JAX
A bumpy plane and a humid car ride later, we arrived at our first destination: Puerto Morelos. Mexico.
Already, our new job felt like a punishment. It was scorchingly hot, the locals were bitterly distrustful of tourists, and a dodgy sandwich at the airport was wreaking havoc on my guts. All in all, not the best start.
And that didn’t even factor in my beloved crew of hellions.
“Why are you walking like you sat on a garden rake?” Nate asked Ryle as we headed to our boat. The sun had barely risen, but already the locals were crowding the boardwalk. The smart ones kept clear of us.
Ryle stumbled up ahead, his eyes bruised with exhaustion. “Funny you mention it,” he snapped back at Nate. “Guess who was stuck in the room next to yours?”
Beside me, Callum snorted. “Poor kid.”
Our cash-in-hand motel had paper-thin walls. It wasn’t just Ryle who’d suffered—twice I’d woken up in a cold sweat to wailing moans and ramming headboards. It took everything I had not to punch straight through the drywall and kill them both.
The loud fucking I could handle. It was the screeching arguments in between that tested my patience. Nate and Zola fought like it was foreplay. The more they hurt each other, the harder they tried to make up for it.
“Don’t be a downer, dude,” Nate chirped back. “It’s my pregame ritual. I got to keep it up.” He slung an arm around Zola. “We took one for the team, right, baby?”
Zola shrugged him off. “Idiot.”
Ryle glared at them, looking like he was two seconds away from kicking them both off the boardwalk. I debated letting him right as my gut twinged.
Never trust airport tuna.
Thankfully, we made it to the boat and took off without a hitch.
I separated the idiots and tried to catch some much-needed shut-eye by curling up on some fishing crates.
That brilliant idea lasted until my tuna-baby kicked through my large intestines.
Groaning, I took up an irritable pace on the bow.
“At least it’s not a rowboat this time,” Callum remarked cheerily when he joined me.
“Barely,” I muttered. The trawler was made for fishing, not transporting six thieves and a cargo full of weapons and tech. Discretion was necessary, albeit often unpleasant. The deck was oily with fish guts, the smell an unwelcome prod at my uneasy digestive track.
“You look like shit,” Callum said without preamble. “More than usual.”
I rubbed the grit from my eyes and flipped him off with my other hand.
Then the wind changed, and with it came snatches of fresh foreplay from Nate and Zola. Give me a fucking break.
Callum cracked his knuckles. “Them two are doin’ my head in. They’re like siblings who fight and then fuck.”
I grimaced. “Can it with the incest talk. I’m already feeling woozy.”
“Seasick or sandwich?”
“Still sandwich. It’s putting up a fight.” I pressed my hand to my navel and felt the growing rumbles. “Pretty sure I’m losing.”
“Here.” Callum fished the box of camels from his pocket and revived the severely squashed soldiers within. We smoked in silence for a bit. My eyes grew heavy, lulled by the gentle rocking.
“I got a bad feeling,” I muttered. Part of me hoped he hadn’t heard me.
Callum took a long drag, then exhaled. “Me too.”
I wasn’t expecting that.
Any semblance of calm was instantly wiped out at his admission.
Callum wasn’t superstitious. He was my strategy guy.
He liked puzzles and riddles and won every single board game, a sore winner that was never humbled.
Scottish-born and stubborn as a mule, Callum would sooner stick pins in his eyes than admit defeat.
My gut cramped hard, adding insult to injury. “You haven’t said anything.”
Callum shrugged one massive shoulder. His ginger-blond hair glared white under the sun. “You know I don’t put much stock in feelings. I’m just a paranoid old fuck.”
We were the same age.
“Forget I said anythin’,” he said.
“Fat fucking chance.”
We were headed to an island thirty miles off the coast. The island reportedly had only one resident—our mark, Theodore Salvadore.
An eighty-two-year-old art dealer. Our intel on his residence was extremely limited—no images of the property itself, no satellite feed, no sale history or land titles, not even an address.
For all we knew, we were headed to a barren outcrop of rock and dunes.
The perfect place for a long, messy execution by our vengeful employer.
Callum’s large hand settled on my shoulder. “Seriously, Jax. Forget I said it. I’m just tired and grumpy.”
At my dubious squint, he grinned, then jostled me hard. “Look at us. We could be sweethearts right now. Jack and Rose on another charming voyage.”
I fought my smile and lost. “Which one of us is Rose?”
“Aye, me, obviously. Us redheads got to stick together.”
I finished my cigarette and made to flick it overboard when I caught myself. Ignoring Callum’s amused rumbles, I shoved the dead butt into my back pocket. Callum followed, his grin just on the side of shit-eating.
Then someone retched over the side of the boat. Callum and I exchanged a startled look—and then he was gone, the large man prowling like a cheetah across the trawler. I was slower to react, my own throat convulsing reflexively.
Ryle groaned where he was purging his demons over the side of the stern. “Kill me… please...”
“Deep breaths, lad,” Callum said, stroking his back. “You just got sea legs.”
Zola appeared on my right, already digging through one of our many packs. She pulled out a travel-sized packet of ginger cubes that I recognized from the plane. “Here, Ry. These will help.”
Ryle reached back with his hand and accepted the lifeline. Zola stood and gave me a sheepish look, which quickly shifted into concern. “You need some as well?”
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit. You’re greener than a sea monster.” She forced a packet into my palm. Under her hawkish glare, I shoved a handful of sugary cubes into my mouth.
“Where is your worst half?” I chewed, the silence and general peace suspicious.
Zola turned up her nose. “I exiled him to the cabin. He can annoy the old fisherman instead.”
Great. Our watery deaths were now imminent.
Zola turned furious eyes on me. “You should’ve heard what he said, Jax. He called me controlling. Me? Controlling? Just because I found out about his secret online—”
Ryle’s next retch was damn near music to my ears.
I swallowed and gripped the railing behind me. Nausea bubbled in my stomach. I closed my eyes and rode it out.
I felt the shadow before I saw him. A hand ghosted my side, there and gone.
I pried open one eye and croaked, “Hey.”
Madoc raised one brow derisively. “Hey.”
Madoc in the shade was beautiful. Madoc in the sun was breathtaking.
Tall, with windswept ink-black hair, unfairly sharp cheekbones, and a defined, silver-pierced brow.
Sea green eyes and a mouth that would’ve been considered soft without the cutting jawline.
The faintest spatter of pale freckles across his nose.
He wasn’t perfect—his stubble was patchy, and he got the occasional spell of acne when he overindulged on sugar.
He had a killer sweet tooth. Not that his body reflected his poor eating habits.
He was lean and cut, muscled without the bulk that I had.
I was unconventionally attractive, the roguish guy you’d fuck to get it out of your system. But Madoc—man, he was divine.
I only ever fucked women, but Madoc made me question things.
I didn’t like questioning things. It was what drove me to that threesome a few years ago—Madoc, me, and a beautiful redhead.
Naturally, it’d been a disaster. Just having Madoc in the room threw me off my game.
And to top it off, the poor girl between us had patted my head and cooed: “Next time you’ll do better, stud. ”
No next time. Never again.
Pain seared through my stomach. I grunted, wincing.
Madoc hovered without touching, a concerned dent forming between his brows. He wasn’t naturally expressive—his apathy was borderline certifiable—but I knew him well enough to read the tells.
I straightened with another wince. “Old man still happy?”
“He hasn’t killed Scooby Doo yet.”
“There’s still time.”
Madoc’s gaze slid over to Ryle and Callum. It felt like a blessing, a momentary reprieve from his needling attention. I took a breath. Forced my ribs to open and expand.
When I was confident I wasn’t going to blow chunks, I called for a debrief.
It was probably overkill—we’d already discussed the plan at length on the plane, and again over breakfast—but I couldn’t shake my dread.
Madoc went to fetch Nate while Ryle took measured breaths under Callum’s heavy-handed swats.
Zola munched on whatever other snacks she’d thrifted from the plane.
Few people could maintain an appetite while standing ankle-deep in fish guts and seasickness, but Zola was special.
She was nearly my height, with warm brown skin and thick black hair, braided in a way that made her striking and intimidating.
She was iron-willed and cunningly clever, even if she was prone to bouts of self-sabotage, notably her on-again, off-again relationship with Nate, our resident narcissist.
Speaking of the devil…
“Why so glum, chums?” Nate hollered as he pranced across the deck. His ability to read a room was, as always, spectacularly terrible.
Zola straightened, her hackles rising like a scorned black cat. “Are you high?”
“High on life, baby.”
A headache tugged at my temples. Nate and his fickle sobriety were an issue I’d set aside for another day.
That day kept jumping away from me. Interventions were always a disaster—none of us had any leg to stand on when it came to healthy coping mechanisms—but I knew something had to be done soon.
Nate was naturally hyper, sliding into mania when doped up.
“You’re such an idiot,” Zola snapped. “How could you think—wait, you never think. You are so selfish—”
“Not this again,” Nate groaned, raising his hand to shield against the sun.
It was a futile effort. He was already burnt, his face red and shiny where he’d tucked his chestnut hair behind his ears.
He was classically good-looking, an All-American boy from a fine pedigree.
His longer-than-usual hair was adorably rebellious, like a frat boy going through a punk phase and falling short.
His eyes were dilated and bloodshot. His grin was downright sharky.
I grabbed his collar and dragged him toward me like an errant puppy. “You better not be.”
His lip dropped in a playful pout. “Naw, don’t be mad, Dad. I promise I won’t get caught.”
Don’t strangle him. Don’t strangle him.
“How the fuck did you smuggle drugs through airport security?”
Nate shrugged awkwardly, still pinned by my fist. “I didn’t shelf them if that’s what you’re asking. I found a guy at the motel.”
My fist tightened, and for a sweet moment, I allowed my imagination to run wild. Seeing murder on my face, Nate started to wilt and shuffle nervously. “I was antsy, alright? The last job nearly killed me. It’s just to take the edge off, nothing else.”
I released him with a shove. “I’ll deal with you when we get back.”
Nate nodded, but already his mood was surging, his preppy grin returning.
Zola looked as murderous as I felt. “Let me drown him, Jax. No one will miss him.”
“Aw, babe.”
“Don’t touch me.”
“You liked it last night.”
“Well, I hoped you liked it too. Because it’s never happening again—"
Ryle retched so loudly, it was a wonder he didn’t pop an organ. “Please,” he begged them. “Please, god, just stop. I can’t listen to you anymore.”
Both Zola and Nate opened their mouths, but I cut them off before they could devolve into another pointless argument. “Enough. One more word and I’ll throw you both overboard.”
Zola scoffed in outrage but remained blissfully silent.
“The plan,” I said firmly, rubbing my eyes where they burned and burned. “Let’s go through it again. Scooby, you start.”
Nate smirked at the nickname. “Rest assured, little crows, I am the logistics wizard. Old man will drop us ashore and return at zero five hundred tomorrow. A light plane will be waiting for us at the International. I’ve even accounted for extra cargo.
” He gave himself a pat on the back for a job well done.
“Ugh,” Zola said with a shudder. “I hate light planes. It’s like flying in a tin can at fourteen thousand feet.”
“As long as we all fit this time,” I said, giving Nate a meaningful look. We all remembered the squashy hybrid we’d been forced to commandeer a few months ago. Poor Ryle had to curl up in the trunk.
Nate nodded cheerfully. “Got us an eight seater this time. Had to account for Big Foot over there.”
Callum flipped him off. “Just because I’m not a wee thing like you.”
“Oi. You haven’t seen my wee thing.”
“We’ve all seen your wee thing,” Ryle muttered thickly.
I snapped my fingers. “Focus. Zola, go.”
Zola stopped glaring long enough to run us through her tech speak—isolate, wipe, loop—the usual. “Network is through a satellite, so once I get past the encryption, it should be easy to hack in and shut down his surveillance.”
“Easy, she says,” Nate chortled.
Zola glanced at him, her mouth pursing. “Our mark is practically ancient, which means he’s either ridiculously tech savvy or thinks Bluetooth is a dental problem.”
“We consider both,” I said.
Ryle went next, between heaving gags. “We’re looking for a painting. Not sure of the exact dimensions, but considering it's worth a hundred million smackers, I’m thinking it’s big. Like, stuffy-royal-portrait big.”
“I don’t get art,” Nate said with a shake of his head.
“That’s because you, boyo, are an uncultured swine.
” Callum flashed his teeth at Nate’s affronted scoff.
Taking his cue, Callum straightened, one hand still plastered on Ryle’s back.
“Right. If the architectural drawings are accurate—and that’s a big if—then we’re lookin’ at five floors, the bottom ones reserved for the cellar and staff quarters.
Master suite on the top floor. Guest rooms in the middle.
” He paused, then added with a quick look in my direction: “We got nothin’ on the outside.
Could be simple, could be bloody Fort Knox. ”
“Madoc,” I said, feeling queasy again. Madoc ghosted to my side. I swallowed thickly and nudged him softly with my elbow.
Madoc rolled his eyes. “I’ll find a way in.”
Simple, confident. No hint of doubt in his ability to infiltrate any fortress. It would be arrogant if he weren’t so bloody good at it.
Ryle snapped upright. “There it is.”
The island was a mere bump on the horizon, a jagged shark fin, equally foreboding. Predatory. There was nothing else around it, just open water. We’d left civilization behind and were entering primitive territory. My gut clenched hot.
It felt like a final warning.
We’re so dead.
We sailed on.