Tough Enough(46)

“You bitch! That’s too rough!”

Ronnie dips his head and bites my chest. I push at his shoulders and cry out in panic, tears of pain and fear streaming from the corners of my eyes to wet the hair at my temples.

Ronnie leans back, clamping his thighs around mine as he works the button and zipper of my jeans, opening them despite my thrashing. When he stills, so do I. I don’t know why he suddenly stopped, but I’m prepared to fight like a hellcat when he moves off my legs.

“Damn, what happened to you?” he asks, the sneer of disgust plainly visible on his shadowed face. The swift change takes me by surprise, but only for a second. Then it registers. I don’t have to ask what he means; I already know. My scars. “Lucky for you, you’re still hot enough to make this worth my while.”

I feel the grip of his thighs lessen ever so slightly. This is my chance. My muscles are tight with readiness. I’m going to kick out with all my might, aiming right for his balls, the instant I can get my legs free.

They loosen a bit more, and then suddenly I’m free. Aiming for his crotch, I squeeze my eyes shut and lash out with my feet as hard as I can. Strangely, they meet nothing but air.

Although I’m confused, I don’t waste valuable time wondering what happened or looking around for Ronnie. I roll quickly to one side and scramble to my feet, running wildly in the opposite direction of the cabana. I have no intention of stopping, maybe ever, until I hear a voice. A familiar voice. A voice that’s not Ronnie’s.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, you piece of shit?”

I whip my head back around, my wide, terrified pupils immediately focusing on Rogan’s tall, hulking form hovering over a curled body. It’s Ronnie, lying in the fetal position on the ground at Rogan’s feet. He’s holding his stomach.

Rogan bends, taking a handful of Ronnie’s thatch of red hair and holding his head still while he brings his fist down. I hear the sickening crunch of bone just as blood spurts from Ronnie’s nose. Rogan releases his head, letting it bounce against the sparse field of grass beneath him.

“Make him stop, Katie. Tell him to stop,” Ronnie pleads in a pained, desperate voice muffled by the hands he’s holding up to his face.

I don’t tell him that I have no intention of doing any such thing. But I don’t need to. At the mention of my name, Rogan whirls to face me, his eyes taking me in. He rushes toward me, bending slightly to put his face in line with mine. “Are you okay?” he asks, tenderly palming my cheeks. His expression is wild and worried.

The surreal quality of the moment is only intensified by the sound of hysterical hiccupping and sniffling that I soon realize is my own. “Ye-ye-yeah.”

Rogan folds his arms around me, pulling me against his chest and stroking my hair with a soothing hand. “I’m here now, darlin’. You’re safe. You’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

And for some reason, I believe him.





TWENTY


Rogan

I’m torn. I want to go back and beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of the asshat who put his hands on Katie, but having her in my arms . . . knowing how vulnerable she is right now . . . how much she needs safety and security and strength . . . Well, nothing could take me away from that. Away from her. Not even the lust for blood.

I’m so glad that I managed to track Katie down. It took some finagling, but I finally managed to get Mona’s number once I was able to get hold of White. It pays to be an actor working on his show.

Mona told me where Katie was and that she was waiting for the boat to arrive. I hauled ass out here to find her. Passed the damn entrance twice. It was hard as hell to spot in the dark. And then when I did finally manage to get here, this is what I find.

I grit my teeth, holding Katie close and bending my head to whisper in her ear. “Let me get you out of here. I’ll keep you safe.”

She doesn’t argue, just continues to cry softly into my neck as I sweep her up in my arms and carry her toward my bike. It’s as I’m nearing it that I remember she’s practically naked from the waist up. That image—the one of her standing at the edge of the light, chest heaving, perfectly rounded breasts swaying, eyes wild—will be burned into my memory for the rest of my days, I suspect. Holy shit! So will this rush of desire. I’ve never felt anything like it. It might be intensified by the rage that I’m experiencing, too. I thought I’d left that kind of emotion behind me, but tonight . . . Mother of God! Even growing up with a father like mine or during my time in the Army, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to hurt another person so much, so violently. I know that’ll be another picture I won’t soon forget—that asshole holding her down, touching her, trying to force himself on her.