Page 103 of Pleasure Island

My eyes adjusted to the dark, and I could finally make out the deeper shadows of the water, the beach chairs placed side by side in the sand.

And out in the surf, there were two people.

My instincts sharpened. One of them was Mila.

I knew it in my gut.

I ran harder, faster, blood roaring in my ears, my heart racing.

Mila was fighting against the grip of a man who looked like he stood a good head taller than me. He was yanking her along, and when she jerked back against him, he turned and backhanded her.

I ran harder, harder than I’d ever run in my life as Mila sagged, dazed.

She went limp, and a shout burned its way up my throat. I silenced it, my focus locked on the man who was now pulling Mila’s limp body along behind him.

He heard me when I was still a few feet away and spun to face me, one hand dipping inside his coat.

I hurled myself at him, and the two of us went down into the surf.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mila stagger to her feet, then sway. She shook her head and somehow stayed on her feet.

Movement off to my left caught my attention, and I came out of the water just as the man I’d tackled stood up on unsteady legs and swung a gun toward Mila.

Grabbing his wrist, I shoved it upward.

The shot went wild.

I slammed a fist into the man’s face, feeling like I’d just decked a granite wall.

He swung a fist at me in retaliation, and as it connected with my jaw, pain exploded.

But I held onto his arm.

He roared and shifted his focus to me.

“Mila,” I called back over my shoulder. I didn’t so much as blink as I faced off with the big guy. “Run.”

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