Full Exposure. Diana Duncan

him. She rested her forehead on her bent knees.

      “We have no recourse,” Dante hissed. “If you want to survive, you must do it.”

      She straightened and saw the Greek and Russian shaking hands. Whether they’d agreed to a fast end for her and Dante or a slow one, she didn’t want to know.

      Not only were they out of time…they were out of options.

      She scooted away from Dante to keep the men from noticing what he was doing while she played seductress.

      “Hey…you guys.” She forced down her revulsion and attempted a come-hither look. Both men ignored her.

      She glanced back at Dante. Muscles corded in his tanned arms and strong neck as he waged his war with his bindings.

      Their glances locked, and resolve glinted in his eyes. His wrenching movements had to hurt—a lot—but his set features didn’t reveal pain. Her own effort in the hold of the ship had scalded her arms like liquid fire, and it hadn’t been nearly as ferocious.

      She could fight as hard for their survival. Ariana scrabbled to her feet and attempted an enticing stroll. “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

      Almost in slow motion, the thugs turned to stare at her.

      She tilted her head. “I’m cold. And my arms hurt. If you untie me, I’d be really grateful. We could…um…maybe reach an agreement? Just please don’t abandon me here.”

      Their eyes fired with greedy anticipation. The Greek’s lips curled in a sly grin. Dante’s coat slid from the Russian’s fingers, and his nostrils flared. A wolf on the scent of prey.

      Ariana’s pulse lurched into triple time and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming as the men began to stalk her.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ARIANA’S HEART THRASHED. Why had she agreed to this terrible idea? With no time to weigh her choices, she’d listened to her intuition…and sided with Dante over dying.

      As the men reached her, she backed up several steps. “I’m really uncomfortable. Can you untie me?”

      Suspicion creased the Russian’s swarthy face. “Why should we?”

      “Uh…because if my hands aren’t free—” her fingernails dug into her clammy palms “—it will spoil my…fun.”

      The Greek’s slimy smile made her want to throw up. “Not necessary for you to be having fun.”

      “Da.” The Russian nodded. “Only for us.”

      Oh, suddenly the pigs were in agreement?

      “If I’m not having as much fun, neither will you.” Just talking about it gave her the urge to throw up. The Russian’s cruel mouth twisted hungrily, and she forged ahead. “It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

      Before they could dwell on that awful scenario, she threw down the gauntlet. “Are you afraid to untie me? Scared of a girl?” She deliberately swept each opponent with a scornful gaze. She needed them tearing at each other’s throats again. “Which one of you is a real man?”

      She may as well have pushed the button marked predictable. Both spat denials, and then hurtled into confrontation. The wary Greek was against untying her, while the machismo Russian insisted he could handle her.

      She shot a covert glance down the beach. Darkness hid Dante’s progress, but he was still seated. Not good.

      The thugs switched from haggling over whether to untie her to who should have her first. Ariana fought the impulse to flee into the night. Running might buy her three minutes, tops.

      Dante, hurry!

      The Russian’s dubious control snapped, and he shoved her backward onto the sand. Agony speared her bound arms and she screamed.

      He crawled on top of her. For nightmare moments, pain and horror paralyzed her. She’d never been in a fight. She was bound. Helpless.

      Then adrenaline blasted her system with burning resolve. Improvise. She head-butted her assailant.

      He jerked back, swiping a palm over his bloody lip. “Bliad!”

      The Greek gave a snide jab about how well Comrade handled the little girl.

      The Russian swore. His huge hand circled her throat, cut off her air. His other hand shoved up her camisole. Bucking beneath his weight, she struggled to breathe as the Greek egged him on.

      Dante, where are you?

      Her vision grayed around the edges. A desperate burst of strength rammed her knee upward, but she merely grazed the target.

      The Russian cursed again and flung out his arm to backhand her.

      “Figlio di puttana!” Dante’s enraged roar rang out. “Enough!” The Russian was torn off her and went flying across the sand.

      She wriggled upright as Dante pivoted and landed a right cross on the Greek’s jaw. Her satisfaction at his look of stunned panic amazed her. Who’s laughing now?

      The Russian tackled Dante from behind. Dante battled to his feet, cussing an Italian blue streak and swinging his powerful fists like battering rams.

      Fear evaporated Ariana’s satisfaction. Dante was beat up and weakened. No matter how determined, he couldn’t defeat two thugs.

      Exhausted, hurting, she wrestled to her feet and stumbled to the rocks. Feeling behind her, she found the sharp boulder Dante had used. Her stomach tightened. The rock was slick and still slightly warm with his blood.

      As the men’s combat ripped apart the night, Ariana scraped her ropes on the jagged edge. She didn’t have Dante’s strength, and her efforts were torturous. She forced herself to hurry, to ignore the sting of her wrists.

      Finally, her ropes tore. She staggered to the shoreline where the battling men rolled in the surf. Dante fended off the Russian, sending him sprawling on the wet sand. But before Dante could regain his footing, the Greek pushed him underwater, held him down. A tidal wave of fear slammed into Ariana. He was drowning Dante!

      Not while she had any say! She dragged an oar from the speedboat. Splashing into the shallows, she swung. The paddle hit the Greek and knocked him off Dante.

      Dante surged out of the water and charged the Russian, who was heading for Ariana. “Bastardo!”

      The men rolled underwater. Clutching the paddle, she circled the thrashing duo, seeking an opening.

      Dante clambered upright, lifting the Russian by the collar, and then froze. He dropped the Russian and leaped at her. Wrapping his arms around her, he swept her beneath the waves.

      She lost her hold on the oar. Saltwater flooded her nose and mouth, burned her eyes and stung her cuts. Panicked, she struggled. Why was Dante killing her? She was on his side.

      As her head swam and her vision darkened, Dante scooped her up and tossed her behind him. “Stay back!”

      Gagging, she wheezed in precious oxygen “Are. You. Insane?” She swiped her forearm across her eyes…and saw that the Greek had been sneaking up behind her, knife drawn. Her heart staggered. Dante had saved her life.

      Moonlight glinted on razored metal as the Greek slashed at Dante, who jumped back. The hissing blade nearly sliced his abs.

      “Nyet!” the Russian hollered. “No killing or we do not get our money!”

      “I do not give a damn,” the Greek snarled. “I will gut them both.”

      The furious man swiped with the knife, and Dante swayed in a lethal dance to stay between her and the blade. He scowled at the Greek. “She is under my protection. You don’t want to do that to l’ amico degli amici.”

      The innocuous phrase had a curious effect.