Page 10 of Viper

He couldn’t accept any other possibility.

Darting into the hallway, he passed a bathroom and then reached a closed door adjacent to it. He tried the handle, and the sturdy wood swung open.

His heart skidded to a halt and emotion slammed against his ribs. Paige lay sprawled on the bed, her arms stretched awkwardly over her head, her breasts on full display.

His vision wavered.

“Mmm!” she cried, from behind a chunk of duct tape. She wriggled, her eyes wide and her cheeks tear streaked. The left side of her face sported a bruise, and her cheekbone was swollen.

His blood simmered, and he crossed the room in two strides. With his Glock in his left hand, he unclipped his switchblade from his pocket and snapped open the knife. Bringing it to her wrists, he cut the zip tie.

The second she was free, she scrambled onto her knees and reached for the tape, her movements jerky and frantic. This close, he could take in almost every nearly-naked inch of her. Part of him wanted to search her for injuries—but hell, that would be wrong.

He caught her wrist before she tore off her flesh. “It’s all right, honey. I’ve got you.”

Gently yet swiftly, he pulled off the tape.

“He’s here! He just went to look for you!” The words rushed from her lips, every syllable punched with agonizing fear.

Blinding anger frayed his nerves. He snatched a black dress from the floor and fit it over her head. The neck drooped as if it’d had the life stretched from it, and the thin straps were torn in half.

Rage rumbled through him. He tied the small strings together at her shoulders so the garment would at least stay on her body, though the neckline still sagged.

“Troy, he has a gun,” she said, her voice raspy, as he scooped her off the bed and placed her gently on her feet behind him. She was so damn tiny. It fucking gutted him. He’d never think of Paige as helpless because she wasn’t. But some man had hurt her. Overpowered her.

Raped her?

Goddammit.

The rage came back with brutal force. With great effort, he met her terrified gaze. “Is anyone else on board?”

She shook her head. The sight of the bruise on her cheek made him ball his hands into fists. But he couldn’t lose his cool. Not until she was off this boat.

“Are you hurt, Paige?”

Her lips firmed and she shook her head again.

The flicker of doubt he saw in her expression made him cup her cheek. “I’ve got you. He won’t touch you again. Come on.” He held out his arm.

Her slim fingers slipped around his elbow. The fact that she wasn’t ambushing him with a dozen questions set his nerves on edge. He needed to talk to her. Find out what had happened—what that about-to-be-dead man had done to her—but first, he had to get her off the yacht.

He inched toward the door. Footsteps pounded overhead.

Paige’s nails dug into his skin. “He’s coming.”

He towed her out of the room and down the hall. With his Glock trained on the stairs, he waited half a beat, but the bastard didn’t descend.

He led Paige through the slider, flipped open the storage bin, and pulled out a life jacket. Easing her back against the side of the boat, he fit her arms through the holes and zipped her up.

“Get on the paddleboard,” he said, nodding at the flotation device he’d leaned against the side of the boat. “Get as close to shore as you can. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

The whites of her eyes glistened in the moonlight. “I’m not leaving without you. He’s insane⁠—”

“So am I.” He gripped her jacket with his free hand. “I mean it, Paige. Get on the board and get as far from here as you can. This won’t take me long.”

She wet her lips, and time stopped moving for a moment. They weren’t that far from shore, but the idea of sending her off into the ocean made his heart constrict.

“How will you get back?” Her small voice drove a spear of regret through him.