Lauren lay on the floor, gasping. Her ears were ringing, and pain radiated down her arm. She tried to move, bringing her arms under her to push up off the floor. The pain in her arm turned into searing agony, and her arm gave way beneath her, slipping on the slick floor. The world spun, and she choked back her stomach contents. The floor beneath her was puddled in red. She brought her hands to her face, ignoring the second wave of pain. They were shaking furiously, but she could still see the dark blood coating her hands. That time she couldn’t hold it back, and she retched. Oh, God. She’d been shot.

She wiped her hands furiously against her pants, smearing the blood further. A metallic tang reached her nose, combining with a weird acrid smell permeating the room, setting off a new wave of nausea. She rolled to her side, gripping her stomach with her good arm as she sucked in a breath. She had no idea how the hell she was still alive, but she had to get it together and get the hell out of there.

Prepared for the pain the second time, she moved again, avoiding putting any weight on her left side. Miraculously, she managed to get her knees, then to her feet, without another shot ringing out. The room was still spinning, and she grabbed at the countertop to keep her balance as she scanned the room. Detective Bellamy had been there, and there’d been a gun. She’d swung the wood, there had been a loud crack, then pain, and then nothing as she’d hit the floor. Lauren rubbed at her forehead, resisting the urge to either throw up again or pass out. Neither of those was going to get her the hell out of there.

Where the fuck was Bellamy? She jerked her head to where she thought she’d last seen him, regretting the motion immediately as the movement ignited the steady throb in her arm into a blazing fire. The room spun dangerously, but she finally managed to let go of the edge of the counter long enough to turn around. A dark shape lay on the floor a few feet away. A dark shape that was wearing a suit. A gun lay on the floor near his hand and a larger puddle of red than hers bloomed out from the side of his head. Bellamy. He wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.

She turned back to the counter. It felt every kind of wrong to turn her back on the man, even though he was unconscious, lying unmoving on the floor. Every muscle in her body screamed at her, the tension radiating through her after being restrained for so long, causing muscles she didn’t even know she had to cramp. Lauren bit down on her lip to force herself to focus. She could feel the pain later. Brayden needed her. She scanned the screen in front of her, the black-and-white, grainy image flickering, but it was clear enough to steal her breath away all over again. The screen was filled with the empty room her son had been held in. The door in the corner was swung open, and similar clutter like in the room she’d been held in lay scattered around, but that was it. No Brayden, and no men guarding him.

Lauren’s heart nearly beat itself out of her chest. She’d only been on the floor for a few minutes, at most. She hadn’t passed out, had she? What the hell had happened in those few minutes? Had Brayden managed to escape? The thought cheered her. The sound of that asshole’s gun going off had nearly deafened her. Surely people would have been able to hear it anywhere on the entire damn ship. She didn’t know where they’d been holding Brayden, but the rusted metal walls she could see on the screen told her it was at least somewhere on the boat. Maybe his captors had opened the door to investigate the sound, and he’d slipped by them. The next thought sent her emotions swinging wildly back the other way, when her brain caught up to the fact that the men were no longer in the video’s frame, either. The thought of Brayden running blindly across the ship, being pursued by two of his “grandfather’s” goons was enough to have Lauren gripping the desk so hard her knuckles turned white. She had to move. Now.

The pain in her arm paled into the background as she turned and stepped toward the door. At the last second, she turned and stepped quickly back to Bellamy. He still lay unmoving on the floor, but a shudder ran down her spine at just a glance at him. She clenched her fists and steeled herself. She could do this. Her son needed her, and Lauren was never letting him down again. Taking in a deep breath, Lauren darted forward and kicked the gun away from Bellamy’s prone body. When he didn’t move from the action, she stepped forward and squatted, scooping it up with her good hand, and then she quickly scooted backward again until she was out of his reach.

Her heart slowed down a little since she had the gun in her hand. Lauren leaned against a wall to catch her breath. She might finally be armed with something decent, but it wouldn’t do her any good if anyone could hear her coming from a mile away as her breath sawed in and out of her lungs.

Could she even fire a gun at someone? Could she kill someone? She looked back over at Detective Bellamy, her stomach lurching at the sight. Was he even a detective? If he was, then stupidly, it might actually work in her favor, despite her whacking him over the head with a plank of wood. She was sure that Matt and the guys would have noticed they were missing, but she wasn’t sure how much the cops would care yet. An out-of-towner, gone for what she was guessing was still less than twenty-four hours. Maybe they’d be doing nothing at all. A detective from their own squad, on the other hand . . . If Bellamy was who he’d claimed to be and he’d disappeared into thin air—that would have prompted a manhunt much faster.

She snuck another glance, forcing herself to look at him. His skin had turned a deathly pale—emphasis on deathly. She had to face facts. She probably had already killed someone, and she could do it again if it meant saving her and Brayden’s lives. She frowned as another thought blasted through her racing mind. She would fight before allowing anyone to hurt her again, but what she was physically capable of was another matter entirely. She lifted the gun up in front of her, bracing her elbow. Even with her concentrated effort, it shook in her hand. She automatically reached up with her other arm to steady it and dropped it back to her side with a quiet cry when the inferno at the injury site ignited again at the movement. Thank God it wasn’t a revolver, but if it came to it, she was going to be shooting one-handed. Fuck. How many bullets were left? There was no way she could check it with her injury. Her thumb brushed over the magazine ejection button, but she didn’t push it down. Without being able to steady the gun with her other hand, she’d have trouble pushing it with enough force, and she also wasn’t sure she’d be able to successfully get the magazine back in. She’d have to leave it and hope that the universe finally decided to give her a break on that hellish day.

Okay. She had to get moving. Still tetchy at the idea of turning her back to Bellamy, Lauren edged her way to the door, shuffling along the walls, her back pressed against them, until she was immediately next to the door. Crap. She was going to need her hand to open it. Pulling away from the wall, she moved the hand gripping the gun behind her, using the top of her hand to push up her shirt, then tucked the gun into the waistband of her pants. It wasn’t ideal, but if she wanted to open the damn door anytime in the next week, it was her only option.

Lauren had barely let go of the gun’s grip and moved her hand back to her side when the door flew open right next to her head. She jerked backward, moving before her mind had realized what the hell was going on, but it still wasn’t fast enough. She swore as her injured arm bumped against the wall, and she sucked in a breath. It was soon lost when an arm reached over her shoulder and jerked her back against a hard chest. The man gripped hard, holding her head firmly in the crook of his arm as he tightened the grip around her throat further.

She tried to cough; she couldn’t. She tried desperately to suck in air, any amount. Nothing. Spots swirled and danced in front of her eyes, slowly at first but then gathering together, whirling like tiny fireflies until they almost entirely took over her vision.

No! She was so damn close! She refused to go out that way. The cold metal of the gun dug into her skin as the man pressed harder. She gasped, losing precious breath, as tears came to her eyes. Her injured arm flailed uselessly by her side, the arm currently not bleeding her life away clawing at the man cutting off her life. Fuck! She was completely useless. If she moved her hand, then any precious space she’d managed to claw back between her fingers and the asshole holding on to her would be lost.

Think, damn it.

Her mind felt padded, slow, as if she was observing everything five seconds after it had actually happened. The fireflies would soon obliterate her view of anything else.

Lauren willed herself not to give up. She had to live. She had to get Brayden out and then find Matt. She deserved a happily ever after, Goddamn it, they all did.

First, she had to find some air.

Her arms were useless. That left her legs and feet. Lauren lifted her foot and then moved it backward, just a few inches, and slammed it down on the foot of her captor. He grunted, but nothing changed, and so she did it again. And again. And again, until little by little, the choking grip on her neck loosened just enough for her to suck in a breath. That gave her body a rush of energy, and she took her chance, dropping her hand away from her neck and swinging her fist back as hard as she could, right into the asshole’s balls.

The arm at her neck fell away entirely, and she dropped to the floor. Without any strength left to push her arms out to break the fall, she landed hard, with the wind knocked out of her. She lay there sputtering, gasping as her exhausted lungs tried desperately to fill with air before she passed out for good. There had been too many people trying to kill her for one day. She was sure that if she lay there any longer, she wouldn’t escape. She had to get the hell up.

Lauren pushed one arm up underneath her and wobbled in place. The damn fireflies were back in the way of her vision, brighter. They swarmed until her arm gave way beneath her and the dim scene in front of her gave way to a blaze of light. The last thing she saw before closing her eyes and taking in the quiet darkness was a man with a gun pointed at her head. She could only pray that Brayden would be okay without her. A peace came over her. He would be. Matt would make sure of it. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

The shot rang out, and Lauren waited. The shot in her arm had hurt like a son of a bitch, and so surely this one was going to be hell. Or maybe she wouldn’t feel anything. Would it all be over before she had a chance to feel any pain? That would be nice.

A second shot sounded, louder that time. But still no pain. How was that possible? Her hand twitched. She could still feel the rough surface of the deck beneath her.

“Lauren? Oh, God, Lauren. Sweetheart, open your eyes. Please, I need to see those gorgeous eyes.”

Matt.

Her eyes flew open.

Matt!

Her giant of a man was crouched on the floor next to her head, his eyebrows deeply furrowed and his eyes dark with concern. When she made eye contact with him, they brightened instantly, his expression replaced with a smile so wide he practically glowed with happiness. He scooped her up, one arm coming up around her as he picked her up off the floor effortlessly. She groaned at the movement, and he stopped immediately, his frown back as he placed her gently in his lap. His focus went straight to her arm. “Lauren, Baby? Fuck, you’re covered in blood.” He turned his head and yelled, his voice booming across the corridor. “She needs a medic. Right now!”

The room that had held only her and Bellamy for so long was bustling with people. Strangers dressed in heavy-duty gear, and one man—strangely—in a suit topped with a waistcoat. She tried to focus on everyone, looking for Brayden, just as she had when Matt had rescued her the first time, pulling her out of the hotel fire. He wasn’t there. Lauren’s pulse jumped, and she tried to force her way out of his lap.

“Brayden,” she said. Her voice was barely above a hoarse whisper, but he understood. Matt pulled her back into his lap and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “He’s fine,” he said. “He’s out front with a group of men I trust with my life.” He pushed a stray piece of hair away from her face, then moved to gently probe her arm, frowning again when she winced. “As soon as I know you’re okay, I’ll take you straight to him. I promise.”

That was all she needed to know. At the words that her son was safe, all the fight bled out of her and Lauren slumped against Matt, closing her eyes and letting him catch her.