Bastian planted himself in the Blackhawk with the SEAL team and geared up—weapons, Kevlar helmet, protective eyewear, body armor, earpiece, and more weapons. He didn’t have his uniform, but that wouldn’t stop him from participating in this takedown. SOCOM objected, but the SEALs were on his side. None of them dared deny him.

With an earpiece, Bastian was now a part of the conversation with SOCOM headquarters in both Rota and at Camp Citron. “Given the speed and trajectory, she’s on a helicopter,” Savvy said. “They’re over the Atlantic now. Drugov’s boat must be at sea.”

“Any chance we’ll lose her signal?” Bastian asked.

“Some of the megayachts have cellular boosters, extending the range for miles. Given how much business Drugov does from his boat, it’s likely he has that. But without that, yes. We’ll lose her signal.”

“Why aren’t we airborne, then?” This from a SEAL seated not far from Bastian. “We can have eyes on them in minutes. Otherwise, we might lose her.”

Other SEALs chimed in supporting this, and without further debate, the Blackhawk lifted. They didn’t have time to dick around and discuss options.

“What intel do you have on Drugov’s boat?” someone in Rota asked.

“It’s massive—over two hundred feet,” Savvy said. “Minimum crew of five, but more likely closer to ten. It can probably do fifty knots without trouble.” She paused. “It looks like the copter landed.” She gave the coordinates. “It’s about five klicks out. Nothing but blue water all around.”

There would be no hiding a Blackhawk. With more time to prepare, the SEALs could’ve gone in underwater, taking off from a boat positioned a half mile away. But by the time they arranged that, the yacht could be long gone. Fifty knots per hour was fast for a boat that size.

“Any guess as to whether or not Drugov’s got heavy weaponry?” someone asked.

“I have no intel in that area. But knowing Drugov, expect anything and everything. Including biologicals. But he won’t use anything that might contaminate him. Nothing airborne or easily transmitted.”

“He’ll use Brie as a shield,” Bastian said.

“He will,” Savvy confirmed.

“Any Navy assets in the area we can use?” Bastian thought he recognized Cal’s voice, but it was hard to tell through the headphones with the noise of the Blackhawk.

“Nothing close enough to do us any good,” answered the SEAL team leader.

“I’ve found pictures of the boat. Profile and aerial view,” Savvy said. “Sending now.”

A moment later, the leader of the SEAL team leaned forward, holding a large tablet out for all nine men in the bird to see. There was a second Blackhawk with the other half of the sixteen-man platoon, where Bastian imagined they were doing the same thing as the commander outlined a plan of attack.

Nothing quite like planning a mission just minutes before executing it, but in this instance, they had no choice. Aside from the potential of losing the boat, the longer Brie was alone with Drugov, the more likely she was to be raped and tortured.

It was either go in now, or risk losing Brie forever.

Nikolai’s cabin was a playhouse of horrors, and he’d been preparing this nightmare for her. Years ago, she’d thought BDSM might be fun. She’d learned right away that she liked bondage, but the rest—not so much. The result was she knew what several of the items were, and they all terrified her—especially knowing Nikolai would be wielding them.

Whips, chains, and assorted tools for inflicting pain were lined up on a shelf. The furniture included a St. Andrew’s Cross, a spanking bench, and some items that looked medieval.

He’d bound her to the spanking bench and—fortunately—left her alone as he spoke with the boat captain.

Shaped like a short, one-step staircase, the spanking bench interior was a barred cage—just large enough for her to fit inside, should Nikolai desire to crate her. But instead, he’d cuffed her wrists on the floor on the outside, forcing her to lie over the top with her ass in the air. Her knees tucked into the step with her ankles cuffed to the base.

Her range of motion was zero, and the blood was flowing to her head with the forced downward-dog-with-bent-knee pose. There was minimal padding over the metal cage bars. This bench wasn’t designed for comfort and consensual play.

When Nikolai came back, he intended to use the lineup of whips to punish her for denying him all these years. For defying him when she was eighteen.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

And she’d thought the metal collar in the slave market was bad.

Is Bastian really dead?

No. She didn’t believe it.

Nikolai’s goon had lied. Or Nikolai himself had lied, knowing the words would break her.

SEALs were coming, and Bastian would be with them. She just needed to figure out how she could help.

Not that she could help, bound as she was.

The team wouldn’t be able to sneak up on the yacht, not on a bright sunny day like today. Not if they were in a Blackhawk or an Osprey. This meant Nikolai would want to use her as a shield. She worked at the cuffs that held her wrists. If she could hide, he wouldn’t be able to use her.

But this wasn’t for consensual beginner play, where the sub could escape if things got too rough or scary. This was the real deal and so were the cuffs.

She thought she heard the whirr of an engine over the boat noise.

Shit!

She pulled at the cuffs, trying to make her hand as small as possible by tucking in her thumb and pulling. The cuffs were metal covered in satin. The satin provided lubrication, but the binding was too tight.

The metal edge split the satin, and broke her skin. Blood provided more lubrication, but her lowest thumb knuckle would have to break to pass through the narrow opening. She pulled, trying to break her knuckle with sheer pressure.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn’t do it.

The doorknob turned.

No! No! No!

Nikolai stalked into the room, his face a mask of anger. He pulled his arm back and slapped her across the cheek with twice the force of all his earlier blows. But she was tied, and her body couldn’t absorb any of the impact. Her head snapped to the side as pain radiated down her neck.

“What the fuck have you done?” he shouted, then slapped the other cheek with his other hand.

Her brain sloshed around in her skull, and her lip split in a different spot.

A voice cut through the noise of helicopter and boat engine. “Nikolai Drugov, release your hostage and surrender.”

He grabbed one of his whips. Pain exploded across her back. “You bitch!” Another blow. “How did you do it?”

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Fire shot along her shoulders.

He released the ankle cuffs, then her hands, yanking her to her feet by her hair before she could gather herself to strike him. She fell against him, her knees jelly, her head swimming from both pain and from being suddenly upright after being tied head down for several minutes.

She didn’t wait to get her equilibrium. She kneed him in the balls and used momentum from the blow to lunge for the crop that sat next to the whips on the shelf. She struck him in the face with the crop.

She charged him, knocking him flat and running for the French doors. He caught her at the doors, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her back to his chest, his grip tight.

He grabbed something from his pocket with his free hand and held it in front of her. A syringe. He used his teeth to yank off the orange cover, revealing the needle.

“Fight me again, and you get half of this. Ask yourself, Gabriella, how much do you want it?”

“Fuck you.”

“The second time you fight me, I’ll hit the plunger to the bottom. You might overdose at that point, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He moved the needle to her neck. “Don’t start thinking you’re about to be rescued. My men will shoot the Blackhawk out of the sky.”

He pulled her back, away from the French doors. She didn’t fight, but she didn’t exactly walk either. “If you take down a team of SEALs, you’ll never be safe. Russia will hand you over to the US in a heartbeat.”

“A Blackhawk that was attacking me? No. Your military attacked my vessel as I was vacationing in Morocco. It is an outrage. My government will stand behind me.”

Shots sounded in rapid succession. Were they on the upper deck already?

“You abducted me. Let me go, and they’ll leave you alone.”

“You came willingly with me. You said as much at the lab. I own you, Gabriella. You will tell the SEALs to leave, or you will get the needle.”

He was crazy if he thought she could or would be able to convince the military to leave her with him. But then, she’d known he was insane for years. She just hadn’t quite realized how warped he’d gotten.

He pulled her back to the St. Andrew’s Cross, a large X in the center of the room. “Put your hands in the cuffs.” He waved the needle in her face.

She obeyed, placing her wrists at the top of the X. He tightened the cuffs around her wrists, one at a time, keeping the needle at her throat. Next he bound her ankles.

Footsteps pounded on the deck above them. He moved to stand behind her, again placing the needle at her neck.

The SEALs moved quickly, before Drugov’s men could ready any shoulder-fired rocket launchers, should they have them. The first feet hit the deck before the announcement was done. The pilot brought them low enough for them to jump from the copter, allowing for a quicker exit than a ladder required. Because he wasn’t a member of the team and hadn’t trained with the men, Bastian was last out. He wouldn’t mess with their timing.

A rifle barrel appeared in a window to Bastian’s right. He and the SEAL next to him reacted in the same moment, dropping to their knees and spraying the window with bullets. A bullet zinged by Bastian’s shoulder, close enough that he felt the air shift, then the shots went upward as the gunman dropped.

Glass, unless it was bulletproof, was a shitty shield, making Bastian wonder where Drugov found his goons.

A similar scene played out on the other side of the deck. Another dipshit down.

The team broke apart in groups of three as planned. They would search for Brie while the second Blackhawk circled, taking out henchmen if they dared show their faces on the deck.

There’d been no time for a buy-off on the mission, no time to set rules of engagement, but an American woman—an aid worker—had been abducted by a twisted, biological-weapons-making Russian oligarch. The team was on board to use lethal force. They’d explain themselves after the fact. Stockpiles of Ebola-laced panty liners would only seal the deal.

Drugov would fry. Diplomacy with Russia could fuck off.

Bastian’s group took the middle deck. Aerial photos had shown a private deck off a room at the back, probably the master suite, and the most likely place for Drugov to have Brie. Bastian had called dibs. No one objected.

These guys might not be US Army Special Forces, but they were okay.

They dropped from the upper deck straight into the sectioned-off deck. The French doors were tinted glass. They flanked the doors, and a SEAL popped the lock. The doors opened inward.

And there was Brie, spread eagle on a giant fucking X. Drugov hid behind her, like the pathetic asshole he was. He held a needle to Brie’s neck.