C. Palov - Ark of Fire

Holding her bra up to his face, the behemoth read the inside tag. “Thirty-four C. Nice. They ought to fit my hands just perfect.”

Hearing that, Edie wanted to puke.

“H-how d-did you find me?” she nervously stammered, hoping that if she changed the subject, she could somehow change his intentions.

Grinning, he dropped the bra. “Amazing how you can hunt down a person anywhere in the world with a microdot tracking device and a Palm Pilot. And the beauty of it? It doesn’t cost more than two hundred dollars. That’s the good thing about them chinks and how they mass-produce everything on God’s green planet. Keeps down the cost of running surveillance.”

“That’s why you attacked me in Oxford, so you could plant a tracking device on me.”

“Aren’t you the clever bitch?” He gaze slowly moved down her soap-covered body, stopping at her quivering breasts.

Edie sank deeper into the mound of bubbles, her head being the only thing that remained above water. If she could have, she would have squeezed herself right down the drain.

“He’s going to be back. Any minute now. So you better leave while you still have the chance.” She pointedly glanced at his sutured skull, hoping to drive home her point.

“Ooh, I’m quaking in my boots. Besides, I’ve got my doubts about your redheaded honey returning any time soon. Last I saw him, he was sitting at the corner bar, downing a cold one. So, it looks like it’s gonna be just me and you, sweet tits. But after what I saw last night, I think you can handle it.” Lewdly grinning, he winked at her. “I got last night’s fuck fest on video. Hot. Real, real hot.” Reaching down, he cupped his crotch with his free hand, pursing his thick lips in an exaggerated air kiss.

“I’m going to be sick,” Edie moaned, leaning over the side of the tub, gagging.

“The fuck you are!”

Charging forward, her would-be rapist grabbed her by the hair. Lemon-scented water splashed onto the floor as he yanked her up and out of the tub. Arms flailing, Edie reflexively slammed her balled fist into the bandaged wound on the side of his head.

“Fucking shit!” he bellowed, instantly releasing his hold on her.

Edie seized her chance, running into the other room.

A weapon. She had to find a weapon.

Her eyes quickly darted from the floor lamp to the bed to the lumpy chair.

The metal nail file.

Oblivious to the fact that she was stark naked, she lunged toward the fake Louis XIV chair. That was where she’d been sitting when she filed down her broken nail.

From behind her, she heard the thud of heavy boots.

Where the hell was the nail file?

She shoved her hand alongside the seat cushion, her search coming to an abrupt end when a muscled arm snaked around her waist, yanking her away from the chair. Frantic, she tried to twist free, but it was as though she had a giant vise grip clamped around her midsection.

“Think again, cunt,” her assailant snarled, lifting her bodily off the ground. Pivoting, he tossed her onto the bed, the iron frame noisily clanging against the wall. Edie immediately rolled to her right side, but anticipating the move, he grabbed her by the ankle, pulling her back to the middle of the bed.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, pointing the gun at her heart. “Or there won’t be anything left of your left titty.”

Not so much as twitching, Edie braced herself, certain a bullet would slam into her chest at any moment.

When it didn’t happen, she released a pent-up breath, wordlessly watching as her would-be rapist clicked the safety on his weapon. That done, he placed it on the mantel. Completely out of reach.

Cracking his knuckles, he walked toward the bed. “In case you’re wondering, I can kill you with my bare hands as easily as I can shoot you.”

Edie didn’t doubt for one second that he spoke the truth.

Intently staring at her, he placed a knee on the foot of the bed. In the next instant, he had her pinned beneath him. His harsh breath hit her full in the face. Edie figured he had a good hundred pounds on her.

Unable to move, barely able to breathe, she mutely stared at her assailant.

She had only two choices: submit or fight. Either way, when all was said and done, she figured she’d end up dead.

At that thought, Edie heard a buzzing in her ears, the rapist-cum-murderer’s rough unshaven face blurring at the edges.

Submit, a voice in her head ordered.

Submit and you might live.

If you live, you can snatch the gun on the mantel.

And if you get the gun, you can blow him away.

Her mind made up, Edie clenched her jaw and stared at the ceiling.

Finagling his hand between their hips, the monster unbuttoned his pants. In the same instant his cell phone vibrated; Edie could feel the pulse against her bare hip.

“Fucking shit.”

Removing his hand from between their two bodies, he reached for the vibrating phone clipped to his waistband. “Not a word,” he warned, supporting himself on his elbows.

Relieved to have some of his weight removed, Edie obediently nodded.

“Braxton. Yes, sir, I got her.” He frowned, his brows drawing together in the middle. “No, sir, she’s all right . . . yes, sir . . . I’ll have her there in fifteen minutes.”

Disconnecting the call, he snapped his cell phone shut and reclipped it on his waistband. Muttering some of the most foul-mouthed profanities she’d ever heard, he pushed himself to his knees, clamping a hand around her upper arm as he did so. With no explanation as to what he was doing, or why he was doing it, he pulled her off the bed.

Edie had no idea who had been on the other end of the line. And she didn’t much care. She only knew that she’d been given a reprieve.

His hand still wrapped around her upper arm, he dragged her over to the mantel, retrieving his gun. He then shoved her through the open bathroom door.

“Get dressed,” he ordered, gesturing to the messy pile of clothes on the toilet seat.

Bending at the waist, Edie picked up her discarded bra. “Can I at least dry off? I’m still wet.”

“Bitch, do I look like I care?”

CHAPTER 58

Without a doubt, he’d been a pompous ass.

Ashamed of his earlier actions, Caedmon hoped that a heartfelt apology would smooth the rough waters. If it didn’t, he would woo Edie with Parsi lamb and cardamom pudding.

He glanced at the brown takeaway bag clutched in his hand, hoping the peace offering would lead to improved relations. And that improved relations led to something decidedly more intimate. More romantic.

As he climbed the well-worn treads that led to their garret room, he wondered if the day would ever come when he could make a full confession. When he could freely and openly tell Edie about the pain of love lost, of vengeance sought and claimed, of the eventual emergence from an alcohol-induced fog. He thought that because of her own travails, she would understand. Maybe even forgive.

“And a warm, fuzzy hug would be nice, too,” he said aloud, chortling.

Still laughing as he reached the top of the stairs, the chuckle caught in his throat.

The door to their room had been left ajar.

Afraid of what he would find on the other side of the door, he slowly pushed it all the way open, entering the room. At a glance, he could see that a violent ruckus had taken place. Almost immediately his gaze landed on the large dark spot that stained the tousled coverlet. Setting the brown bag on the dresser, he walked over to the bed. His heart painfully thudding against his chest, he placed his hand on the wet spot, then breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t blood.