The Alpha Bodyguards Books #4-6

Chapter Eleven

“G et the fuck up.” T he asshole who’d hit me in the face yanked my arm and dragged me up the steps to the deck of the boat.

Seeing his face for the second time, realizing he wasn’t even trying to hide his identity, I swallowed down panic at what that could mean and concentrated on not tripping.

My feet hit the warm deck, and the hot Florida sun beat down on my hair and shoulders. A random memory of swimming in my parents’ pool last summer with my mom surfaced, and I couldn’t help it, tears welled. I wondered if I would ever see her again.

Pushing the thought down deep where I couldn’t dwell on it, I reached for anger. “Yank my arm again and see if my father pays you one red cent.” I knew this had to be about money.

Dragging me across the deck, his fingers digging into the flesh of my arm, the asshole paused to get in my face. “Make no mistake, princess, I’m paid no matter what condition you’re in.” He shoved me toward the side of the boat that was tied to a dock. “Step the fuck up.”

Stumbling, my hands cuffed in front of me, I reached out for one of the wood pilings so I didn’t fall. The boat rocked, and a splinter bit into my palm, but I managed to step on to the dock just as the boat swayed back from the pilings.

My captor followed, and his hand went right back to the already bruised flesh of my arm.

Trying to jerk out of his hold, my heart sank as I took in my surroundings. Water all around us, I couldn’t see land past the edge of the island we were on. “Where are we?”

The asshole smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

I didn’t even know if we were still in the States. Sucking in a breath, then another, I tried not to panic. “I have a right to know.”

“A right?” He scoffed, but he didn’t say anything else as he dragged me down the dock and across a small beach.

Desperate, craning my neck, I tried to take in every possible inch of my surroundings and any potential way to get out of this. But with every turn of my head, my stomach sank further. We were surrounded on all sides by water, and to my right it looked like nothing except ocean. There were a few spoil islands I could swim to on either side of us, but none of them looked inhabited, and the land I saw in the distance looked too far away to swim to without encountering sharks—that was, if I could manage to get out of the handcuffs and make a run for it.

Because with handcuffs on, I wasn’t going to be able to swim any kind of distance.

Panicked and angry, I tried to jerk out of the asshole’s grasp again. “What makes you think my father is going to pay you anything if he doesn’t even know where I am?”

Passing the smaller cottages, my captor led us toward a large house. “Like I said, princess, I get paid no matter what. My job is to deliver you. After that, I don’t give a shit what happens.”

The slider door on the second-story deck opened and a dark-haired man with a huge rifle and mirrored sunglasses stepped out. “You’re late.”

“Traffic,” my captor clipped, irritated.

The man in sunglasses with the gun stared down at me but spoke to the asshole. “Where’s her phone?”

“Destroyed.” My captor shoved me toward a staircase leading up to the deck.

My toe stubbed on a small rock in the sand, and I saw an opening.

Pretending to trip from his push, I stumbled forward, bounced off the railing, then fell to the ground. “Ow!” My knees hit the sand, and I let momentum take me all the way down, my chest falling on my handcuffed wrists. “You jerk!” Sand got in my face. “You don’t push someone in handcuffs!” I rolled halfway and held up my wrists. “That hurt. They dug into my skin.”

The asshole looked like he couldn’t care less, but the man on the deck scowled.

I played into it. Still holding my arms up, I shook my hands. “Take these off if you don’t want me to get hurt worse.”

“No.” The asshole grabbed my arm and yanked me up.

I pretended to twist in pain. “ Ow! ” Crumpling, I fell back down. “Now my knee’s twisted because of you.”

“Get the fuck up,” the asshole bit out.

I didn’t relent. “Uncuff me if you want me to make it up those stairs.”

Without even blinking, my captor backhanded me.

My head whipped to the side and blood pooled in my mouth a split second before pain lanced across my face. Rage like I’d never felt burst from every molecule of my being, and I kicked the asshole.

Anticipating my move, he grabbed my ankle and jerked my leg up.

My hands cuffed in front of me, no way to break my fall, my body flew back and my arm caught the splintered wood banister before my head slammed into the bottom step.

I saw stars.

Trying to shake it off as something oozed from the back of my arm, I kicked out at the asshole. “You touch me again, and I’ll scream.”

Sweating, his face twisted in anger, he leaned over me and spit out words. “Go ahead, bitch. Who the fuck’s gonna hear you?”

“Screw you,” I spat back, my head spinning.

Unfazed, he grabbed me by the waist, yanked me up, and threw me over his shoulder.

My hands caught under me, they dug into his shoulder and my stomach. He jogged up the stairs, every step knocking the wind right out of me. At the top of the landing, he dumped me on my feet in front of a glass slider.

My stomach feeling like I’d been punched repeatedly, my arm burning, my head pounding, my jaw smarting, I wanted to cry. But I wasn’t going to. Not if I could help it.

The man in the sunglasses raked his gaze over me, or at least I thought he did, but I couldn’t see his eyes, only the slight dip then lift of his head.

His focus shifted to my captor, and his voice came out with no emotion. “She’s bleeding.”

My captor reached for the slider door. “Women fucking bleed every goddamn month.”

Oh God .

Remembering I was toward the end of my period and I still had a tampon in, I pressed my legs together.

Holding his rifle up with his finger on the trigger, the guy in sunglasses put his free hand on the slider door. “Clean her up first,” he clipped.

The asshole looked at the guy in sunglasses. “With what? Your shirt?”

I glanced at Mr. Sunglasses’s shirt. It was a perfectly pressed, perfectly clean dark gray polo.

“You take her in looking like that, it’s your funeral,” Mr. Sunglasses warned.

“I wasn’t paid to play fucking beauty shop,” the asshole snapped. “She’s fine.”

Not responding, not moving, presumably staring at the asshole, the guy in sunglasses stood perfectly still.

“Fucker,” the asshole muttered under his breath before yanking the slider door open and grabbing me.

The second his fingers dug into my arm, I yelped in pain.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch.” The asshole dragged me into the cold air-conditioned house.

I stumbled over the threshold, and when I looked up, shock stole my breath.

Sitting on a leather couch was a man with honeyed skin, dark eyes and inky-black hair. Wearing a crisp white dress shirt and custom-fitted dress pants, he stood up.

“Ludeviene.” He smiled as two bodyguards flanked him.

I barely found my voice. “Uncle Dante?”