Chapter Forty-Six
REID
THE STORM IS beating the hell out of us and the marina by the time Tate and I get the loose boat secured. Waves crash on the docks, thunder rumbles like artillery. Rain is coming down sideways, pelting us like knives.
I should feel relieved to have the boat secure, but something feels off. The lights in The Drift Net never turned on.
Emery.
“Where’s Emery?” I say aloud, feeling panic surge through me.
“Wasn’t she going to The Drift Net?” Tate asks, shaking the water out of his eyes.
“The lights are off. Why would she sit in the dark?” I’m already heading toward it, Tate following behind me.
“Did we lose power?” he calls.
Our gazes shift to the streetlamp on the corner. It’s flickering but it’s on.
“No. Maybe she’s in the bait shop.” My pulse spikes. I jog toward the bait shop desperate to find her and stop dead in my tracks.
A bait box reading DRIFTWOOD MARINA lies overturned in the mud, but it’s not holding bait. Instead, a small mountain of cocaine. Neatly wrapped, dry and protected—banded together in small bricks.
We’ve got proof now. And then my heart sinks.
Proof that my own marina is being used in a drug running operation.
And I’m the only one who didn’t know about it.
Lightning tears across the sky as I whip around, somehow knowing he’s behind me. I shove the brick hard into Tate’s chest. “What the fuck is this?”
His face goes pale. “Reid—listen.”
“You fucking lied to me, man.” Fury runs through me, hot and blinding. “You’ve been moving drugs through your own marina? Our marina?”
“It’s not what it looks like,” Tate stammers.
“The fuck it isn’t. You’ve got crates of coke here, Tate.”
His shoulders sag, defeated. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” I growl. “God, you put Emery right in harm’s way. You acted like you didn’t know, and not only did you know, you had a fucking hand in it. And now Kayla’s missing. Goddamn it.”
“I thought I could handle it.” His voice cracks. “It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”
“Yeah. Well, it did.” I rake my hand through my hair and turn away from him. “God, where is she? She wouldn’t wander off like this.”
A beat of silence passes, the only sounds are the heavy rain and the roar of the bay.
“Did you hear that?” Tate asks, taking a step back in the direction we came.
I follow, listening for what he heard. Then the sound cuts me in half.
Someone calling for help. It’s faint, maybe even muffled, but it’s coming from a person who is terrified. There’s no mistaking that.
Then I hear something else—a scream. Someone wailing.
The rain has lessened, thinning into heavy sheets instead of a wall of water. It gives me just enough visibility to see what’s happening.
A thin coil of smoke rises near the storage sheds. Without thinking, I bolt in that direction, splashing through rising water. The acrid scent of gasoline punches me in the face and now I know. Gasoline in a hurricane? This was deliberate.
“Help!” their cries come, louder now that I’m closer.
“Reid!” Tate yells behind me. “I’ll call it in.”
I don’t bother to answer. I’m desperate to find my girl.
The fire is in the third shed.
“No,” I mutter. “No, no, no. Emery!”
“Reid,” she croaks, her voice weak. “We’re in here.”
“Emery, I’m right here. Stand back.” I slam my shoulder into the door—it rattles but doesn’t budge. Then I see it’s padlocked. Looking around for something to break it open, I see it. The rusty anchor leaning against a dock post. “Hang on, girls.”
I heft the anchor and swing with every ounce of strength I have. The impact reverberates through my bones. Again. And again, until the frame cracks. A third hit splinters the wood enough for me to kick through the rest.
The door bursts inward.
Smoke billows out. Flames flicker under the wall, crawling along a trail of gasoline.
They’re huddled in the corner. Emery shielding Kayla with her body, flashlight trembling in her hand, a mix of fear and relief flooding her features.
Relief hits me so hard it staggers me. “Come on, both of you! Let’s go.”
Emery pulls Kayla up by her arm and I haul them both out, several yards away from the smoke. They’re coughing and Kayla sobs into my shirt. An ambulance pulls up just as the cutting sound of an engine roars to life, loud enough to cut straight through the storm.
A jet ski.
Atlas.
“Come on,” I bark at Tate. “You’re driving.”
“Don’t go,” Emery cries. “Please. Don’t leave me.”
“Colt will be here any minute,” I say. “We have to.”
“Reid,” Tate says, hesitating.
I glare at the man I once considered a brother. “You got us into this—you’re going to get us out of it. This ends tonight.”
Atlas’s jet ski is disappearing into the dark by the time we reach the end of the dock. Tate hesitates, and I know why. It’s dangerous out there. Rain needles my face, but the storm has eased enough to see across the channel.
“Reid,” Tate tries again.
“Move,” I grind out.
We jump into the boat and Tate fires the engine. We tear down the channel, the hull slapping hard against the choppy water. Atlas’s red taillights gleam ahead, a single, jerking beacon toward Langford’s boatyard.
I should have fucking known.
I should have known when he showed up here no good would come of it.
“He’s heading to the inlet,” Tate shouts. “That leads to the back of the boatyard.”
“Punch it!”
He does as he’s told, the engine screaming, and we close in fast—too fast. Atlas turns back, sees us gaining on him and guns the jet ski harder.
But the channel narrows, there is debris in the water everywhere—driftwood, rope, a random cooler.
Atlas struggles to dodge it all at a high speed.
Tate nearly crashes into a floating log.
Atlas zigzags sharply in and out avoiding wreckage in his way.
“Cut him off at those pilings,” I shout, pointing to my right.
Tate turns violently, water spraying in a full arc. We forge ahead, intercepting Atlas’s line just as he reaches the pilings.
“Box him in!” I bark.
Atlas tries to weave around us, but without enough room, his jet ski clips our stern.
He fishtails sideways, and he yanks the handlebars too late.
The jet ski slams into a piling at full speed.
We hear a deafening crack as fiberglass explodes, and the jet ski vaults upward before flipping over and tossing Atlas into the rocky water.
My chest seizes.
“Kill the engine,” I yell.
Tate does it instantly.
I kneel on the swimming platform, my eyes scanning the chop. “Atlas!” I shout.
Nothing.
I call for him again and a moment later, his head surfaces. He gasps, choking on rain and bay water, reaching for the piling.
“Take my hand,” I shout, reaching for him.
He glares at me, his eyes wild and unfocused with a mix of rage and terror.
“You don’t get it,” he growls, his teeth pink with blood. “Langford will bury you. All of us.”
“Shut up and take my damn hand,” I yell.
Atlas doesn’t take my hand though, instead he lunges for me, trying desperately to pull me into the water with him. His nails dig into my bicep, fingers twisting into the collar of my windbreaker.
“Reid,” Tate grunts, grabbing the back of my jacket.
Then Atlas’s grip slips and he slams into the piling again. This time he catches his head on the corner.
“Atlas!” I shout, my eyes searching the water. But it’s dark and unforgiving and the only thing I see now is a swirl of red blood at the surface.
Atlas doesn’t come up after a minute. Not after three. The storm takes him without ceremony.
“He’s gone,” Tate murmurs, clapping me on the shoulder.
I recoil out of his grasp. “We need to get back now.”
Tate nods and moves toward the helm. I move to the back of the boat and collapse onto a seat, suddenly bone-tired and freezing.
We turn toward the marina, the channel only lit by the soft blue of navigation lights as late afternoon turns to evening.
But as we get closer, I see them. Tidehaven Police Department cruisers, lit up, surrounding my marina.
The marina that has become a home to me.
Tate eases the boat into the slip, and I hop out before it’s even tied off, my eyes scanning the crowd for Emery. When my eyes find her, she’s sitting in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a wool blanket, Kayla beside her talking to her mother and an EMT.
When Emery’s gaze catches mine, she runs.
I meet her halfway and she crashes into me, knocking the wind out of me. Sobs wrack her small frame, and I wrap her in my arms, cradling the back of her head.
“You’re okay,” I murmur into her hair. “I’ve got you.”
“You went after him,” she chokes.
“I had to.” My throat tightens. “But he won’t hurt you anymore.”
We turn at the sound of Tate’s boots behind us. His shoulders are hunched, like there’s no fight left in him.
Colt greets him at the end of the dock. His jaw is set, hard and focused. The look he gets when he’s about to do something no one’s going to like. In his hand is a clear evidence bag. I immediately recognize its contents—a block of cocaine.
“We need to talk,” Colt says, pushing his lips together.
Tate avoids my eyes and instead meets Colt’s.
My stomach drops.
“I found this near your bait shed, and plenty more inside. Crates of it. Want to tell me why you’re hoarding hundreds of thousands of dollars in narcotics in your shed?” His voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be.
Tate’s gaze lifts to mine. I’ve been looking at this guy my whole life—across the table in the cafeteria, running through marsh muck as rambunctious boys, working side by side on our docks. This look is different. This one holds an apology in it. And maybe…relief?
“Tell me it’s not what it looks like,” I say quietly.
He swallows, his eyes tearing. “I can’t.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. The words are a punch to the gut.
“I thought I could keep you out of it,” he says, his voice rough. “I’m sorry.”
He lifts his hands slowly, wrists together, and holds them out to Colt.
Colt lets out a defeated sigh. “Jesus Christ.” He nods once and pulls the cuffs from his belt. “Tate Maddox—you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”
I turn, unable to watch my best friend be escorted away by my other friend in handcuffs.
Dale Langford is standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets like he’s just out for an evening walk in a hurricane instead of gleefully watching my best friend get hauled off.
“Hell of a day,” he drawls. His gaze darts to Emery, then back to me. “I bet it rattles you, huh? Finding out your buddy’s been aiming for your girl behind your back.”
The words land sharp. Dale studies my reaction a little too closely—like he’s cataloging it.
Emery moves behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist.
I cover her hand with mine. “Get the hell off my dock, Langford.”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just saying, people aren’t always who you think they are.”
“I didn’t ask you,” I grit, taking a step closer to him. Emery clings to me.
He raises his palms like I’m overreacting. “Relax, Morgan. Cops got who they wanted. Case closed, right?”
I don’t answer. I just stare at him until the smile falls from his mouth. He backs up a step, then two, before turning and disappearing down the dock.
I watch him go. Emery’s arms circle my ribs, keeping me anchored while the grief hits—sharp, sudden, suffocating. Tate isn’t dead, but it sure as hell feels like I just buried him.
The rain has lightened to a mist now, soft and steady. The storm is over, but the air still feels charged. I keep my eyes locked on the water. I don’t know what to do with any of this yet.
“Reid?” Emery’s voice jerks me back to the dock. “Are you okay?”
I look down and see her blue eyes are full of worry.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “But you and Kayla are safe and Atlas is gone. So, it’s a start.”
She nods and slips her arms around my waist, pressing her cheek to my chest. I pull her in against me, grounding myself in her warmth, her weight, the steady rhythm of her breathing.
This night took a lot from me. But it didn’t take her.
I stare out at the boatyard across the water, the place Atlas was racing toward. Probably to tell Langford the deed was done. Then the storm and his own terrible choices caught up with him.
Langford is still out there.
And for the first time, I know—with cold, clear certainty—that this won’t end with a few bricks of cocaine and one dead mule.
This is bigger. Deeper. Rotten all the way down.
He thinks he owns this town because he’s protected by the ones who do.
But he has no idea the lengths I’ll go to prove him wrong.