Page 130 of Secret Mission

The cameras are out. No one knows he’s down. No one knows I’ve got a knife to my throat.

“What are you looking for in such an all-fired hurry?”

A nasty blast of hot air hits my cheek as he lifts me to my toes with the bruising hold he’s got on me.

Spinning me, the monster presses me against a gold and black column.

“My—my father,” I stammer. “Is he here?”

A sickening reply comes back with a dark laugh. “I can be your daddy.”

My stomach lurches, horror crawling up my throat, my heart bleeding in terror for Truck.

They must have shot him. But I didn’t hear anything.

Nothing makes sense.

“You hear me?” The man shakes me roughly.

Tears tighten my throat, but a fire is building inside of me that might burn the whole yacht down.

I need to get to Truck. “Where’s my father?”

As if the sick bastard isn’t scary enough, he lifts the blade away, inspects the gleaming surface before he presses it to my throat again. “You’re bleeding. I like it.”

Since he hasn’t mentioned Truck, I can only pray he didn’t see him.

“Let me go. My father will be furious with you.”

“That is, if I’m still here when that old fucker gets back.”

The gray boat.

“What are you doing on the yacht?”

“Getting it ready for your daddy’s big trip.”

Fighting the dizzying fear, I try to think of anything that will get me out of this so I can go to Truck.

“If you let me go, I won’t mention you to him.”

The laugh that bursts near my ear is blood-icing.

“You lie so pretty. Bet you fuck even better.”

The cold blood sluicing through my veins reaches my fingertips, my toes, tingles along my scalp. Then I remember the ring. Tapping my finger, I start talking.

“Let me go. The knife is hurting my throat. I don’t know who you are or what you want with me. I was just looking for my father on his yacht and you grabbed me. But now you’re scaring me.”

“Finally, you’re wising up.” He buries his nose in my hair, making a thick growl that knocks the wind out of me. “Like I said, I bet you’re gonna fuck real good.”

Thunder bursts above us, rumbling through the deck of the yacht.

“This fucking storm. It was pissing me off, now…I love it,” he growls, and he loosens his hold as the rain begins to drop from the sky like bullets. “Get inside. No one will come down here when the lightning starts cracking, which means I’ve got plenty of time to enjoy?—”

A whoosh of air hits me, the knife flies past my face, bouncing off the column, clattering onto the deck next to my foot.

The heat that was pressing against my back is suddenly gone.