Leila stumbled across the deck, her vision tilting and spinning. Hopefully, that was where the guns were. After staggering through the doorway of the small cabin, she glanced around. No guns in sight. Not good. She was going to have to think of something else. But what? Her hands were tied, and she had no weapons. He could knock her out with his pinky—the one she hadn’t accidentally cut off.
He shoved her toward the table and bench at the back of the wheelhouse.
She lurched forward, then pivoted to face him. “Why are you doing this?”
Montu’s features darkened, his face twisting into an ugly sneer. He smacked her, then pushed her onto the bench.
Lifting both hands, she touched her face, her cheek throbbing beneath her fingertips. That jackass. He had turned around to rummage through a trunk, pulling out more rope. Leila glanced around. There had to be something in here she could use as a weapon. Her eyes fell on the newspaper behind the steering wheel, where the barrel of a gun peeped out. As far as she could tell, it was the only firearm in the room. But once she got a hold of it, this would all be over with quickly. She had to make her move. Now, before he tried to tie her down.
She jumped from the bench and, arm outstretched, threw herself at the steering wheel. Montu whirled around and grabbed her from behind. She twisted and stretched her torso, reaching for the weapon. A rope wrapped around her neck and yanked backward. Gasping for air, she tugged at the rope before falling to the floor with Montu.
He squeezed the rope around her neck, tight enough to keep her gagging. Was he going to kill her after all? Faris—who she supposed wanted to do the honors himself—would not be pleased. But too bad for either of them, she had no intention of going along with any of their plans.
“Stop,” she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. Her lungs felt like they were on fire. She let herself go limp. “Stop.”
Montu didn’t stop. Her heart raced, panicked. He was going to kill her, right there, right now. She tried to suck in a lungful of air, but only choked. Her head lightened; her vision grayed. Her limbs only lashed out helplessly.
Finally, he released her. She curled into a ball, wheezing in short, painful breaths until her lungs refilled. Montu grabbed her upper arms and forced her into a sitting position on the floor, then tied her hands onto the leg of the table with the nylon rope he’d nearly killed her with. And then she saw it, the handgun in his waistband. So close.
She kicked and squirmed, growling at him through her teeth. He whipped out a fillet knife and held it to her throat. At the bite of its cold blade, she stiffened.
“Enough,” he hissed. “He’ll understand if I explain how you got yourself killed on the way.”
“Who’s he? Faris?”
Montu smirked.
“Why?” Leila growled.
“It was either I get myself a nice paycheck to deliver you, or I cut off all your fingers one by one before killing you myself. I could still go for the latter… or, maybe I’ll do both.”
Gritting her teeth, Leila glared at him. She allowed the red-hot anger to swell when she looked at him. She wanted to claw his eyeballs out. Chop off the rest of his fingers. So, she did what she could; she spat in his face.
Slowly, and without removing the knife from her neck, he lifted an arm to wipe the fleck off his face with his sleeve. As much as she wanted to glance down at the gun, she held his gaze, challenging him. She would find her opportunity.
He slid the knife across her throat, gently, in a silent threat. Its sting brought water to her eyes, but she refused to blink or look away. Then he stood and settled back into the seat behind the wheel, just a few feet to her left.
If only her glare could kill him. She tore her gaze away and surveyed the floor, the cabinet at her right, and the tabletop, looking for something she could use to cut the ropes. A jar of honey and cooking oil sat in one drawer, among the chaos of small pots and pans and empty Tupperware containers. There was probably silverware in the closed drawer, including knives, but there was no way she could discreetly open that with her foot. A heap of towels had been tossed onto the bench next to a tackle box.
The tackle box. There had to be something sharp in there. It rattled as the boat hit a rough spot in the water. The vessel rocked and Montu kept his hands on the steering. This was doable. Leila stretched out one leg, reaching with a pointed toe. The tip of her boot nudged the box. So close.
The boat leaped, crashed into the waves, and Leila knocked the box onto the floor, sending its contents scattering around her legs with a crash. Montu jumped to his feet, gun in hand.
Leila growled at him, “Get these fishing hooks off me.”
He smiled and returned to the wheel.
She shook her head. What an idiot. She returned her attention to the brightly colored rubber worms strewn across the floor, and her gaze landed on a Swiss Army knife. Perfect.
She trapped the tool with her foot and nudged it across the floor, toward the table leg. Once it was close enough, she slid her hands down the leg, then grasped the handle. It was a bit awkward pulling out the knife attachment, but once it flipped open, she slid it between the ropes and started cutting. One by one, the fibers frayed.
Montu slowed the boat until it came to a stop, only moving with the waves. He cut the engine and stood.
Leila stopped and held her breath, keeping her gaze on the hooks. He ignored her, stepped over the rubber worms, then slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. A breath of relief escaped her lips. Now she could work out of sight.
With a new sense of determination, she sawed the rest of the rope until the last fragments fell to the floor. Now that her hands were free, she glanced back at the dashboard.
The gun was gone.
Of course…
She needed something else. Fast. She looked at the Swiss Army knife in her hand, but that wouldn’t work. Her gaze jumped the cabinet drawer. There had to be something in there. Yanking the drawer open, she plunged her hand inside. Her fingers wrapped around a dull steak knife just as the bathroom door burst open.
It all became a blur. Dagger in hand, Montu lunged at her. With an undercut, she thrust the steak knife into his stomach. Wide-eyed shock spread across his face. It was enough of a distraction for her to snatch the gun from his waistband, point it at his face, and pull the trigger.
There was a bang, then Montu fell to the floor with a thud.
The only sound was the waves slapping against the side of the boat. Leila sucked in deep, panicked breaths, staring at Montu’s lifeless form on the floor, a puddle of crimson stretching beneath his head.
Swallowing, she stood on shaky legs, stopping for a moment as her head felt like it would float to the ceiling. Once the wooziness ebbed, she grabbed his arm and dragged the body out of the wheelhouse, leaving a trail of red in their wake. She dragged him to the railing, then rolled him up and over. He plunged into the water with a splash, and his body disappeared under the glittering waves. A moment later, he bobbed back to the surface like a lump of driftwood.
Her knees gave out. Racked by sobs, she knelt on the deck and clutched her stomach as she let the tears flow freely.
CHAPTER 30
Leila didn’t stand until her tears had long been dry. Yet the agony remained, crushing her chest in its iron grip, never to let go. In a daze, she wandered around the deck, holding her head with both hands.
“Xander.” Her voice was a whimper. He was gone. It couldn’t be real. But the red streaks left by Montu reminded her that it was.
