eyes never left his antagonist’s face, and she could feel the confidence oozing from him. ‘It was quite clever of you to realise that I had plans for Alexa. But you underestimated me.’
Gastano’s laugh was a taunt as he switched his gaze back to Lexie for a second.
‘You should perhaps have been a little more careful of her feelings before you made love to her, sir.’ He pronounced the last word with a gloating emphasis that made it an insult. ‘Women are inclined to be upset when they are made use of so flagrantly. But I’m sure she suspected that there had to be an ulterior motive to your lovemaking. Alexa knows she is no beauty—unlike your charming but so naïve sister.’
And while an appalled and horrified Lexie was digesting this, he finished on a sneer, ‘Besides, you are no better than I am. You decided that the best form of revenge would be to seduce the woman I intend to marry. You were wrong—I still intend to marry her, and neither you nor she will prevent it.’
The fear gripping Lexie slowly receded before an icy realisation. She thought she heard her heart break, shatter into a thousand brittle pieces in her breast, each one stabbing her with a pain that would never go away.
At the centre of this war between the two men was Gastano’s treatment of Rafiq’s sister.
Lexie herself was merely a bystander, a pawn used by both men in a battle that had nothing to do with her. Rafiq’s lovemaking must have been a coolly calculated move to at least shake what he thought might be her loyalty to Gastano.
But he’d come to rescue her.
Rafiq stood like stone, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes never leaving the man. ‘You bastard,’ he said gutturally, his voice low and shaking with fury, hands so tightly clenched Lexie could see the whiteness of his knuckles in the gloom. ‘You’ll rot in hell for what you did to Hani.’
Gastano shrugged dispassionately. ‘She had choices,’ he said with callous indifference. ‘No one forced her into my bed. No one forced her to take drugs or to prostitute herself so that she could pay for them.’
Ruthlessly Lexie pushed the choking sense of betrayal to the back of her mind. Rafiq had to have some sort of plan. And here on Moraze he had the advantage of local knowledge.
The count understood that too, so he was pushing Rafiq, trying to get him off balance. But a glance at Rafiq’s face, drawn and darkly anguished, shook her.
It appeared Gastano was succeeding.
Yet although Gastano might pretend to despise Rafiq he was watching him closely, his finger poised on the trigger of the revolver.
As long as he kept that unwavering focus, Rafiq was in danger.
Her pulses quickened. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man in the world. You’re just a gutless big-noter,’ she said contemptuously.
Gastano swung around. At any other time she might have laughed at the shock in his face, but as soon as the pistol wavered from its lock on Rafiq, she lashed out with her bound feet, catching the count more by luck than good judgment on the side of the kneecap.
He lurched sideways, his finger tightening on the trigger. Ducking reflexively, she felt the wind of the bullet against her cheek. Her eyes clamped tight shut and her heart pumped so loudly she couldn’t hear anything else.
A choked sound forced her eyes open in time to see Rafiq fell Gastano with one blow. The count went down into a limp heap; Rafiq dropped on one knee to check him out, then got up and headed towards her in a lethal, silent rush. She gasped as he grabbed her and hurled her brutally behind what seemed some sort of press.
‘Are you all right?’ he demanded, running his hands over her with a gentleness so at variance with the brutality of the blow he’d delivered, she could only stare dumbly at him.
A flurry of shots echoed through the building.
‘Silence,’ Rafiq growled into her ear, shielding her with his body as she struggled to get up.
A voice called out in the local language. Rafiq answered, holding her still as a man raced around the side of the vat.
His answer to Rafiq’s swift question was one succinct word.
Rafiq eased up, supporting her while he rapped out an order. The newcomer pulled a knife from somewhere on his person and handed it over, and Rafiq slashed the cords that held her wrists and ankles together.
Chafing her wrists gently, he said, ‘You are safe now.’
‘I’m all right,’ she muttered, still stunned by the abrupt change of situation. She dragged in a sharp breath as the blood began to return to her hands and feet.
‘He fooled me into thinking he was truly unconscious.’ Ignoring her shivers, he began on her ankles, his fingers soothing yet firm. ‘I should have been more careful. He had a knife, and was heading for us when one of my men shot him. It was too quick a death for one so foul, but the best outcome, nevertheless. Otherwise he’d have had to be put on trial.’
Intuitively Lexie guessed why he hadn’t wanted that—the details of his sister’s degradation would have become common knowledge. He needed to protect her reputation.
She opened her mouth to speak, and he demanded, ‘Did he hurt you in any way?’
‘Except for hitting me on the head, no,’ she said huskily.
He swore harshly, then demanded, ‘Were you unconscious?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a headache now?’ He leaned forward and raised her eyelid, staring intently and impersonally into her pupils. ‘No, they don’t seem dilated, but you could have concussion. Stay still.’
Frowning, she said, ‘I did have a headache, but I feel better now.’
‘Adrenalin,’ he said, getting to his feet.
Desperate to know, she asked, ‘Tell me, who—how did whoever shot him get here?’
‘There are three army snipers here. The plan was that I should keep him occupied while they crept into place, but you put paid to that. They had only just got here when you lashed out at him—we were lucky one got a clear enough sighting to be able to knock him down.’
‘I see,’ she said numbly, wincing as feeling cascaded painfully back into her feet and hands. ‘How did you get here so quickly?’
His expression hardened. ‘He sent a message from the helicopter. I came up in another one.’
A man came through and said something. Rafiq shook his head and gave a swift order, then got to his feet.
‘We will soon have you out of here,’ he promised, and moved noiselessly away.
Feeling sick, she eased back against the wall, dragging the damp, slightly musty air into her lungs. It smelt sweet and thick and heavy with the scent of past sugar harvests, the faint, spirituous flavour making her gag.
She realised she was shivering; icy tremors seemed to soak right down into her bones. Shock, she thought
