In Rides Trouble (Black Knights Inc. #2)(16)

Yeah, that’d go over well…

He solicitously handed her the sucker, and she flashed him a dazzling grin tinged with watery gratitude before ripping off the wrapper and shoving the treat in her mouth. Her eyes drifted closed when the sweetness exploded on her tongue.

Those idiot pirates had raided her stash of suckers the very first day of their arrival, and she’d been going through sugar withdrawal ever since.

“I might just leave you a little something in my will for this,” she murmured around the sucker.

He grunted as he grabbed her elbow and started escorting her down the metal gangway toward the exit. Okay, and apparently the no-touching rule only applied outside the realm of heroic rescues. In which case, she should seriously think about getting abducted more often.

“What’d you, uh…what’d you do with Sharif?” she asked.

“Who’s Sharif?”

“The interpreter,” she sneered the word, even as her elbow tingled beneath his callused palm. “The guy who’s been waving a Glock 19 at the back of my head for the past ten hours.”

He skidded to a halt so fast he nearly gave her whiplash. He raised his M4. His thick neck went on swivel.

“What?” she whispered, the fine hairs on her arms twanging upright. Even though the room was easily over a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, an icy chill snaked down her spine. “You didn’t apprehend him on your way in?”

“No,” he spoke in a rough whisper. “We were told you were alone.” He activated his throat mic, “Bill, you there?”

Billy?

She glanced with longing at Frank’s right ear and the clear, plastic cord snaking up from his throat mic. She wished she was wearing that earpiece so she could hear Billy’s affirmative. She’d missed her big, stupid, lovable brother like crazy, and she very much wanted to ask Frank how many of the guys he’d brought with him. The knowledge that “her boys” would come to rescue her, if she just held on long enough, was what kept her going this past week.

“One-Eyed Willie lied,” Frank related to her brother, and if she hadn’t been so scared, she would’ve laughed. He’d come up with the same nickname for Ghedi as she had. “There’s a sixth man on board. He was down here guarding your sister, but he ghosted.”

He tilted his head, listening to Billy’s reply. “Affirmative,” he muttered as he used one hand to keep her at his back, his big body shielding her, his weapon quartering the area as he continued to hustle her through the maze of machines toward the exit door.

“That goddamned Ghedi.” She peeked from behind the expanse of his back, expecting Sharif to appear at any moment and start spraying 9 mm rounds.

“I told the guy I’d kill him if he lied to me.”

“Don’t kill him,” she whispered, sorry for Ghedi and the plight of all men like him. “He’s just a stupid kid. He probably thought Sharif would somehow manage to save his ass.”

“Which way did he go?”

“Sharif? I uh, I didn’t really—Geez, sorry,” she whispered, tripping over a loose hose. His big palm snapping out was the only thing that kept her from face planting. “He said he was going to pee. I didn’t see exactly which direction he headed, but somewhere toward the bow I think.”

“How many rounds?”

“Fifteen,” she related, delighted to be able to answer his question, hoping she impressed him with her knowledge. “The standard clip size.”

“Extra mags?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do, we’re gonna—”

“You’re going to drop your weapon and kick it away,” Sharif said, stepping out from behind a large instrument panel and moving behind Becky, snaking a sweaty arm around her throat and pressing the barrel of his Glock tight against her right temple.

She was getting really sick and tired of having guns shoved against her head, not to mention the smell of Sharif’s overpowering cologne had mixed with his sweat and body odor over the last ten hours to create a sickly aroma that triggered her gag reflex.

As fastidious as the guy appeared to be, upchucking all over his arm might be just the thing to get him to release her.

She was considering doing just that when she suddenly sensed a…readiness in Frank. At the sound of Sharif’s command, he’d frozen in front of her. Her fingers, where she was holding on to his gear belt, felt every hard muscle in his wide back tense into living stone. He didn’t turn around, didn’t so much as twitch, but she held her breath, waiting for his next move.

Sharif must have sensed it as well, the crackle of electricity in the air. “Whatever you are considering doing, you should dismiss it right this instant. I have a gun to Miss Reichert’s head, and I will blow her brains all over your back before you so much as have the chance to turn around. Now drop your weapon and kick it away!”

“Don’t do it—”

She winced when she heard the hard clank of the M4 hitting the metal decking. It made a terrible screeching sound as Frank booted it across the floor.

“Now your reserve weapon,” Sharif demanded. When Frank bent quickly, Sharif’s Glock jabbed harder into her temple as he barked, “Slowly!”

Frank complied, carefully bending to remove the Springfield Armory XD-45 from his ankle holster. He flung it over to join his M4 before straightening.