The lock had been ripped from the door

Ryan grabbed Krysty's shoulder and rolled her over. She twisted bonelessly, and the loose way she moved made him certain she was dead.

The breath caught in Ryan's throat as he stared at his lover's pale face. Then he noticed her breasts rise with a drawn breath. Gently he reached toward her face, cupping her chin in his callused hand.

"Wake up," he urged hoarsely. The one-eyed man patted her cheek tenderly but with enough force to rock her head slightly. "You've got to wake up!"

Abruptly Krysty sat up, her eyes snapping open and into focus like the electronic sights on a war wag. There was another presence. "Do not presume to touch me, whoreson!"