Hostage of my Heart Ch. 03

Fuck. Rand dismissed the entire train of thought. He didn't care if they were fucking married. Opal was his. Period. He shot a hard look at Tim, who didn't deserve her, anyway, after denying whatever-the-hell relationship they did have.

Sainte stood to give his men directions. "Put them all in the conference room- the glass booth- and one of you guard the door. Watch Hero and the surfer. I don't trust either of them."

Sainte shot a friendly grin at Rand and strode toward the back of the building.

Richard glanced around in confusion, a guppy plucked from the koi pond and tossed back into a puddle.

Peeking around Rand's bicep, Opal half-hoped he'd say something so Sainte would shoot him, too, but retracted the thought immediately. The asshole wasn't worth a wish. She returned to her hiding spot, grateful not to be completely exposed for the first time in hours. Also, the view was nice back here. She smiled at his perfectly sculpted butt and heavy, masculine thighs. Apparently Rand didn't care that he was still starkers, too. Then he moved.

Opal jumped and saw that the guards were herding the group toward the conference room.

Rand spoke over his shoulder. "Where are your clothes?"

"Where we're going." She kept her forearms crossed over her breasts as she pointed.

Rand drew her aside when he stopped to collect his own clothing.

One of the guards looked like he might object, but changed his mind and waited patiently, studying Opal's lower half. She blushed, reminded of the most recent humiliation- her new normal, getting fucked for the entertainment of others.

"What was that?" Rand asked, having caught the tail end of her expression.

She opened her mouth to brush it off, but the guard intervened. "Move it."

She took a step toward the booth, but Rand grabbed her elbow and glared at the guard while he held his shirt open. Opal slid her arms in and folded one side over the other, smiling widely in relief as she turned toward the conference room.

Rand didn't stop to dress until they were all inside. Even then, he found her clothing first. She pointed at the chair where she'd left her things and Rand gestured for Richard to get them. "Slide Opal's stuff over here."

Richard hesitated, with a disparaging look at the naked stranger in their midst.

Rand straightened, bristling. "Listen, asshole, there's already a good chance I'm going to fucking peel your skin off with a carving knife when we get out of here. Your one small shot at survival is passing that stuff over here right this minute."

Only someone watching him very closely would have noted the millisecond of consternation in Richard's eyes while he automatically assessed the older man's potential as a foe. Richard wasn't used to being challenged- his shiny smile and shiny car and shiny personality usually protected him from the strife lesser mortals experienced on a daily basis. He saw immediately that none of those things mattered to Rand.

Feeling rather like a frightened child, he slid Opal's clothes across the table and turned away from Rand's irate stare to study the bright landscape outside the tinted wall of windows.

Rand was planning to put Opal in the corner and stand in front of her while she dressed, but she already had her bottom half covered by the time he turned around, and his shirt was so big that she'd buttoned the front and was using it like a changing room to put her bra and blouse on underneath. He smiled at her, and when she saw, a dimple appeared, betraying her response.

Opal didn't give in to the smile, though; instead, she flicked a snooty look at his navel. "Get dressed, you exhibitionist."

He almost laughed, despite the situation. She was amazing.

To go through what he'd witnessed, never mind whatever they'd put her through during his absence, and still be able to tease him... he shook his head, pulling his pants on. Opal what's-her-name wasn't only the bravest, but also the strongest person he'd ever met.

As he bent to tie his shoes, Rand turned his head, catching her eye. "What's your-"

The glass wall beside them exploded, and when he opened his eyes, Opal was gone.

Terrified, Rand leapt to his feet and saw Sainte, gun in hand, sprinting toward the stairs, towing Opal behind him. Rand followed, barreling down the aisle with no regard for where the weapon-toting thugs were stationed. He didn't care. Sainte had Opal, and that's all he needed to know.

They were on the landing when he crashed through the fire door at the top of the stairs. Sainte simultaneously raised the gun to fire and curled his arm around Opal's neck, gathering her in. Rand had a millisecond to decide: throw himself flat on the floor or forward, toward the bullet. Later, he'd say it wasn't heroism, but habit. It was a lifetime ago, but twenty years of gymnastics training didn't disappear when the games ended. He vaulted the metal railing, feet first, flying toward Sainte and praying Opal didn't get between them.

She did, because she'd seen the danger to Rand.

When Sainte pulled her in, she used the momentum of the turn to twist her body out of his grasp, launching herself at the hand holding his pistol. There was no time to think; she acted on instinct, and it was instinct which said she wasn't strong enough to wrest the gun away from him. She clamped down on Sainte's forearm with all the strength she had in two hands and ten digits, and she clamped down on the base of his thumb with all thirty-two teeth.

Sainte screamed, his eyes closed helplessly, and he never saw the soles of Rand's shoes hurtling straight for his face.

Rand's aim was perfect. The impact tore Sainte's arm from Opal's grasp. Her bite had loosened his hold on the gun, and Rand's blow jarred it from his hand.

Opal was knocked sideways, but she kept her eyes on the gun.

Rand twisted his body after the hit, trying to tuck and roll, but he didn't quite make it. He landed sideways, one foot on the cement stairway, and rolled down a dozen steps before slowing. With half a second to orient himself, he straightened, conscious only of getting to Opal. He looked up just in time to see the end of her juggling-a-loaded-gun routine. With the pistol safely captured, she deftly flipped it to a standard two-hand grip, taking one step back and aiming directly at Sainte's head.

The door flew open behind Rand, and two voices rang out simultaneously, "Freeze!"

Opal surrendered.