“I don’t know.”
“Well, you will tell me later,” he said, his hot gaze sweeping over her face and body again, burning her flesh. “My Naxion dealer promised me a beauty with an excellent figure. That part’s not a lie,” he bit out before his voice softened. “And worth the wait. I’m going to enjoy you.”
Dismissing her for the moment, Tudor focused on Max and Rafe. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Max made an angry sound. One of the guards charged at him, and Max kicked him in the stomach, sending him sprawling to the floor.
From his position on the polished marble, the guard reached for his weapon.
“No,” Tudor screamed. “Remember, what I said. I want them alive—for now.”
The order said volumes.
The security men went into what must have been a prearranged formation. Six guards handed their weapons off to two who backed to the sides of the room and dumped the extra beamers onto a hidden shelf under the table at the side of the room. The two guards who retained their weapons stood back, keeping their beamers trained on Max and Rafe.
Max straightened, his eyes meeting Amber’s for a split second before he turned his full attention back to the circle of men surrounding him and Rafe. Both were standing with their arms at their sides, looking relaxed and at the same time alert.
Another guard charged forward. Before he could reach Max, Rafe stepped between them and slammed a fist up and under his chin. He made a wheezing sound and fell to his knees.
Seeing what had happened to their compatriots, the rest of the guards hung back while the two on the floor slowly got to their feet.
This time four guards came forward at once, two going for Max and two for Rafe.
These four were better fighters than the previous lot. Their tactics were coordinated, forcing Max and Rafe to divide their attention between one man and then the other—leaving little time to recover from one parry before another struck.
She saw her heroes take sickening blows, but even outnumbered, they gave better than they got. Both fought with a skill she hadn’t realized they possessed. Still, the hand-to-hand combat raged in front of her like some kind of horror show—an entertainment for Tudor alone. Max and Rafe were fighting for their lives.
Max went down on one knee, but he was up again almost at once and charging forward to seize a guard around the waist, lift him off his feet and dash him to the floor.
Two men pummeled Rafe, but Max leaped to his rescue, pulling one man off and slamming him against the rock-hard wall.
A pile of men, some with what looked like broken bones, were now writhing on the white marble with blood spreading out in several patches. Max and Rafe were still standing but breathing hard.
But two armed guards still held the back of the room.
Was there any way to defeat these men? Or would they disobey Tudor’s order not to shoot?
Then a noise in the doorway grabbed Amber’s attention. To her horror, she saw three more guards blocking the entrance.
Both Max and Rafe saw them too. Gods, what now?
She was so intent on the scene before her, that she didn’t notice Tudor edging up beside her. With a grunt of satisfaction, he grabbed her, holding a beamer to her left breast as he pulled her back against his body
“Enough,” he called out. I’ve got the woman. Stop fighting, or I’ll burn a hole in her pretty boob.”