Page 77 of Reluctantly His

This was all so very strange.

What kind of thieves robbed a yacht full of people? It seemed like an incredibly chaotic and foolish thing to do. There were countless places to hide. It required a boat as a getaway vehicle, which was not guaranteed since someone could sound the alarm before they even reached the harbor.

So odd.

I surveyed the situation from a side deck on the starboard side, slightly out of view, as I desperately searched the assembled crowd for Ginnie’s familiar face. I didn’t see her. Hopefully she was safe below deck.

Safe for now.

Oh, why had I left my cellphone in my cello bag?

As I hunched against the wall, straining to hear the demands of the robbers, Romney straightened to his full height and cleared his throat.

I snatched at his sleeve. “Get down, Romney.”

Instead, he wrapped his hand around my wrist and wrenched me away from my meager shelter. He then marched down the hall, toward the men with guns.

I yanked on my arm. “What are you doing? Romney? What are you?—”

As we came within view of everyone, Romney cleared his throat again. “Here now. I demand you cease this nonsense immediately.”

A wave of nausea forced bile into the back of my throat as the dark, beady eyes of all five gunmen trained on us.

Through fear-clenched teeth, I whispered, “Shut up,” as I tried to twist my wrist out of his grasp.

Romney looked down at me. In a loud voice clearly meant to be heard over the tense din of the party guests, he said, “Do not fear, my darling bride. I will keep you safe from these ruffians.”

Ruffians?

Is he serious?

One of the masked men stepped forward. “Oh really, tough guy?”

He reached a black gloved hand out to me and snatched the diamond and platinum tennis necklace from around my neck. He then held it aloft. “What are you going to do about it?”

Romney threw off his jacket. “How dare you touch my bride! Now you’ll pay.”

What is happening?

Why does this feel like a bad soap opera?

Romney surged forward and attempted to seize the man’s gun by the barrel.

They struggled.

As I stared, dumfounded, a strong arm wrapped around my waist and wrenched me backwards.

My heart soared. Reid.

I turned to see the stern continence of Hunter, his associate. “Get behind me.”

While incredibly grateful that he was here to protect me, there was still a part of me that was disappointed it wasn’t Reid, as ludicrous as that idea might have been, since Reid would have no way of knowing I was in danger right now.

With his body as a shield and using Romney as a distraction, Hunter backed away as his hand hovered over his sidearm.

Before we got out of earshot, I heard Romney whine. “You’re supposed to give me the gun!”

What the fuck?

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