Page 141 of Ship Outta Luck

“Put it down or we’ll shoot you somewhere it’ll hurt.” Pierce says, enunciating slowly. “Sound familiar?”

My teeth clench firmer, and I put the wine bottle back on the table.So much for that plan.Head pounding, the side of my face where Pierce backhanded me throbs. It pisses me off, heightening my anger, keeping me from losing myself completely to fear.

I have to get out of this. No way I’ll let them take me to a second location.

“Good girl.” Pierce motions for me to step forward.

The words further incense me. “I’m not a dog.”

“Smart bitch, then.” Pierce grins, and I wish I’d been the one to shoot him instead of Charlie, or left him for shark food. “And if you’re thinking about stalling, don’t. Evans’ little helper is a little tied up at the moment.”

I glare at him. “You suck at being a villain.”

“Get your shit on and let’s go. Don’t make me hurt you.” Pierce motions with the gun, and I stumble over to the closet, retrieving the bag.

The phone.The cellphone is somewhere in the bag of stuff Dean bought. Maybe I can make a?—

Pierce snatches the bag away, throwing a shirt and pants on the floor. The black plastic phone case catches my eye, bringing despair, panic and fury fighting for dominance. But Pierce misses it, distracted, picking up a pair of panties, dangling them in front of me.

“You’re gross.” I spit out. My face hurts where he hit me. “Am I allowed to pick out a bra or are you going to act like a pervert about that, too?”

He frowns, pushing his floppy blond all-American hair off his forehead with his gun still in hand. “Fine.”

I roll my eyes. Of all the things to be offended about, it’s that? Whatever. Maybe I can exploit it. Quickly, I reach into the bag, find a bra, shoveling the cellphone in between the cups, and hold it up.

“Get dressed.”

“I need to pee, and my stomach hurts.”

“Fine, then get dressed in the fucking bathroom.”

I can lock myself in. Snatching the clothes off the floor, I press the bra and phone against my chest, then scramble inside the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind me.

It doesn’t close.

Mother Frito.

The foot in the doorway allows their laughter in, and it echoes off the walls.

“Hurry up.”

I shrug out of the robe, refusing to cry. Despite the waterproof mascara. These assholes will see my crying as a win. Anger surges through me, and my knuckles whiten on the clothes. I won’t let these mother-fluffers think for one second I’m broken.

I’m not.

I take a long, ragged breath, pulling on the underwear with shaking hands.

But I found theSantu Espiritu. I’m right on the cusp of breaking my career into the next level. It’s all I’ve wanted for so dang long.

I found Dean.

I tug on the shorts. Or he found me.We found each other.These two turd sandwiches can get stuffed.

Maybe I should try a hail-mary of a phone call. Maybe Dean can track the phone. Better that than try and have it ripped away.

I snap the bra in place, tucking the cellphone inside one cup, and slide the shirt over my head. One boob definitely looks bigger than the other, but it’s the left one, and maybe that isn’t too far from what’s normally there anyway.

As long as nobody touches it. Gross. They better not touch me.

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