a sitting position and glared at him. “I need to wash my hand.”

He narrowed his eyes and flicked his focus to her injured hand, which lay palm up on her knee.

“Fine. I don’t want blood all over my furniture anyway.”

She stood on shaky knees, squeezing her wrist to slow the flow of blood. She moved quickly onto the deck, then through the slider, every step heavy with worry he’d change his mind.

When she reached the bathroom, her wobbling legs almost gave out. She shut and locked the door behind her and immediately dropped to her knees. She grabbed the small handle on the cupboard door beneath the vanity, her throat swollen with apprehension. If her purse wasn’t there, she was screwed. Her only option would be to fight back against Craig and jump overboard.

She yanked open the door and pushed aside the wall of toilet paper. The gold chain strap of her slim black handbag glinted beneath the bathroom light. She gasped and lunged for the bag, tearing open the zipper. She delved her hand inside and took out her phone.

Her fingers were as numb as icicles as she entered her code and the screen unlocked. The battery icon showed 8 percent. Without wasting another second, she found Troy’s number, hit call, and pressed the phone to her ear.

The line rang. Once. Twice.

Oh my god.

What if he⁠—

“Paige?” The low rumble of Troy’s voice, so full of hope and confusion, drifted to her ear like a soothing balm.

A barely audible loose laugh fell from her lips. “It’s me,” was all she could muster.

“Where are you?” The words came out rapid-fire.

“On Craig’s yacht,” she whispered. “We’re about forty-five minutes from shore—I don’t have the coordinates. I don’t even know where we took off from because I was blindfolded.”

“Don’t worry, baby. We’re coming for you.”

“Is it her?” Her brother’s sharp question crackled through the speakers.

Atlas. Oh, thank god he’s okay.

Hearing both Troy and Atlas gave her strength. She sniffed. Tears ran down her cheek. She mopped up the moisture with the fingers of her injured hand.

“Havoc, get a trace on Paige’s phone. Now,” Troy ordered, his tone short and urgent.

Plates clanked in the kitchen. Paige snapped her gaze to the bathroom door. The saliva in her mouth turned to ash.

“Hurry up, starfish,” Craig’s singsong voice called. “I’m sure you’re hungry,”

“I don’t have long. He’s looking for me.”

She needed to clean her cut, otherwise Craig would wonder what she’d been doing.

“Hang in there, okay? We’ll find you. I fucking promise.”

Her lip trembled. “I know.” She swallowed hard so he wouldn’t hear the hitch in her voice.

“Did he hurt you?”

She stood and turned on the tap. Pinching the phone between her shoulder and ear, desperate for even a few more seconds of his voice, she scrubbed the gash with hand soap, ignoring the sting. Blood tinted the sink red. But she wouldn’t waste time telling him about this stupid injury. Not when this might be the last time she heard his voice.

“No. Troy, if I don’t make it—” Her throat squeezed off the statement.

“Honey, don’t. I’m coming for you, Paige. I—” He let out a short sigh. “I can’t fucking live without you. Please be careful.”