Page 77 of Mastered By Desire

I can’t talk with the duct tape over my mouth, but I shake my head quickly and try to sayno.

Randy stands up and walks into the bathroom.

If I drop the piece of tile, he’ll hear it. If I try to scoot it away from my hands, he’ll see it.

“You got something in your hands?” He nudges my leg with his booted foot. “Let’s see it.”

I shake my head and try to look innocent, mumbling beneath the duct tape on my mouth.

He leans down and grabs the front of my sweatshirt, dragging me up. The fabric digs into my body and I scramble for purchase on the floor with my feet.

I slide the tile shard into my pocket, praying he can’t see anything in the mirror.

He’s too busy staring at my body. He straightens my sweatshirt for a better view. Bile rises in my throat, sharp and bitter.

Randy continues to stare at my chest. “Have you given my proposal some more thought?”

No, I haven’t thought about it, and no, it’s not going to happen. I can’t say the words, but I shake my headno.

Pressing me back against the broken counter, he says, “Unwilling or not, it’s happening, sweetheart.”

His breath is hot against my cheek, his nearness overwhelming.

Fuck being calm. This close to him, panic takes over. I knee him in the groin.

He swears and strikes me, his hand catching my jaw. My head snaps back. I blink away the lights in my vision and try to elbow away from him.

The guys in the room all jump up and hurry toward us while Randy cups his junk and spins me around. His front is to my back and I’m bending forward over the jagged counter.

I don’t like this position. I can see them all in the mirror, coming up from behind me. Panic sets in. I lean on the broken tiles and kick back with my legs, trying to make contact with whatever I can.

When I hit the bearded guy in the gut, a loud crashing sound deafens me.

I didn’t make that sound, and neither did the bearded man.

When more large, male forms appear in the mirror, I nearly faint with terror.

But then I see them more clearly. And one of the new arrivals is Dmitri.

Dmitri

Four guys are surrounding Leah. Her mouth is covered in duct tape. Her blue eyes are wide with fear.

The guy closest to me has a gun jammed into his waistband. I don’t think. I can only act. Before he can reach for the gun, I grab him and slam him head-first into the wall. He drops to the floor with a thud, unconscious.

The next two are already advancing. They must be unarmed, because they start taking swings instead of shooting. Gage jabs one while I tackle another. I didn’t know Gage could throw a punch.

Some guys from Ironwood are behind us. They wanted us to wait for a police detective to join us—some guy named Baldwin—but I’m not waiting for shit, not when Leah’s in danger.

To be fair, we did go by her hotel room first, but she didn’t answer. I didn’t wait long. I already knew something was off. I knew something was off before I tried to report her missing.

The guy right next to Leah is older—no doubt he’s Randall Wentz. We looked him up. Forty-eight years old. Brother of Detective Gerald Wentz. Fucking piece of shit. With the rest of their family, the two of them have been working together to squeeze money out of San Esteban residents for the past eight, nine years. Gerald’s position in the force gave them more immunity than any other criminal family.

No wonder my grandfather warned me to stay away from the police department.

The guy I tackle gets a good hit in. My ears are ringing. Leah screams.

I shove myself forward, right at the guy next to Leah.

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