Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
Weapon raised, every sense on high alert, Jaz followed Duck up a steep staircase to the rear deck, then down the steps into the salon.
Wright’s voice boomed from the sound cannon, demanding the yacht cut its engines or suffer the pulse again.
The engines were cut. With the noise of them silenced, Jaz could hear faraway shouting. He couldn’t make out the words.
And then gunshots sounded, but Wright and Splat were too far away for anyone to accurately aim. They should be safe, and Martinez and Auggie would still be shadows in the darkness, unseen. Assuming all was going according to plan.
It could work, but Jaz wasn’t about to calculate the odds.
The living area was all polished teak and leather. And empty, so it seemed.
Duck moved forward like the commando he was, clearing the space silently—behind the wet bar, around the sofa, checking the shadows where the pale lamplight didn’t reach.
Jaz situated himself beside the interior staircase that led down to the cabins, his back to a wall, letting the professional do the job.
A creak of wood sounded from the staircase. And then a man emerged, one of Magras’s thugs, the one Jaz had nicknamed Pizza Face. His eyes went wide when he saw Jaz, confusion quickly giving way to understanding.
Jaz grabbed his wrist before he could draw his weapon and twisted hard. Though it would’ve been easier to shoot him, the goal was to be silent and stealthy.
Pizza Face grunted, tried to throw a punch with his free hand, but Jaz blocked it with his forearm and drove a knee into his gut, doubling him over.
He was strong, though. He grabbed Jaz’s shirt and yanked, trying to throw him off balance. Jaz struggled to get the upper hand.
Then a thwack, and Pizza Face crumpled.
Standing behind him, Duck raised the butt of his gun and whacked him again.
The thug went limp.
Jaz released him, breathing hard, his ribs throbbing. “Thanks.”
Duck lifted Pizza Face’s ankles. “We gotta move him out of sight.”
Jaz grabbed him by the armpits, and they carried him behind the sofa where he wouldn’t be visible unless someone was looking. Not a permanent solution, but it would do for now.
Jaz grabbed the guard’s weapon, then retrieved his own—he’d dropped it during the scuffle—and nodded toward the stairs.
Duck descended and Jaz followed, happy to let the professional soldier call the shots.
The lower deck was narrow but still luxurious. The owner’s suite and guests’ cabins would be close to the salon.
A man’s voice, raised and angry, sounded from the far end, where the crew’s quarters would be located.
Duck held up a fist, and they pressed against the wall, listening.
“Tell me how you did it!” The accent was French, the English clipped and furious. It was Knuckles, the most vicious of Magras’s guards. “Who is coming?”
His voice was loud. The sound cannon must’ve done a number on his hearing. On everyone’s, Jaz figured. That could only be helpful.
Duck opened a cabin door behind him. Jaz peeked in. The light was on. Bed, table, closet. Someone’s things. But nobody was there. He whispered, “Empty.”
“Go.”
Duck and Jaz slipped inside, flicking the light off. They didn’t close the door. Duck held onto it to keep it from swaying with the movement of the boat.
“Tell me!” Knuckles shouted.
“I didn’t do anything!” It was Kenzie, terrified—and alive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
A sharp crack—palm against skin. Jaz’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. He must’ve started to move because Duck gripped his wrist, holding him in place.
“What’s done is done.” That was Magras’s voice. The man’s careful, casual tone was gone. He sounded as frightened as Kenzie, though he was trying harder to hide it. “He wants her on the bridge.”
Jaz whispered, “We can’t let them get that far.”
Duck nodded. “I’ll go to the other end. We’ll flank them.”
“What’s the plan?”
He shrugged. “We wing it.” He slipped into the corridor and down the hall, stepping into a room nearly at the end.
“We don’t work for him.” Knuckles was furious. “She killed Dom. You’re just gonna let her live?”
Kenzie had killed Dom…Bruiser? Jaz wanted to hear that story.
“We’re going to let it play out,” Magras said.
“He’s going to get us all killed!” A different voice, one Jaz didn’t recognize. There were at least three men with Kenzie.
“I’ll figure it out. Take her.”
Shuffling sounds. A door opened. Footsteps in the corridor, coming toward him.
He had seconds. Would Duck show himself first? Should he?
The footsteps grew louder.
He couldn’t let them pass.
He stepped into the hallway, gun raised. “Stop.”
The men did. The one in front went for his gun. Jaz didn’t know this one, not that it mattered.
“Don’t do it.” Jaz’s voice was ice. “Hands where I can see them. All of you.”
Nobody moved.
The corridor felt impossibly narrow, the air thick with tension. Jaz could hear his own heartbeat, could see the calculation in Magras’s eyes.
Behind him, gripping Kenzie with that meaty grip, Knuckles glared at him with pure hatred. “Traitor.”
Jaz’s gaze flicked to Kenzie. Her shirt was covered in blood.
But she was alive. So far.
He spoke to Knuckles. “I was never on your side, man.” He nodded to Magras. “Neither is he. He’ll sacrifice every single one of you to get out of this.”
“I trusted you.” Magras had the nerve to look betrayed, as if Jaz owed him anything.
“Your mistake.”
“Maybe, but also I think your mistake, coming alone.” The man smiled, showing teeth. “Your odds are not good, my friend.”
“I’m not playing odds, and I’m not your friend.” Jaz kept his aim steady on the lead guard’s chest. This would be a really good time for Duck to duck out of hiding. Where was he? “I’m a good shot. So unless you want to find out which one of you I take first, you’ll let her go.”
Knuckles laughed. “You shoot, she dies.” He shifted Kenzie in front of him like a shield, one arm locked around her throat. His other hand came up holding a pistol, the barrel pressed to her temple.
Jaz aimed at the thug’s head. “Hurt her and there’s nowhere on this earth you can hide from what comes next.”
“Big words.” The lead man reached for his weapon. He was younger than the rest with studs in his ears. “But I think you will drop your gun now. Or we will paint the wall with her blood.”
Kenzie’s eyes met his. Terror, yes—but something else too. Trust. She trusted him to get her out of this.
God, if You’re listening…
Three guns against one. Kenzie with a barrel pressed to her head. No backup. No options.
“Your weapon.” The lead man’s voice hardened. “On the ground. Now.”
Jaz didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
The standoff stretched into eternity.