Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Henry
The water was the only place I could breathe in this godforsaken city.
Miami shimmered like a mirage around me. Sun-drenched. Shallow. Loud. But out here, far from the clubs and crowds, the water silenced it all. The tang of salt, the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull, the occasional cry of a gull — it was the closest thing to stillness I ever got.
Which was why I went out on my boat today. To clear my head. To get away from the noise.
At least that was what I told myself. But even as I idled in the turquoise sweep of Biscayne Bay, I knew I was lying. I hadn’t come out to find peace. I’d come here to watch her .
Star Island glittered in the distance, a sanctuary for the rich and the powerful, and I was floating just offshore. Close enough to see the back of Victor Kane’s estate. Close enough to see her .
I should’ve kept going. Should’ve cracked a beer and let the tide carry me somewhere quieter. Somewhere safer . But I didn’t. Couldn’t.
I rationalized my behavior by reminding myself that Ariana was my target. I needed to run surveillance. Learn as much about her as possible so when I put my plan into action there would be no surprises.
In reality, that had nothing to do with why I was still here. Instead, the second I noticed her step onto the back patio, walk by the pool, and kneel by a small garden on the corner of their estate, I couldn’t stop watching her.
She barely resembled the glamorous trophy wife I’d observed these past several months. No heels, no designer dress. Just a black t-shirt, faded jeans, and a silk scarf knotted loosely at her throat. She looked...ordinary.
I prided myself on knowing every detail of her life. How often she visited her mother at the private care facility in Coral Gables. What shade of lipstick she wore. How often she had her hair cut and colored.
But this version of her — the peaceful woman tending to a simple garden — didn’t match any of it. And it sure as hell didn’t match the woman Victor paraded around like a prize.
I shifted in my seat, adjusting the binoculars to get a better view, when a shadow passed between us.
A boat. Mid-sized. Cabin cruiser. Matte black hull.
I figured it was just on its way past South Point and out to the Atlantic. But then it slowed and turned toward Star Island. Toward Ariana Kane’s house.
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a boat slow its speed so tourists could take pictures of the houses on Star Island, most of them belonging to celebrities.
But this didn’t look like some tourist joy ride or paparazzi hoping to sell a bunch of blurry photos to a magazine.
When the boat pulled up to the dock off the back of the Kanes’ estate, my gut tightened, my body going on high alert.
I knew every vessel that had docked at this property in the past several months — delivery boats, maintenance crews, Victor’s gaudy Sunseeker.
Even the security patrols that circled the series of manmade islands every forty-five minutes.
This one was new.
I lifted the binoculars again, my fingers tightening when I saw the man on board. Broad shoulders. Black clothes. Sunglasses. Leather gloves, despite the seventy-degree weather.
After he tied off the boat, he moved with precision toward the back gate, keying in a gate code like he’d been here before. I knew the code, but that was because I was able to hack their security system, which ended up not being as easy as I thought. So how did this guy have it?
Maybe he was a new employee. But I’d been watching Ariana and Victor Kane for months. I knew every single one of their employees and household staff. This wasn’t someone who worked for him. Even if it were, why the gloves?
No. This was someone else.
My grip on the binoculars tightened as I watched Ariana stand, brushing dirt from her jeans, completely oblivious to the man stalking toward her.
I couldn’t see everything through the line of palm trees and wrought-iron fence, but I saw enough to know that one second Ariana was standing, and the next she’d fallen to the ground.
He slung her limp form over his shoulder, striding down the dock and onto the boat. Not a single hesitation. Like this was planned.
I didn’t think. Didn’t wait. I started the engine and slipped into his wake, keeping a conservative distance as he navigated north. I didn’t call attention to myself. Not yet. I couldn’t spook him.
I kept my eyes pinned to the vessel ahead as we threaded past party boats and rental jet skis. Every idiot on the water was now a liability. He could vanish into this chaos if I lost him for even a second.
Eventually, the skyline gave way to rusted metal and forgotten industry — old boatyards and half-sunken pilings. He turned into a shadowed inlet near a cluster of warehouses. I coasted in behind a derelict tugboat, tying off in its shadow.
Then I waited. And watched.
He hauled her off the boat and disappeared into a corrugated metal structure that felt like it would fall apart if I breathed on it too hard.
I followed on foot, observing no cameras or any sign of security. Probably to make sure no one could track him. But that also meant no one would be able to track me.
Inside, the air was wet with mildew and oil. Beams of dusty light cut through the holes in the roof, illuminating floating particles. The stink of rot clung to everything — old rope, stagnant water, rusting steel.
I moved carefully between crates and stacked barrels, the floor slick beneath my shoes. Somewhere ahead, I heard movement.
Peeking around a barrel, I found him securing Ariana’s zip-tied wrists to a rusted pipe, the cement floor dirty and wet. Just as he finished, he paused, his eyes trained on a puddle by his feet.
Then he whirled around and pulled out a gun, pointing it directly at me. I kicked it out of his hand, the bullet flying past my ear. The gun clattered across the cement and disappeared beneath a crate.
He snarled, displaying his yellowing and cracked teeth, and lunged at me, yanking a knife from his belt. The first swipe was fast. Practiced.
I dodged left, the blade singing past my ribs. I countered with a quick jab to the throat, but he absorbed it, grinning as he lunged again.
He was trained, but not disciplined. All muscle, no strategy.
I had both. Training and discipline. Muscle and strategy.
I feinted left, then drove my elbow into his face, the sound of breaking bones echoing around me. He staggered back, spitting blood, but didn’t fall. He came at me again, faster and more powerful than before.
Was he military? Maybe. But I got the feeling it was something dirtier. His style reminded me of the way Gideon fought after spending five years forced to participate in underground death matches.
Something about this man made me think he was more accustomed to close-quarter combat, brutal and unforgiving.
We grappled. Fists. Elbows. Knees. It didn’t help that I was wearing swim trunks and boat shoes.
When he slashed at me again, I blocked with my forearm, wincing as the blade nicked skin. Blood slicked my arm, hot and fast, but I’d survived worse.
As he attempted to swipe at me again, I grabbed his arm and twisted until I heard his shoulder pop, then drove my knee into his gut.
He spit blood and tried to stab me again, raking my side with the blade.
I responded by driving my fist into his jaw. Once. Twice. The third strike cracked something.
He dropped the knife and went for my throat.
We struggled, breathing labored as we each fought for dominance. When he slipped on wet cement, he took me down with him. But before he could grab the knife, my fingers wrapped around the handle.
In one swift motion, I drove it into his side.
His scream echoed around us, but he kept moving. Kept fighting.
I stabbed him again, this time under the ribs.
He choked, eyes wide, blood bubbling up from his mouth as I shoved the blade in even further.
Finally, he went limp. I gave one last twist of the knife before standing, my hands coated in blood, chest heaving.
I didn’t stop to think. I turned to Ariana and cut her free. She slumped over like a rag doll. I caught her before her head hit the concrete, and pressed two fingers to her wrist. Finally, I felt it. Her pulse. It was dull and faint, but it was there.
I exhaled, pressing my forehead to hers.
Why did this relief feel so...sharp?
I wasn’t supposed to care about her. I didn’t care about her.
She was just leverage to me. A pawn. A tool in my game of revenge.
And yet, seeing someone else touch her, take her, had ripped something open in me. A crack. A fault line I didn’t know existed.
I lowered her to the floor and moved toward the now-deceased body. I rifled through his pockets for an ID, something to tell me who he was.
But there was nothing.
I turned my attention to a nearby duffel bag, finding what I estimated to be close to fifty thousand dollars inside. If I had any doubt about this being a kidnapping for hire job before, they were gone.
But who hired him?
Sure, I had my own plans to abduct Ariana, but I thought I was being smart and methodical about it. Had spent months watching, studying, analyzing. Planning the perfect attack.
Yet in all the months I spent watching, studying, and analyzing, I never noticed this man once.
Who was he? And what did he want with Ariana?
I rummaged through the bag to see if there might be any more clues. To my surprise, I stumbled on a cell phone in the side pocket. I doubted it would give me the answers I needed. It was probably a burner, a suspicion I confirmed when I saw the only apps it held were ones that came pre-installed.
Except for one.
There was one additional app built for encrypted, untraceable communication. I opened it and navigated to the single message thread. There were no names. Just a single letter.
F: Package acquired.
P: Any problems?
F: The operation went according to plan.
P: Send proof.
I clicked on the thumbnail of the photo to enlarge it, my jaw tightening at the image of Ariana bound and tied, her body thrown carelessly onto the floor of his boat. This was definitely an abduction for hire.
P: Instructions regarding drop point will follow. For now, keep the merchandise safe.
F: Copy.
My blood boiled in my veins, and I squeezed the phone in a vice-like grip. Why did seeing this bother me so much? Hadn’t I planned on doing the same thing?
I wasn’t thinking straight. But I did know one thing.
From the moment I decided to start down this path, Ariana Kane was mine.
And no one took what was mine.