Chapter 4
STONE
Stone left the woman in the shadows and didn’t look back, though he couldn’t shake the nagging pull to check her out one last time.
Fucking hell, ignore her. Move your ass.
He had been hunting her, thinking she was a man. But the reality of her when she stood in front of him, all fiery-eyed, was enough to make his pulse skip.
How the hell had he gotten that so wrong?
He marched deeper into the belly of the rig, where the air reeked of salt and rust. The metal beneath his boots shuddered with each step, and the whole damned place seemed to creak and groan.
Every instinct screamed that some kind of hell was being orchestrated here, and it was connected to those electronic signatures Dane had tracked over eight thousand miles away.
Yet as he pushed forward, the mystery woman’s words echoed in his mind:
Who the hell are you?
The same damn question bounced around in his head.
Who was she? She didn’t fit in this place, or whatever goddamned mess was going on here.
One minute, she was a sneaky trespasser with no idea what she’d stumbled into, and the next, she was a woman with a blade and a wild, coiled confidence that didn’t match her petite frame.
She was dangerous. Intriguing. Damn sexy.
But fascination was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Not now. Not here.
Still, the image of her lingered . . . those sharp eyes, the tight grip on her knife, the way she’d held her ground despite the obvious pain in her leg. She was tougher than most, but that didn’t make walking away feel any less wrong.
Leaving her seemed reckless. The rig wasn’t safe for anyone, especially not someone who was injured. He should’ve made her leave the rig and get out of danger, but she hadn’t wanted his help. Hell, she’d practically bitten off his head. He didn’t have time to argue, let alone babysit.
She would’ve slowed him down.
Now that he was alone in the belly of the rig, Stone told himself he didn’t need to play bodyguard to a stubborn, knife-wielding mystery woman.
He touched his nose and winced.
Damn woman nearly broke it. I can’t believe she got that shot in.
The rig was a disorienting labyrinth of cold steel walkways, echoing chambers, and ladders that stretched endlessly in all directions.
Darkness pressed in like a living thing, broken only by the stark green glow of emergency lights casting long, warped shadows that seemed to shift with every step.
The place felt alive, but dead at the same time.
He moved carefully, ears straining for the faintest hint of where those men had gone. Nothing. Just the creak of the rig, a steady, metallic ticking and a low hum that added to his own breathing.
Like a countdown to oblivion.
He checked a massive storage area but found nothing. Corridor after corridor, locked doors, rusted stairwells, dead ends.
Where the hell did they go?
Minutes blurred into hours. He kept moving, climbing ladders, slipping through tight service hatches, and backtracking through the maze.
Stealth took time, and his boots weren’t helping.
They sounded as loud as hooves each time he had to cross on metal.
Every echo reminded him of just how exposed he really was.
Each dead end added heat to the burning frustration building in his gut. At the threshold of yet another empty chamber, he stopped, hands clenched into fists.
I’m wasting fucking time.
Urgency clawed at him. Come daybreak, this place would be crawling with complications. He had to be gone before then.
His stomach growled, loud and insistent, a sharp reminder that time wasn’t the only thing he was running out of. It was getting harder to ignore the questions spinning in his head.
Where the fuck is everyone?
What the hell are they doing on this abandoned rig?
And who the hell was that woman?
Each passing moment pulled the knot in his gut tighter.
He paused and stared down a narrow access ladder that disappeared into a dense snarl of pipes and machinery far below. Listening, he held his breath. Nothing, but the upper levels he’d explored so far were a bust. He was running out of options.
Clenching his jaw, he swung onto the ladder and scrambled down. At a tight opening, he angled his body sideways and squeezed through, landing lightly on a grated platform.
Voices drifted to him.
About fucking time.
He scanned the space below for movement, but the angles were too narrow, and too obstructed.
He climbed back onto the ladder, heart kicking faster, and dropped to the next level, moving fast but quietly.
Slipping behind a large junction box, he pressed himself into the cold steel, every nerve strung taut, ears straining.
The voices were closer, but the acoustics were garbage. Steel warped the sound, bouncing it around, distorting it. Still no clear words.
He pushed off the wall and crept forward, slow and deliberate. When shadows offered cover, he melted into them. When they didn’t, he moved fast and low, slipping along the dark corridor.
A void broke through. “. . . final sequence . . . should be ready to test again in one hour.”
He ducked into a narrow gap between two massive pipes, and with his heart pounding, he leaned forward, listening.
“. . . better be. No fucking mistakes. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Stone’s jaw clenched. The tone was military. Authoritarian. Who the hell were they? And what the hell was nearly ready?
Cold metal jammed against the back of his skull. “Don’t even think about breathing wrong.”
Stone froze. The voice was flat, emotionless, cold enough to kill without hesitation. The unmistakable click of a hammer being drawn back echoed in the tight space.
Slowly, he raised his hands.
“All right, all right. Take it easy,” he said, keeping his voice calm, though adrenaline surged through him like lightning.
“Move. Slowly.” The barrel jabbed harder into his head.
Stone stepped out from his hiding spot, careful not to make any sudden moves. The man behind him stayed silent as he herded Stone forward.
“Who are you working for?” the gunman demanded.
“Just a guy who got lost.” Stone’s pulse thundered in his ears. He had seconds. Maybe less. If this guy got him in front of the others, he was fucked.
The barrel nudged between his shoulder blades. “Walk. And no sudden moves, or I’ll put a hole in you big enough to see the sunrise through.”
As they passed a narrow corridor, Stone spun and dropped low, sweeping his leg outward in a sharp arc. His boot connected solidly with the gunman’s shin. The man grunted, stumbling back.
The bastard caught his balance. The rifle came at him in a vicious blur. Stone ducked yet the weapon slammed into his temple, not quite cracking his skull but enough to send stars bursting across his vision. He dropped to one knee, blinked hard, then lunged.
His shoulder slammed into the man’s gut, driving him back into the wall with a sharp clang that echoed far too loudly. The gunman wheezed but still didn’t go down.
Stone threw punches; tight, fast, and brutal. His knuckles cracked against the man’s nose, cheek, and jaw, snapping his head side to side. The big bastard staggered, but he recovered with a snarl, eyes wild and lip bleeding.
Stone yanked the knife from his belt, but before he could strike, the bastard recovered fast and kicked out. His boot smashed into Stone’s hand. Pain shot up his arm as the knife flew from his grip, clattered across the floor, skidded under the railing and vanished over the side.
Fuck!
They circled each other in the tight space, both breathing hard, both bloodied. Stone’s fists ached. The man looked like he hadn’t even started yet.
The asshole lunged, driving his knee into Stone’s ribs and knocking the wind out of him. Before Stone could recover, the gunman feinted high and went low, tackling Stone at the knees.
They crashed to the floor in a tangled heap, fists flying.
Stone landed a solid shot to his ribs but took a brutal blow to the side of the head in return. His ears rang. Vision blurred. He was losing ground. The bastard was fucking heavy.
Gritting his teeth, Stone surged to his feet, fist cocked.
The man rose like a fucking beast, fast and relentless as he spun and drove an elbow into Stone’s already-injured nose.
Crack.
White-hot pain exploded behind Stone’s eyes, blinding and immediate. His knees buckled as stars burst across his vision in disorienting flashes that turned the world to static.
He staggered, and a ragged gasp tore from his lungs.
The asshole drove a knee to Stone’s chest, punching the air from him. Stone slammed face-first onto the grated floor. His skull rattled. Blood flooded his mouth, metallic and hot.
Rough hands grabbed his arms, wrenching them behind his back. Zip ties bit into his wrists like plastic claws.
“Fuck!” he groaned, twisting his body in protest.
As he was yanked upright, the world swirled around him.
“Not so tough now, are ya? Dickhead.” The gunman sneered, giving him a shove.
Stone spat a thick glob of blood onto the floor. “Fuck you.”
Another shove, harder this time.
He stumbled forward, trying to blink the static from his eyes, trying to think through the pain radiating from his nose to his brain. The grated walkway clanged beneath his boots as the gunman’s fingers pinched his arm in an iron-strong grip.
This wasn’t just bad.
This was fucking terrible.
A sickening thwack echoed behind him. The gunman’s grip vanished.
Stone turned in time to see the bastard collapse like a wet paper bag, hitting the deck hard and motionless.
Standing over him, chest heaving, was the mystery woman, Daisy Duke. Her small hands were wrapped around a length of rusted pipe. Her eyes locked with his: wide, fierce, and devastating.
She dropped the pipe with a dull clang and drew her knife in one smooth motion. “Turn around.”
A wave of gratitude rolled through him, sharp and unexpected. He turned, offering his bound wrists.
She sliced through the zip ties. “Seriously? One guy and he had you face-down on the deck? What kind of mercenary are you?”
Stone flexed his wrists as the blood rushed back in with sharp and tingling pulses. He couldn’t help the smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m no more a mercenary than you are Daisy Duke. I had it under control.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Right. That why you were seconds from being dragged to the gallows?”
“Dramatic,” he said.
“Pathetic,” she shot back.
“I thought I told you to get out of here.”
“And I thought I told you to piss off.”
Stone rubbed his wrists, flexing his fingers as his mind tried to catch up. He glanced at her, then at the unconscious man on the floor, then back again.
Outstanding . . . saved by a pint-sized badass.
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
It vanished the moment he touched his nose and pain flared white-hot.
“I would’ve been fine,” he muttered, “if he hadn’t finished what you started.”
She winced, yet there was a glint in her eyes he didn’t miss. Was she actually enjoying this?
“Pain sharpens the mind,” she said, and gave his chest a casual backhand. A flicker of emotion crossed her gaze before she looked down at the unconscious gunman. “Looks like you owe me one,” she added, her voice just a little too cheerful.
“Yeah,” Stone said, exhaling. “Looks like I do.”
Hot damn. I’m gonna like Daisy Duke.
As she slid her knife back into the sheath on her belt, Stone crouched beside the unconscious gunman. He plucked a pair of zip ties from the man’s vest and bound his wrists behind his back. Another set went around the ankles, tight and secure.
He looked up at her and nodded toward her knife sheath. “Mind if I borrow that?”
She hesitated, eyes narrowing as she studied him. Calculating. Wary as all hell. Then, she unsheathed the knife and handed it over, hilt-first, watching him the whole time.
Stone sliced a strip of fabric from the man’s shirt, then another. One he wadded up and shoved into the gunman’s mouth, the second he used to tie it in place. Not the cleanest solution, but it would keep him quiet.
He stood and offered the knife back to her, handle first. “Thanks.”
She took it without a word, but her gaze stayed on him, still measuring.
“So,” she said, holstering the knife, “looks like we’re partners now.”
He blinked. “Partners? Fuck no.”
“Hell yes.” She crossed her arms. “You need me to find your way around this rig, and to save your ass. And until you tell me what the hell you’re doing here, I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “Does this mean you finally believe me?”
“Hell no. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Prince Charming.”
He extended a hand. “Stone. Stone Mahoney.”
She eyed his hand like it might explode, but then she gripped it. Her shake was firm, completely at odds with her size. She pulled away and casually wiped her palm on the seat of her pants.
“You gonna tell me your name?” he asked.
“Nope.” She cocked her head and flashed a sassy grin. “But if you’re done screwing around, we need to move.”
She turned, and as she walked away, he didn’t miss her favoring her left foot. When she dusted her hands on her ass again, he couldn’t help wondering if she wanted him to check out her butt.
Whether he liked it or not, and whether she liked it or not, they were in this together.
That terrified him more than that gunman did.
Stone grabbed the rifle and the radio from the unconscious gunman, and as he marched after Daisy Duke, he hoped like hell they weren’t walking into a hellhole he couldn’t control.