Read Online Filthy Wicked Games by Lili Valente - Free Book Online Page B

going to drown. He was going to drown and die. He might still die—she hadn’t intended to kill him, just knock him out, but clearly she’d hit him harder than she’d intended—but unless she got him out of the water, death was a foregone conclusion.
    She probably shouldn’t care that the man who’d tortured her for two weeks was about to die, but his taste was still in her mouth and her body still ached desperately for his touch, and she did care.
    Damn her, she did. She didn’t want to be a killer and she especially didn’t want to kill Clay.
    She’d already lived with his blood on her hands for years. No matter how demented a bastard he’d become, she didn’t want to live that way anymore.
    Bending down, she flipped Clay over onto his back, heart jerking when he coughed and water streamed from his nose and mouth. She froze, ready to drop him and run, but after the coughing had stopped, his eyes remained closed, and after a moment, his breath grew slow and even. Pulse still thready from a dizzying mixture of fear and adrenaline, Harley quickly towed him to the edge of the pool. As the water grew shallow, moving him grew harder, but she managed to hook her arms beneath his armpits and drag his heavy body over the stones and onto the grass at the edge of the pool.
    She deposited him as gently as she could and stood staring down at his naked, unconscious form for a shock-numbed moment. And then she turned and ran like hell.
    She stopped to scoop her tee shirt and Clay’s boxers off of the ground, but she didn’t bother with the misery-inducing boots or take the time to dress. Now that she’d made sure Clay wasn’t going to drown, she couldn’t afford to waste a second.
    Terror fueling her weary muscles, she sprinted back down the hill, away from the cliffs, her bare feet slapping against the hard-packed dirt. At the base of the incline, where the path split in two, she skidded to a stop, keeping one panicked eye on the trail behind her as she shrugged on her shirt and yanked the boxers up and over her hips. The forest was still empty, but she swore she could feel Clay coming for her, rapidly eliminating her head start.
    You knocked him unconscious. He’s not going to be able to recover from that quickly. He’ll be slow and unsteady if he’s on his feet at all.
    But her thoughts offered no comfort. Clay was out of his mind, stubborn as hell, and in incredible shape. It was a combination that could work miracles—she should know.
    After everything she’d been through, most people wouldn’t have the strength left to jog five miles. Harley didn’t jog; she sprinted, flying through the woods, leaping over rocks and tree limbs and other obstacles in her path. Her breath burned in her lungs and her legs cramped, but she didn’t slow her pace or waste another second looking over her shoulder. She ran like the devil was chasing her out of hell, arms pumping at her sides, her thoughts an endless mantra of hold on, hold on, hold on.
    She was on her way to Jasper. She just had to hold together long enough to get off this island and everything would be okay. She had a plan in place for emergencies like these. She had passports under three different aliases stored in three different post office boxes throughout Europe, along with enough cash to get her to Prague and Jasper.
    She would get to him before Marlowe and then she would figure out what came next. She just had to hold on.
    Hold on.
    Hold on.
    She burst from the woods into the clearing near the cottages and veered left, headed toward the ocean. She hadn’t seen anything but the officer cottages and the main building, but this was a military installation. There had to be a dock nearby.
    A dock, and hopefully, a boat.
    Please let there be a boat and please let it be easy to hotwire and please let there be water and food on board.
    For a split second, she considered turning back toward the brown and white building where she’d been held prisoner, knowing there