F. Dark Paradise: A Ryan Weller Thriller Book 5 Paperback

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CHAPTER 1
Off the coast of Guadeloupe

Naomi Shaw stared at the ceiling of the V-berth cabin. There were no more tears, only prayers for the end of this captivity and torture.
She’d just suffered through another sweaty groping and rape by a man she’d come to hate. Her breathing had slowed, and the residual effects of the adrenaline had left her drained. She should have known something like this would happen. Naomi had seen how Billy looked at her, commenting that she could be a model with her long blonde hair, sky-blue eyes, and shapely figure.
A week earlier, Naomi’s captor had introduced himself as “Captain Billy” to her and her husband, Matt, when they’d chartered his sailboat to take them from Virgin Gorda in the British Virgin Islands to Guadeloupe. She’d since learned his full name was Billy Ron Sorenson, a former businessman from North Carolina. Billy had seemed a happy-go-lucky man who had picnicked with them on white sand beaches, shown them the splendor of the coral reefs under the crystal-clear sea, and then strangled her husband to death.
Two days ago, they’d found Billy Ron rifling through their possessions. Matt had confronted him, and the men’s angry shouts had turned to punches exchanged in the tight confines of the sailboat’s cabin. Then Billy had overpowered Matt and driven him to the deck, choking him with one hand and grabbing a long filet knife off the galley counter with the other.
Naomi remembered her piercing shriek as she charged in to protect her husband. Their honeymoon, which they’d elected to extend indefinitely, had become a nightmare.
Captain Billy had thrust the knife toward Naomi, stopping her short with its wicked point. The long, thin blade glinted in the cabin’s weak battery-powered lights. He held her at bay while he strangled Matt one-handed, leaning his entire body weight on Matt’s neck as the smaller man flailed beneath him. Naomi had watched the life seep from her husband’s body through the slow relaxing of his oxygen-starved muscles to the final heaves of his chest for air. The light left his eyes as he stared pleadingly at his new bride.
Out of sheer desperation, Naomi snatched the kettle from the swinging trivet on the stove and slammed it into Billy Ron’s hand. He dropped the knife and jumped at her. She smacked him repeatedly with the solid steel kettle, but the crazed man kept coming. He tackled her, and, in the fall, she hit her head and blacked out.
When Naomi had come to, she was naked and bound to the V-berth bed by a short length of dock line. She screamed and jerked on the rope until the skin on her wrists had torn, and blood trickled down her arms. Then the cabin door had slammed open, and Billy Ron stood in the frame. He’d looked wild with his blond hair spilling over his shoulders. The low light accentuated his well-defined abdominal muscles, and his mouth twisted in a lustful sneer. He hadn’t tied her legs, and she’d fought with him, getting in several good kicks to his chin and chest, but he’d kept coming and overpowered her. Her mind had shut out the events of the following days.
She was weak from hunger and ravenous with thirst. In desperation, she’d twisted her sweaty body to allow her access to the rope tied between her wrists and the wooden railing above the mattress. One by one, her fingernails had broken off while trying to untie the knot, so she gnawed at the ropes like a rat. Slowly, the strands frayed between her teeth.
Naomi rolled onto her side, seasick in the storm-tossed waves that had overtaken them last night. It hadn’t stopped Captain Billy from using her body. She’d lain so he couldn’t see the frayed rope and hadn’t fought him. Now, the heavy swells and lashing rain covered the sounds of her movements. The longing to be free and to quench her thirst with long gulps of cool water overtook everything else. Desire swelled in her belly, filled her chest, and threatened to explode out of her. It was an all-consuming, tingling sensation that rushed through her tired limbs, making her work with haste. Rising onto her knees for better leverage, Naomi settled into a rhythm, trying to break the rope. Gnaw. Jerk. Gnaw. Jerk. Gnaw. Jerk.
“Come on,” she pleaded in a low whisper. She’d been begging the universe to help her since she’d awoken in this tiny, floating prison. Why, God, did you create someone so evil?
Suddenly, the rope broke, and the momentum of the jerk and the snapping of the rope threw her back on the bed. She lay there for several seconds, stunned that she was free from the bed, but her wrists were still bound together. Naomi rolled off the bed and stood on shaky legs. Her fingers probed the door’s lock until she slid it open, but the door only moved a fraction of an inch. She pressed her eye to the slit and peered through it. A shotgun lay nestled in the cushions of the settee, and Captain Billy had wedged a boat hook between the door and the table.
Sitting on the floor, Naomi pushed her dark hair off her forehead and braced her back against the bed. She put her feet on the door and pushed with all her might, watching splinters form in jagged lines across the wood around the boat hook’s handle before they popped through the door’s lacquered finish.
With a loud crack, the door broke open, and a cool rush of air blew over her. Naomi shivered as she climbed to her feet, not knowing if it was from the wind wicking away the sweat from her naked body or the fear of the monster lurking in the cockpit. Moving quickly to the galley, she found a knife to use to slice off her wrist bonds.
Naomi was pulling the last piece of rope from her wrists when the cockpit door slid open, accompanied by a blast of wind and water. Not wanting to be caught by the brutal rapist again, Naomi reached for the shotgun, fingers closing around the metal barrel.
Billy Ron Sorenson swung through the companionway door, not bothering with the steps. He landed on his feet and spun to dig something from a cabinet. Instinctively, Naomi swung the shotgun.
The wooden stock smashed into the captain’s head, and he fell forward to his knees. Blood coursed from a scalp wound, turning his neck red. Instead of knocking the man out, however, the blow seemed to incense him. As Billy Ron touched the back of his head, he bellowed in anger and pain.
Naomi twisted the gun, sliding the butt up under her right arm. Her finger found the trigger, and her thumb skated across a raised, ribbed piece of metal where the buttstock met the receiver. She glanced down and saw it was the safety. Her thumb pressed the slide forward, and a red circle appeared. The gun was ready to fire.
Squatting by the cockpit stairs, Billy Ron glared up at Naomi. Anger darkened his scowl, the muscles along his rugged jaw twitching beneath his stubble. Fire roared in his eyes, but he didn’t lunge for her. Seeming to understand that she had him dead to rights, Billy slowly smiled. Naomi remembered that lazy grin from the first day they’d met. It had endeared him to her, causing Naomi to believe Billy was a capable and confident captain. Now, she saw it for what it really was: the face of a madman.
Billy Ron held out his hands. “Now look, honey, I know you think you want to kill me, but if you fire that gun in here, you’re gonna sink my boat.”
The smoothness of his voice grated on her nerves. Naomi aimed the barrel at his chest.
In the back of her mind, she heard a preacher thumping his Bible, telling her that killing someone was wrong. It was a sin. A commandment, thou shall not murder. But this wasn’t murder. This was self-defense. What Billy Ron Sorenson had done to Matt was murder. The man before her was a murderer. She thought of Captain Billy pressing his hand into Matt’s neck, and the shade of blue Matt’s cheeks had turned as he struggled to breathe. She thought of the way Billy had come at her the first time in the V-berth and the brutal way he’d assaulted her, laughing as he’d planted his seed inside her. Naomi’s finger curled around the trigger.
The big gun boomed. Fire spit from the barrel, and the sound reverberated inside the fiberglass hull.
At the last instant, Billy Ron leaped sideways. Naomi worked the slide, praying there were more shells in the magazine.
Billy Ron scrambled to his feet.
Before she could fire again, the boat lurched. Naomi lost her footing and grabbed the table for support. Distracted by trying to keep her balance, Billy Ron jumped on her, punching her in the stomach and trying to wrench away the shotgun. He pushed her to the cabin sole.
Naomi’s hands clutched the gun in desperation. It had turned sideways, wedged between their bodies. His hot, wet flesh pressed against hers, and she bucked and fought like a wildcat. She got a hand free and pushed her thumb into his eye, feeling it squish in the socket. With a roar, Billy Ron punched her in the jaw.
The blow jerked Naomi’s head back, smacking it against the deck. Blackness swirled her vision. His hands clamped around her neck, and Naomi felt him spreading her legs with his. Her throat worked to draw in air, lungs fluttering like butterfly wings. He stared at her with those piercing blue eyes.
Naomi let go, too tired to fight anymore. She was ready to find Matt as she stopped breathing.