For Love Alone (A New Adventure Begins - Star Elite 8)

The fishermen waved to his crew, who immediately stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the newcomers. Several men on other boats motioned to each other. They all began to converge on the dockside to watch the gunmen.

‘What are you two doing down here? We don’t want none of your sort around here. Get out of here,’ a fisherman shouted.

The thugs froze. They stared hard at her, but Carlotta refused to look at them. She knew the fishermen would stop them following her but only for a few minutes. Determined to make good her escape, she headed toward a small road which led to the back of the shops. Once there, she lifted her skirt and ran. Her feet pounded the pavement. She slowed a little once or twice but only so she could check the road behind her. At the end of the lane, she took another small road, and another, and another, until she was sure that she wasn’t being followed. This time, she didn’t slow her pace. She continued to run for her life, all the way up the hill until her legs ached and her lungs burned. She gasped for breath but refused to stop until she was able to reach the sheltered protection of the woods.

Within the trees, Carlotta braced one hand on a thick oak tree and try to catch her breath. She smirked with glee when she looked at the people still milling about on the harbour and saw the thugs waving their arms at the fishermen. It was clear that there was an argument of some sort going on and the thugs would be a while.

‘Good,’ she murmured with a decisive nod.

Seeing them gave her the ability to take a moment to calm herself down. When she had her breath back, Carlotta threw one last look at the arguing men and went to find the path that would lead her back to the house she was, temporarily, calling home.

CHAPTER TWO

Carlotta picked her way through the woods. Every now and then she tipped her head back to enjoy the faint beams of sunlight streaming through the canopy of leaves. The need to get out of the woodland and into the warm sunshine was enough to make her increase her pace.

‘Help me.’

Carlotta screamed when her elbow was caught in a fierce grip. She clawed at the fingers and cried out again when she looked up into a gnarled face that had a bloody open welt down one side. One glance was all it took for the image of his pale, twisted features topped by a large bushy mane of mangled grey hair, mean, blood-shot eyes and a cruel snarl on twisted lips, to be indelibly printed on her mind.

‘Get away from me,’ she cried.

The man yanked her toward him instead.

Carlotta tried to step back only for the man to yank her in the opposite direction. ‘Get your hands off me.’ She tried to slap at his hand on her arm. ‘No. Let go of me.’

‘Help me,’ the man snarled and tightened his grip until pain lanced down her arm.

Carlotta began to punch his arm with more and more force as she dug her heels in and used her body weight to try to slow him down. Thankfully, he didn’t seem as strong as she had first thought. It might have been his sodden clothing, which appeared to be wet with sea water. It might have been the wound to his face that made him stumble. Whatever it was that made him loosen his grip, the split second he eased his hold gave Carlotta the opportunity she needed to wrench her arm free. He lunged after her only for Carlotta to kick him in the shin.

‘Stop it,’ he snarled with a curse.

Carlotta turned to run only for him to grab her arm again and yank her back around to face him. She kicked him once more but this time he refused to release her. Digging her heels in, she tried to prise one finger off her bruised flesh at a time. She wrestled and wriggled and did everything possible to try to get free of him. ‘I said get off me!’ she snarled.

‘Get here. I want help. You are going to help me,’ he grunted as he continued to try to drag her into the bushes.

When she felt herself being propelled into the undergrowth, Carlotta used her free arm to grab a tree trunk. She clung tightly to it and refused to release it. The man tried to drag her off it but couldn’t while he was holding her arm. He was forced to release her again. Carlotta then used both arms to hold on to the tree and clung desperately to the wooden solidity. The man grabbed her by the waist and tried to bodily separate her from the tree. He cursed and spat, uttered dire threats and guttural moans, but couldn’t find the strength to force her to do what he wanted.

‘Get off me,’ she cried. The scream she wanted to emit wouldn’t escape her because of the possibility of the thugs coming to investigate. Desperately, she began to kick at the man. His thigh, his shin, his stomach, anywhere she could reach. When he stepped closer, she released her hold on the tree and slammed an elbow into his face. Thankfully, her elbow hit his wound and immediately made him howl with pain.

The man suddenly dropped to his knees, clutching his cheek with both hands. He cursed and mumbled something as he cried out and began to rock. Carlotta eyed the path she knew led to the safety of the house. With one last glare at her attacker, she turned and ran for her basket. Grabbing it on the way past, she set out for home. She glanced back several times but couldn’t see him following her. Even so, she didn’t slow down, until her skirt was suddenly grabbed from behind. Another scream escaped her when she heard material tearing and realised it was the skirt of her dress. She yanked it out of his grasp and whirled to face him. As she did so she swung her basket at his head and whacked him on the side of his face.

The man immediately released her and fell to the ground once more. This time, he didn’t get up. He rolled onto his side and curled into a tiny ball of human misery as he howled and clutched his wounded face. Carlotta could feel little sympathy for him. With one last brief glare she turned around and resumed her flight toward home. This time she didn’t bother to glance behind her. She raced all the way home. By the time she reached the back door of

the house she made sure she had the key in her hand. Carlotta glanced wildly around as she tried to shove the heavy iron into the lock but her hand shook so violently she fumbled. When she did manage to get the door unlocked she shoved it open and stumbled into the kitchen on trembling knees. Slamming the door behind her, she finally slid the bolt home and then fumbled with shaking hands to lock it for good measure. When she had finished, she rested her forehead against the cool wood and tried to catch her breath.

It was then that Carlotta realised she was not alone.

She had no idea what warned her something was wrong. It might have been the way the small hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. It might have been gut instinct. Whatever it was, Carlotta knew that something wasn’t right about the house she had left just an hour ago. The atmosphere within it had changed. There was an imperceptible shift of the silence within the house that hadn’t been there before. It was watchful and dangerous.

Carlotta dreaded having to turn around and see who was standing behind her. She was sure that someone was there. It wasn’t that he touched her. His presence cast a looming shadow over her that was dark and oppressive. It created a heavy silence that settled along her back and made her shiver.

Without turning around, Carlotta sidled toward the dresser beside her. She slid open the drawer, half expecting a hand to reach out and stop her. She picked up a wickedly sharp knife. Her wrist was grabbed before she could remove her hand from the drawer. She was relieved of the weapon which was promptly dropped back into the drawer which was then slammed shut with a decisive bang. Carlotta was slowly turned around until she faced the intruder and found herself staring into the hard glare of the tallest, darkest, and most dangerous man she had ever seen in her life.

The first impression she had of him was that he was tall.

And wet. And covered in sand just like the man in the woods was.

Carlotta frowned. ‘Who are you?’ she whispered, and then mentally winced when she heard the quiver in her voice. She wanted to sound authoritative but failed miserably and sounded quite feeble instead.