Kat Martin - Against the Night

The minute Amy had begun to slur her words, he knew what was happening, knew the weasely little bastard had loaded her drink.

The door at the end of the hall was closed. He paused when he reached it. Hearing Bennett’s voice in a one-sided conversation, he clamped down on the rage swelling inside him, turned the knob but found it locked. He raised his heavy boot and kicked the door open.

He aimed the pistol at Bennett. “Move, you little prick, and I swear I’ll blow your head off.”

Leaning over the bed, Kyle froze. Johnnie’s gaze shifted to Amy, who lay on her back on top of the mattress, completely unconscious. Bennett had unbuttoned her pink blouse, giving him a view of the plump cleavage above her push-up bra. He’d unzipped her white jeans, but that was as far as he’d gotten.

“Move away from her. Now.”

Bennett held up his hands as if they could stop a bullet and backed away from the bed. Just beyond it, the closet doors were folded open, revealing a wall filled with kinky sex toys: padded handcuffs, a leather headdress, a roll of duct tape, and every shape and size of dildo imaginable.

The rage returned, so thick and hot he could barely see. His finger itched where it curled against the trigger.

“Who are you?” Bennett demanded, but his voice shook. “What are you doing in my house?”

Johnnie lowered the pistol, shoved it into his pants behind his back. He moved into the room, over toward the bed. “Rape’s against the law, buddy, or hadn’t you heard?”

Bennett kept his hands in the air, trying to ward off the anger rippling toward him in waves.

“Take it easy, okay? This isn’t what it looks like. Angel came over here on her own. We were just having a little fun.”

“That so?” He looked down at Amy and felt a pinch in his chest. Now that she was there, he couldn’t call the police. For chrissake, the lady was a goddamn kindergarten teacher. The last thing she needed was a sex scandal. Whatever kind of roofie Bennett had given her would knock her out for eight to twelve hours. He needed to get her out of there.

His gaze shifted back to Bennett and his rage boiled back to the surface. If Amy had come on her own, Bennett would have raped her. It took every ounce of his will to not beat the guy into a bloody pulp. Instead, he strode to where Bennett cowered against the wall, grabbed his shirt and started dragging him toward the closet.

“What are you doing?” Bennett’s weak struggles were almost funny. “Get away from me. Leave me alone!”

“I’ll leave you alone, you freak.” Johnnie reached for the padded handcuffs hanging on a peg on the back wall of the closet, clamped them onto Bennett’s slim wrists, then lifted him up and draped the chain linking the cuffs together over a peg on the wall.

Bennett hung like a landed fish. “You can’t do this!”

“Yeah?” Reaching into his boot, Johnnie pulled out his Ranger knife and flipped it open. Bennett’s eyes turned into watery, frightened orbs as Johnnie held up the gleaming six-inch, serrated blade.

“Oh, God. Don’t hurt me! Let me go!”

“Not likely.”

Bennett closed his eyes as Johnnie started cutting off his clothes. It took only minutes to have the bastard naked except for his socks and shoes. Johnnie reached up for one of the dildos. He knew where he’d like to shove it, but then again, Bennett might like it.

Instead, he stuck it into the man’s mouth, tore off a strip of duct tape and slapped it over the end to hold it in place. Satisfied Bennett wouldn’t choke to death or have trouble breathing, he grinned.

“The cops are gonna have a real laugh when they come to your rescue, buddy.”

Turning toward the bed, he reached down and fastened the buttons on Amy’s blouse, zipped her jeans and lifted her into his arms.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you out of here.”

He flashed a last ruthless smile toward Kyle Bennett. “Have fun—kiddo.”

Closing the door behind him, Amy snuggled against his chest, Johnnie carried her down the hall. Knowing a woman’s most valuable possession was her purse, he ducked into Kyle’s office, grabbed her small white bag, and left the house.

He was taking the little dancer home with him where once again, he wouldn’t be able to touch her.

God had an amazing sense of humor.

Johnnie glanced at his heavy chrome wristwatch for the twentieth time. Ten hours. Amy had been out like a light for ten freakin’ hours. He wanted to go back and tear Kyle Bennett’s head off. The guy deserved a far worse punishment than he’d gotten. Johnnie would have been happy to rip him apart limb by limb if the little pervert hadn’t been so puny.

Instead, after he had brought Amy back to his house, he had used one of the disposable phones he kept on hand to call the police. He had given them Bennett’s address and told them a man was in trouble and needed their help. He couldn’t help grinning when he thought of the look on the officers’ faces when they found Bennett naked and trussed up like a pig with his own kinky toys.

He’d been tempted to call Vega, let him in on the fun, but he had more important work for his friend. He needed to talk to Rick in person. He wanted answers to his questions about Rachael and he had a better shot at getting them face-to-face.

In the meantime, he was keeping close tabs on Amy, regularly checking her pulse and breathing, making sure there weren’t any unforeseen complications aside from the powerful hangover she was going to have when she woke up.

He opened the bedroom door and looked down at her lying on his bed. He had imagined her there a dozen times but not like this. Johnnie sighed. He hadn’t taken off her clothes. Though she’d been dancing nearly naked in front of a roomful of men, he had a hunch she would prefer to keep her clothes on, no matter how uncomfortable they might be. She was still sleeping soundly, he saw, her long blond hair spread around his pillow like a sleek gold curtain. He had taken off her high heels and tossed a blanket over her bare feet.

He started to close the door and return to the living room when he saw her stir.

Slowly, Amy opened her eyes. It seemed to take Herculean effort. When she moved, her body ached all over. She felt groggy and disoriented, her brain mushy and her stomach queasy. She must have been sleeping the sleep of the dead. Her gaze surveyed the bedroom: white walls, black bedside tables with silver lamps on top. A black dresser with silver handles. There were photos of motorcycles and fast cars on the walls. None of it looked familiar.

With a panicky gasp, Amy jerked back the blanket that covered her, her last memory one of Kyle Bennett leading her down the hall to his bedroom.

“Easy, baby. You’re safe. Everything’s all right.” Johnnie’s deep voice washed over her from a few feet away and her fear began to recede. She saw him, then, big, dark and menacing, standing at the side of the bed.

“Where am I?”

“My house. I brought you here after Bennett drugged you.”

“Oh, my God!” She shoved herself to an upright position and pain slammed into her head.

“Take it easy.” Johnnie reached out and eased her back down on the mattress. “You’ve been out for nearly ten hours. You need to take it slow.”

“What…what happened?” She looked down, saw she was wearing her clothes. “He didn’t…didn’t…?”

“He didn’t have time to do much of anything. I was there, remember? Bennett put a roofie—that’s a date-rape drug—in your drink. I came in just a few minutes after he took you into his bedroom.”

She closed her eyes, trying to replay the scene, but her memory was completely blank. Still, Johnnie had been there, so nothing terrible had happened. She felt a sweep of relief.