“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, actually meaning it. “You were so young.”

His lashes drooped, severing the connection. “Doesn’t matter now. I have finally accomplished what I promised her I would and she will finally rest in peace. But that is enough of that. The time for talking has ended, Juliette. We’re going to make one final video to leave behind just in case he does find us.”

Another video. A follow up to the one they’d made just earlier that day. She wasn’t stupid enough not to realize what was coming.

She staggered back, her heart trapped in her throat as paralyzing numbness washed through her veins. Cyril remained seated, watching the show with mild interest while idly tapping one finger on the armrest.

“It’ll be less painful if you don’t fight,” he remarked casually.

Bells shrieked in her ear, drowning everything but the roar of her own blood humming between the walls of her skull. Cold sweat dampened her top beneath her coat and yet the bile that rose up her chest felt scalding hot.

“Please don’t.”

Her plea for even a hint of humanity went ignored. The four advanced, a pack of wolves at the scent of blood. Their eyes seemed to reflect, the eyes of predators stalking out of the shadows in the night. Their dark, inner light prickled along her skin in phantom chills. They pressed forward in a half circle, driving her back into the bar. The sharp corner stabbed into her back, holding her at point without room to escape. Her rapid panting was the only sound amongst them.

“Finally,” Alcorn murmured with a lick of his lips. “Been waiting for this.”

His hands were already undoing his jeans. The belt jingled loudly in the deafening silence. The zipper hissed and the V parted to a thick cock jutting out from a circle of straggly, sandy brown hair. The others began removing their sweaters and unfastening their own pants.

“Get her to the camera first for Christ sakes!” Cyril commanded, irritation making his voice high.

“With pleasure.”

Alcorn made a grab for her arm and something inside her snapped. It roared over her in a thick film of desperation, an animal instinct that drove her to fight. The entire room seemed to fade. Everything, except the four hulking figures threatening her sanity. Time itself seemed to creep to a standstill as her heart pumped adrenaline through her veins like crack from a needle.

Juliette thrust. She didn’t pause to consider where. She just let sheer panic propel her as she drew back her arm and drove her makeshift weapon out of her sleeve and straight into the soft bit of skin just above Alcorn’s cock. The jagged point pierced through skin with disturbing ease. Blood welled and then gushed with the jerk of her hand. It poured down the front of his jeans, turning the powder blue to dark red. Alcorn screamed, the sound chilling as it recoiled off the walls. It raked over her nerves the way the sound of nails on chalkboard would. He grabbed at his crotch, his face absolutely void of color and dropped to his knees. His howls continued as blood continued to rush freely from between his fingers.

The others shot back in surprise, maybe even fear. Juliette didn’t wait for them to regain their senses. She ducked around Calhoun and tore towards the other side of the ship, away from the secret hatch. The patio doors glinted as though beaconing her to them, but she knew she would never make it. There were too many obstacles in between, too many unnecessary seats and sofas and tables. Getting around them would take too much time and she couldn’t trust her legs to leap over them.

At the last second, she veered right, going straight for the makeshift film studio and the number of items she could use as a weapon.

“Get her!”

Cyril’s bellow was muffled by the clack of the tripod legs as she snapped them shut. She hefted the hefty weight over her shoulder swung blindly. She hadn’t expected to make contact, but the bulky camera collided with the side of Calhoun’s face with a glorious crunch of bones and plastic. His grunt was a spray of blood as his head snapped to the side. The momentum flung him backwards and he crashed into Delgado. The pair went down in a tangled heap of limbs.

“Harmon! Get her!”

Cyril sounded downright enraged. He was on his feet, his face the exact shade of red as the blood pooling rapidly around Alcorn’s writhing body. His pale hair was not so neat as it was abused beneath his agitated hands. Seeing him coming undone only urged her further to escape, to get help, to get Killian.

“Stay away from me!” she warned as Harmon, the only one standing, advanced on her. “I mean it!”

They’d taken her by surprise the first time. They had lured her into the chair, into the corner and she’d had no chance to fight back. But no fucking way was she going to let them touch her again, not without a damn good fight.

She swung again, hoping to at least deter Harmon’s persistent approach. But the swing was too wide, he ducked beneath it and launched himself at her middle. They staggered backwards with the impact. The wall slammed into her back and the camera, tripod and all, were torn from her fingers. The edges cut into her palms but the pain was mute compared to the crash of camera striking the wall and smashing to the floor in a ruined heap of shattered glass and broken plastic.

Cyril roared. “You idiot!”

The sound of his boss’s rage had Harmon faltering in his capture. His hold weakened and Juliette shoved him with all her strength, using the wall as leverage to drive him backwards. The jungle of cords caught the heel of his boots and gravity caught him. He went down, taking the spotlights with him in a deafening crash of exploding bulbs. Sparks flew, distracting Cyril and Harmon away from Juliette just long enough for her to grab the metal chair, close it and slam it down on Harmon’s head four times before he stopped moving.

Panting and wheezing, Juliette dropped the chair and staggered back. A choked sob left her, but she bottled the rest back up as she tried to hold it together. She whirled around, but wasn’t fast enough. Tight arms banded around her from behind, caging her to Delgado’s hard chest. The collision nearly sent them both to the ground, but her captor held on, cracking ribs and breathing hot, sour breath on her neck.

“No!”

Her screams went ignored as Calhoun shuffled to his feet, no longer in a heap with Delgado. His face was a ghastly mask of smeared blood and rage that blazed behind his eyes. Blood stained his teeth and darkened the front of his coat. He wiped under his nose with his forearm, making the mess worse, but not caring as he descended on her.

“You stupid fucking whore!”

His hand flew back, palm open. Juliette reflexively flinched. Her entire body seized, bracing for the blow, for the sharp explosion of lights and the daze that would follow. She remembered all too well how Arlo’s beating had felt, had remembered how paralyzed and useless she’d become. But this was worse. If they got even a pinch of an upper hand, she was done. They would win and they would not go easy.

A sound rang out, a bang that shook the room and rattled the windows. For a moment, no one moved, time itself seemed to pull to a stop as the sound reverberated the way thunder did after the crack of lightning. Juliette’s eyes met Calhoun’s wide ones for just a split second and something like shock passed between them before they both simultaneously glanced down at the red blossom spreading across the front of his coat. It had nothing to do with the broken nose she’d given him and they both knew it. His head jerked up and their gazes locked a second time, this time with horror as he went down at her feet.

“One down, four to go.” A gun was cocked. “Who wants to piss me off next?”

It was a tossup who was more stunned by the figure standing just inside the patio doors, smoking gun raised. Juliette was the first to break out of her shock.