Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Rhett balled his hand in Beanie’s jacket, grabbed the back of the man’s head with his other hand, and smashed his forehead into the yacht’s railing. The guard’s head bounced off the metal with a sickening clank, and he slumped to the deck.
Rhett rolled Beanie’s shoulders back, but the stiff muscles protested.
The bastard was an ox. He reached into his back pocket and fished out the phone he used to communicate with Eric and Mandy.
A spiderweb crack fractioned the screen, and the device wouldn’t turn on.
Sonofabitch! He shoved the phone back in his pocket—he’d try to salvage it later.
He rounded the corner of the deck and searched the darkness but was greeted only by stars and the beating of waves against the yacht.
“Peyton?” He turned in a circle. No way she’d gone inside.
He ran to the rail and caught the cold steel in his hands.
His gaze roamed the waves, but there was no sign of her body.
He wheeled around. A dark shape lay motionless against the wall.
“Shit.” He dropped to Peyton’s side. Her hand lay open next to her leg, her head was tilted, and her eyes were closed.
She was sucking ragged breaths through her open mouth.
Her lips were pale. Sweat dampened his collar.
If something happened to her it’d be his fault.
He couldn’t live with that. Couldn’t live with having Serena and Dani’s friend’s death on his hands.
He caught her cheeks in his hands and her cold, clammy skin absorbed his heat.
“Peyton,” he said, as he gave her head a gentle shake.
She didn’t move. Dread ate a hole through the lining of his stomach.
He scanned the deck for the flashlight but couldn’t see it.
She couldn’t have been shot. No guns had been fired.
What had he missed? He cupped his hands around her shoulders and worked his palms over every inch of her body.
When he reached her right thigh, warm stickiness stopped his movement.
“What the?” He lifted his hand into the moon’s glow.
Blackish-red fluid coated his palm. His muscles constricted.
He jumped to his feet and ran to Beanie’s unconscious form.
After yanking the switchblade from the guard’s pocket, he slashed a hole in Beanie’s tuxedo jacket and ripped off a long strip.
He returned to Peyton and dropped down next to her again. “Peyton, you need to wake up.” He kept his voice hard, stern. “We have to get you off this boat now. You’re hurt and the guards will come looking for Beanie any minute.”
Who the hell was he kidding? He couldn’t put her in a lifeboat by herself while she was bleeding enough to pass out.
He worked the material under her thigh. The black night, dark wetsuit, and oozing blood made it difficult to determine the gash’s exact location, but it had to be substantial, given that she was losing consciousness.
He tied a knot over the wettest area and returned his attention to her face.
Her fingers reached for her leg. “Ah, what’d you do?” Her brow creased in accusation, and he grunted.
“Probably saved you from bleeding to death. Are you all right?”
She blinked and sat straighter. “Oh my god, I passed out.”
“Yeah. Not very good timing.”
“Where’s—”
“He’s out cold. But we need to get out of here. Can you stand?”
Some color returned to her cheeks and lips. His pulse regulated, and the angst that had gotten his heartbeat jumping eased as she clamped her hand on his forearm. He hauled her to her feet. She gasped, and her fingers dug into his muscle.
“You okay?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and rolled her lips in. “I’m fine.” She pressed more weight onto her injured leg and let go of his arm.
He searched her face, but she nodded again. “Get the lifeboat.”
He turned to where he’d dropped the sixty-pound duffle bag that enclosed the lifeboat, picked it up, and carried it to the stern.
He tied the tether to the metal hook on the boat and heaved the red bag over the side.
The tension on the cord would prompt the air cannister to inflate the boat.
It disappeared into the wake then surfaced.
Peyton came up beside him and cupped her hand on the rail.
“Holy cow,” she said on a croak, watching the lifeboat inflate. The base of the raft filled and the tent over top sprang into position.
“See the door,” he said, pointing to the hole in the tent with a ladder climbing the base, leading inside. “That’s where we need to go.”
She jerked her head toward him. “We?” she croaked.
He rocked his jaw. Fuck it. He didn’t have a choice.
If she jumped into the water, she’d be at risk of hypothermia regardless of the fact she’d just lost a lot of blood.
If she made it inside the raft, she’d probably pass out again, and it’d be next to impossible for Eric and Mandy to find her.
Besides, he couldn’t stay on the ship after knocking out Beanie, especially since he’d helped Peyton escape.
If he left now, they’d think he’d just decided to leave with her and probably wouldn’t jump to the conclusion that he was undercover.
Lieutenant Jackson wasn’t going to like this one fucking bit.
He reached for the life jackets secured in a box, fit one over her head, and tied the sides. Then he put one over his own head and secured it.
“Rhett.” Her voice rang with impatience.
“Yeah, I’m coming with you.” He turned his attention to the rapids, grabbed hold of her life jacket, and towed her to the railing. “We need to jump in the water first, then climb into the door.”
Her eyes became large saucers.
“How’d you think we were getting inside?” he said dryly.
“I don’t know. A slide or something? That’s what they do on airplanes.”
He huffed out a laugh and caught her hand in his. He wrapped her fingers around the strap at his waist. “Whatever you do, don’t let go of me. Got it?”
Her body went rigid.
“I’ll hang on to the tether and cut it once we’re in the water. As soon as I cut it, swim to the ladder. You’ll need to reach inside as far as you can to grab the rungs, so it’s easier to pull yourself in. If something happens to me, don’t come looking for me. Just get inside. All right?”
Her lip trembled, and her fingers circled around the strap in a death grip. “Yes.”
He chucked her under the chin. “Don’t worry about me. I can swim fine. I just don’t want anything slowing you down. You’re bleeding and hypothermia will set in quick. Ready?”
She blinked, and her throat moved on a swallow. For a second he expected her to turn away, to refuse. But she grabbed the rail and swung her leg over the top. “Ready.”
He did the same, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the switchblade. He wouldn’t retract the knife until they were in the water, but he didn’t want to waste time looking for it, or worse, have it get blown out of his pocket by their impact.
He circled his fingers loosely around the tether line. When he jumped, his hand would slide down the rope so they wouldn’t risk being sucked under the water by the propellers or thrown off course.
Peyton kept her gaze on the thundering water.
“Whatever you do, don’t let go of me. I won’t be able to drop the tether until I cut the line. If I let go of it too soon, the raft will get towed away and we’ll be stranded.”
She nodded once. “Let’s go then.”
“One,” he said, as he moved farther into position. They balanced side by side, half sitting on the rail.
“Two.”
She gave the strap at his waist a tug, assuring him she had a tight hold.
“Three!”
Peyton leaped forward a beat ahead of him. The rope whizzed against his skin, burning his palm as they rushed toward the sea.
Ice-cold water blasted her face as she plunged beneath the ocean’s surface.
The weight of Rhett’s body jerked her arm, but she hung tight to the strap.
Salty water raced into her nose and burned through her skull.
The lifejacket lifted her back to the surface, and she sucked in a breath as she kicked against the waves that dragged her toward the boat’s propellers and away from Rhett’s body.
“Cut it!” she cried, but the wind threw away her scream.
Rhett’s arm jerked over the wake, and a glint of metal caught her eye as he brought the blade down on the tether. The force that pulled at her legs released, and she gained traction.
“Get in the boat!” Rhett snatched her jacket and shoved her toward the wayward raft.
She grabbed the tether and hung on as she kicked and pulled herself toward the door.
Her limbs tingled and her skin puckered beneath the wetsuit.
A wave crashed against her face, sending her under momentarily and filling her mouth with fishy-tasting water.
She coughed and slapped away the wet hair plastering her face like a mop, keeping the raft’s door in sight.
Her legs burned with every kick and her wounded thigh pulsed wildly, raging at the salt stinging her raw.
She caught the ladder in her hands, reached inside the lifeboat, and grasped the farthest rung she could.
Rough hands shoved at her jacket then moved to her butt, and she hurtled inside.
She hit the bottom of the raft and rolled to her back, the weight of the soaking wetsuit and jacket pressing her down.
Her lungs ached to drag in air, but her body convulsed, halting her breaths.
She caught sight of the moon, which shone through the hole barely bigger than a doggie door. Rhett’s large, brawny hand stretched inside, and then his head appeared at the door. She clambered out of the way, caught the back of his jacket, and dragged him through the entrance.
He dropped to the floor on his hands and knees, gasping hoarsely. “Are you okay?” He turned and sat then reached for her jacket.
Shivers overtook her body, and her arms shook violently as he peeled off her life jacket. She rubbed her arms vigorously, but it was like trying to heat frost with ice.
“Sit.” He eased her back against the wall. The lifeboat pitched on the waves, and she pressed her hands into the floor for support.
Rhett leaned toward her and hooked her arms in the ropes lining the lifeboat’s perimeter. “Hang on to that. The water should calm down once we’re out of the yacht’s wake, but it will still be rough way out here.”
She closed her eyes and fought the weakness taking hold of her body. Her knees knocked together in rhythm with her teeth as Rhett fumbled around in the large raft. It was big enough to fit six people comfortably.
“What are you doing?” The question popped from her mouth, sounding pathetic. She could barely control her lips.
A glow suddenly lit the tent, and she blinked. Rhett turned around and waved a yellowish-green glow stick that was much brighter than the ones she’d seen little kids run around with. He laid four out in the tent, making the space as bright as a lantern.
He stripped off his life jacket and then tugged off his dress shirt, revealing his tanned, washboard stomach and puckered brown nipples. Her mouth went dry.
Then he shook out a big red hypothermia blanket and fit it around her shoulders, then did the same with his blanket.
She watched the corded muscle in his arms move as he sifted through the medical bag that had come rolled up in the lifeboat.
His hands trembled, but not nearly as badly as her entire body.
Water dripped from his hair and splattered on his blanket.
His dark-gray eyes found hers, and he wrapped his hand around her ankle. “There. Let’s have a look at that leg, shall we?”
She shifted her gaze to the medical scissors in his hand and curled her leg closer to her body. “I’m f-fine.”
He snorted, and she squinted in annoyance.
“You passed out back there, so yeah, we’re dealing with this injury.”
“I was tired.” The excuse was weak, and it sounded even more unconvincing with her lips blubbering together as if she’d just thrown back three shots of tequila. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but god, if they had some of that liquid gold right now . . . she’d do anything for its warmth.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Look,” he said, gesturing at her upper thigh. She lowered her gaze to the gash. Pain no longer blasted through her muscle—the cold and salt had numbed it to some degree. Blood stained the black suit, and the three-inch-long cut oozed dark liquid.
“You don’t want that getting infected.”
She made a face but didn’t pull away when he turned her hip to get a better view. His nose crinkled, and he made a hissing sound. “Beanie did that?” His warm palm covered her knee, thawing the frostiness that coated her bones.
“Yes. I fought him off and he slashed my leg.”
“I should’ve fucking killed him,” he spat. He turned and laid the life jackets next to her. “Lie down on your left side.”
She did as he said and pillowed her hand beneath her cheek. “I need to cut open your pant leg.” As the sound of material ripping echoed through the tent, she bolted into a sitting position and jerked out of his reach.
“Don’t. Please.” Her words came out on a sob. Confusion etched his face, and his hand froze in midair. She squeezed her eyes tight as the ferocious memories of Beanie ripping her dress flashed in her mind.
Stop it. You’re being stupid. He’s gone. It’s just Rhett.
But the thrashing of the raft and the howling of the wind hammered her senses, taking her back to the moment when Beanie’s slimy hands were on her naked rear end. She pressed her hands to her ears, and tears burned a river down her cheeks.