Page 17 of Extracted

She stared up at the man cloaked in shadows. A black ski mask covered his face. Only full pink lips and dark eyes were visible through the holes. He bent forward and clamped his hand around her throat. The tendons in her neck howled. He stood over top of her, his fingers squeezing the life from her.

Blood rushed to her face and her lungs floundered, desperate for a breath. He brought the gun to her temple and his lips worked into a smirk.

No! She couldn’t die like this.

Using all the energy she had left, she jabbed her fist into his manhood. The arm holding her throat gave out, and she twisted from his grip then lunged for him.

She slammed her closed fist into the pencil, still sticking out from his leg. He yelped and reached for the wound. She grabbed his arm and sank her teeth into his wrist. The gun clattered to the floor.

His fingers dove into her hair, and he dragged her to her knees. She thrashed and squirmed then kicked her foot into the gun’s long silencer, sending the weapon a few feet away.

He grabbed the front of her camisole top, just visible beneath her robe, and tore it. Cool air covered her skin and her breasts shook free.

A new blast of terror covered her body.

Crack!

The hiss of a silenced gun split the air. The man jerked, his head snapping back. Gemma’s chest rose and fell on a series of panicked breaths, but her attacker’s eyes widened.

Blood gushed from the front of his neck, and his hold on her loosened. She scrambled away. Her butt hit the floor and she scooted backward, not taking her eyes off him. He covered the wound, his gaze drifted to the air above Gemma’s head, and then he dropped like a stone.

Her body shook violently.

He’d been shot. Someone had—

A warm hand touched her back. She cried out and spun around, grasping her ripped shirt and falling robe. The flashlight was still on the floor, its yellow light shining on her.

Dallas squatted next to her. Deep, angry lines creased his face, but concern lit his hazel eyes. He rubbed his palm up and down her arm.

Her reserve broke. She threw herself against his chest and sucked in a breath. A sharp squeak escaped her lips. “Dallas?” The smell of cedar struck her, confirming his presence.

“Did he touch you?” Each word came out hard and pronounced.

She collapsed further against him. She wasn’t alone now. The rush of fear in her system slowed—still present but not crippling. The scent of his sweat touched her nostrils. Heady and masculine.

“Gemma. Tell me now before I lose it.”

She shook her head. “No. He just—he ripped my top.”

A stream of curse words came from his mouth. He caught her shoulders and pushed her back a few inches. Even with both of them on the floor he still towered over her. Dallas was a wall of protection she hadn’t realized she needed until now.

His gaze dipped to the drooping neckline of her shirt. A red stain tinted his face, and he jerked his attention to her eyes. “There’s two men downstairs. We need to hurry.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

She turned toward the man sprawled on the floor.

“He’s dead,” Dallas said, under his breath.

She nodded. It seemed to be the only action she was capable of. “Yeah, okay.”

The lights flickered on, blasting her retinas. She blinked and covered her eyes.

Through the speaker on the ceiling came a message in Spanish. Her brain couldn’t work fast enough to translate. Thankfully, it came again in English. “Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the brief power disturbance. Please remain in your rooms.”

She held her robe closed and stood. The pain in her right thigh radiated up and down her body, paralyzing her muscles. She gulped and wavered. Not now. She couldn’t pass out.

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