Gathering her courage, she clasped her hands together and struck upward. She hit Santos’ wrist as hard as she could. The unexpected motion knocked the gun out of his hand. It skittered across the floor.
“Goddamn it!” he roared. He struck her so hard that she slammed into the floor, pain radiating from her jaw to shoulder.
She heard a cry that was filled with part fear and part fury. Logan ran full force at Santos. Her heart slammed against the wall of her chest, and her lungs squeezed as he tackled the asshole.
The lights flickered, and Hayley realized the storm was finally abating. As the rain lessened and the thunder faded, the sounds of the scuffling men became more prominent. Santos connected a fist to Logan’s jaw. Logan wrapped him up with a leg and threw his elbow into Santos’s gut.
Hayley had to find the pistol that she’d knocked out of Santos’s grip. She dropped to the floor and started searching for the weapon. Where the hell had it gone?
He yanked himself from Logan’s grip and scrabbled next to her, apparently after the same prize. Hayley saw the gun a second before he did. She slid along the smooth wood floor and rejoiced as her fingertips touched the warm steel barrel.
A hand gripped her leg, and she yelped. Santos had a hold of her and was reeling her toward him. He laughed, his face contorted with maniacal pleasure.
Hayley kicked him in the face. Smile about that, asshole. She crawled forward toward the gun. Santos punched her calf, the pain flaring below her knee. She screamed, but she refused to let the agony keep her from snagging the weapon.
She fumbled the .45 around until the grip rested in her palm, and her finger was on the trigger guard. Logan’s body tangled with Santos. She stood, waiting for her moment. When Logan separated from Santos, she would shoot the son-of-a-bitch.
Ten
Logan had managed to restrain Santos with an arm around his throat. Hayley aimed the gun at Santos’s chest.
“It’s over,” she said. “You’re going to prison, asshole.”
Santos laughed, but the sound was choked off as Logan squeezed harder.
Hayley saw movement by Santos’s leg.
The next thing she knew, Santos had something in his hand that he thrust backward into Logan’s thigh.
Logan cried out and released Santos, who turned and jabbed Logan again, this time in the stomach.
Hayley lowered the .45 and shot Santos in the calf.
Santos screamed and fell to the floor, dropping the small blade he’d hidden in his wetsuit.
Logan turned bone-white, his pained gaze on hers. He pressed his hands against his stomach wound. Blood seeped between his fingers as he sank to the floor.
“Logan!” she cried.
Santos laughed again. “He’s going to bleed to death, Hayley. You can let him die, or you can let me go.”
Fury put fire in her veins. “Get up, you piece of shit.”
Santos rose unsteadily, trying to keep the weight off his injured leg.
“Go on. Shoot me. Take your revenge.” He shuffled forward, his grin evil and taunting. “Shoot me!” Santos’ expression had taken on a maniacal sheen. He continued to advance on her.
“Move another step,” said Hayley. “And I’ll kill you.”
Santos grinned and leapt forward. She fired the .45 at his chest. Three times. Then the gun clicked. Shit!
Santos slowed his pace, but he was like the goddamned Terminator. He wouldn’t stop.
The next thing she knew Logan appeared behind Santos. He knocked the wounded man to the floor, and they began grappling. Her hands shaking, she dropped the gun.
“Run!” screamed Logan.
Ben struggled against the wind and rain, wading through the last three feet of churning water. Captain Wise rowed the dinghy back to his boat, his yellow slicker the only sliver of color in the roiling black sea.
The house was dark. Shit. The storm probably blew out the power.
He trudged up the beach, struggling through the wet sand and scratchy grass. The house was a dozen yards away—it might as well have been a million miles. His heart thudded in dread. Finally, he saw the boardwalk. After he got on more solid footing, he increased his pace.
A gust of wind slammed him back, and he felt something clobber him, sending him crashing to the sand. His breath whooshed out, pain jagging up his ribs. He looked behind him and saw a beach chair tumble into the darkness.
Fuck, that hurt. He sat up, adrenaline pumping, and stared the Victorian house through the pelting rain. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was empty. Lightning flashed, and for a split second, he thought she saw a pale form lurching across the balcony. He watched as one pale leg thrust over the railing.
Hayley? His heart stopped. Oh, my God. He struggled to his feet and raced toward the house.
Logan managed to get behind Santos. Blood loss made him dizzy, but fear for Hayley kept his adrenaline pumping. He hooked his arm around the bastard’s thick neck. He put his other arm at the back of Santos’ head and started squeezing.