JAX
The old man dumped us onto the private dock and sailed away without looking back. Ryle collapsed onto his knees and kissed the sand reverently. “Never again,” he pledged. None of us had the heart to remind him of the repeat journey tomorrow morning.
The island wasn’t what I expected. No swirling rain clouds and violent winds; no crossbones or unmarked graves of long-dead sailors.
Instead, it was downright picturesque. An oasis of palm trees, bright white sand, and rolling green mountains.
The air was sweet and exotic. A manmade track split through the treeline, like it was welcoming us to the island.
“Damn,” Nate said with a whistle. “I’m about to find me some Cabana girls—ow!”
A smug Zola dumped the packs onto the sand. “I’m not carrying all the tech,” she said, and delegated the heavier packs to Nate. We each took one while Zola unzipped a small silver suitcase and began unloading the gear.
It was standard protocol to use a drone to scope out the property. But not a minute later, Zola groaned and jabbed angrily at the drone. “It’s dead,” she said. “Someone forgot to pack the power bank.”
I frowned at her. “Check again.”
She came up empty. “How did we forget this?” she asked incredulously. “That’s, like, one oh one.”
Because we are off our game. Because it is a trap. Because this whole thing is doomed.
A deep, uncomfortable tightness settled in my chest. “Leave it,” I said. “We’ll just have to go in blind.”
“Ew,” Ryle said. He squinted up at me, shading his eyes. “You don’t look so hot, Jax.”
“Says you, puke monkey.”
He laughed, and just like that, the tightness eased.
I scanned the beach for Madoc. A moment later, he stepped out from the shadows of the palm trees, his face lowered, a gun held loosely in his left hand. No threats found.
I watched him without watching him. He’d removed his oversized sweatshirt and knotted it around his waist. His inked arms were on display; a majestic crow on his left elbow, wings embracing his impressive bicep.
His other arm was a network of barbed wire and stemmed roses, ending at his shooting hand where a skull grinned rose petals.
It was morbid as hell and pure him. Dark, deadly, and bitterly romantic.
My own ink told a similar story. I had each of their names on my skin.
Callum on my bicep. Strength. Zola on my hand.
Intelligence. Ryle on my ribs. Compassion.
Nate on my collarbone. Charisma. Madoc on my shoulder blade.
Protection. I had a crow behind my right ear that I scratched at like a nervous tic. It already felt raw as hell.
“Wait,” Zola said as we shouldered our packs. Already the sun was hotter, bleaching the world around us. She tapped away on a portable device. “Alright. Our mark is officially in the sky. His plane boarded twelve minutes ago.”
“We got eyes on him?” Callum asked.
Zola confirmed: “Private Jet chartered to a Mr. Theodore Salvadore, destination Cancun International. Arrival time is six am, Sunday.”
“Twenty hours, give or take,” I said. Plenty of time to get in and out. The isolation continued to bother me. If everything went to shit, we’d be trapped. No quick getaway, no clean escape.
Shaking my head, we headed into the island. A fork appeared ten minutes into the rainforest. I considered both, staring hard left and right. Without the drone, all I had was guesswork.
“Left,” Madoc said. He took the lead without question.
The heat intensified. The air became thick and soup-like. Nate kept up a constant stream of babble—“I’ve heard the spider monkeys here can give you herpes” and “…say what you want, herpes or not, it would still be cool to keep one”—as we bashed our way through the foliage.
Then we were climbing. My thighs burned, and sweat ran in rivulets down my back. Madoc lost his shit and swung a branch directly into Nate’s motormouth. The resulting scuffle was short-lived, a victorious Madoc falling into step beside me. The silence was brief.
“Soldier Island!” Callum crowed suddenly, like he’d been struggling for some time to find the words. At our questioning looks, the large man wiped his brow and said: “It’s been buggin’ me for hours, what this all reminds me of. It’s Agatha Christie.”
“Who?” Nate asked, still petulant as he rubbed his jaw.
“Who? Who!” Callum made an aggrieved sound. “Aye, the American education system triumphs once again. You, lad, need to visit the shelves once in a blue moon. It’d do wonders for ya’ wooden head.”
“I’ll have you know, ginger, that I attended some of the finest institutions in the country.”
“For all the good it did ya’.”
Zola wisely stepped in between them before Nate decided to throw himself at the larger man. “I think I read that one in juvie,” she said thoughtfully. “From memory, ten strangers are called to a mysterious island by some rich white dude who picks them off one by one.”
“Hey. Spoiler,” Ryle protested from the rear.
“It is kinda spooky,” Zola remarked. “Salvadore has properties all over the world, but he chooses this place as his main residence. Nobody needs this much privacy unless they’re up to no good.”
“Maybe he’s running secret lab experiments,” Nate said excitedly.
“For the hundredth time, Jurassic Park isn’t going to happen.”
“Bite your tongue, Muggle.”
Nate started loudly humming the Jurassic Park soundtrack.
My right eye twitched in annoyance. Madoc grabbed another branch, but Nate dodged his next swing. It was around his fourth verse that we struck gold. The path ahead cleared, paved steps built in. There was a notable glimmer above, like sun glare on a windscreen. We were close.
Madoc stayed at my back as we climbed. Nate went behind him, still humming obnoxiously. I kept an ear out for Ryle at the tail.
Between one blink and the next, the house appeared.
It was definitely no humble cabin. Five stories tall, half-embedded in the mountain like the rock had eroded around it over time. Large panoramic windows and a long, wraparound porch. Big stone pillars and arches. Ugly as fuck decorative statues that looked like lumps of granite.
In other words, it was a goldmine. Pretentious, isolated, and full of priceless junk. A younger me would’ve raided every nook and pissed on his silk pillows.
“Damn,” Nate said between blustering pants. “Call me Goldilocks. I’m trying out the beds.”
“Yo’ baby bear.” I grabbed Nate’s arm and hoisted him up the remaining steps. “What’s that look like over there?” I pointed to the left side of the property.
Nate squinted through his sweat-stiff locks. “That…is a helicopter pad, boss.”
A groan traveled through the group.
Nate held out his hands in exasperation. “How the fuck was I supposed to know? We had limited intel, remember?”
“Logistics wizard, my freckled ass.” Callum helped Ryle up the last few steps. “We’re revoking your wand. It’s back to maintenance for you, boyo.”
I watched Ryle with concern. He was too pale, and he kept blinking like he’d been flashed. Brain auras. I knew them well, usually after a concussion or a bad hangover. I dipped my head to catch his eye. “Hey, you with us, Sunbeam?”
“Stomach still hurts,” he admitted, clutching his middle. “I’ll be good in a minute.”
A chrome water bottle was thrust between us. “Drink,” Madoc said. I hadn’t heard him move.
Ryle shook his head. “Nah, really, I’m fine.”
“Drink.”
“But I have barf mouth.”
Madoc’s eyes narrowed. “Drink or I’ll waterboard you. Choose quickly.”
Ryle snapped up the bottle and chugged it.
As we moved back to the front of the group, I smirked at Madoc. “Waterboarding, huh?”
Madoc’s own mouth ticked up faintly. “Junior needs a firm hand.”
“It’s just zero to all-out torture with you.”
Madoc shrugged. He faced the mansion and began silently mapping the access points. I left him to it, knowing his mind had already disengaged from me. Meanwhile, Zola was merrily ripping Nate a new one for his careless oversight.
“The guy is, like, a hundred years old, Nate! Did you really think he was going on a four-mile hike every time he came home?”
Nate glared at her. “A chopper isn’t exactly conspicuous, is it?”
“The less time we’re here, the better, dingus. We could’ve planned a backup.”
I rubbed my face tiredly. “Jesus, morons. Enough.”
Not for the first time, I considered knocking their heads together and banning them from fucking. If I were smart, I’d enforce the no-relationship rule like some of the other crews under Dr. Z’s syndicate. I’d bet my left nut the Japanese Vipers didn’t tolerate shit like this.
Because you’re soft, my father’s words jabbed at me inside my head. Soft and weak, boy.
Inwardly wincing, I turned my back on them. At least I had Madoc. He looked at me with nothing but bored determination. My dependable soldier.
“Remember,” Zola said as we each slipped in our covert earpieces. “These are only short-range because we’re in the middle of nowhere. Don’t stray too far or we’ll lose you.” She gave Nate a pointed look.
He grinned and plastered himself to her side. “Don’t worry, beautiful. I’m sticking to you like wet on bread.”
“That’s not even a thing.”
I raised my hand toward Madoc, then paused. After a short nod, I gave his bare shoulder a squeeze. His skin was hot beneath my palm. “You got this?”
Madoc removed his trademark face bandana from his back pocket, black with white roses. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”
I grinned at him.
Once Zola disabled the alarm system, Madoc ducked beneath the canopy and disappeared into the thick brush surrounding the mansion. I listened to his careful breathing in my ear, matching it to my own. Heartbeat to heartbeat.
What felt like an eternity later, he confirmed: “I’m in.”
I checked my watch. “Six minutes, Sparrow. Not bad.”
“Shut up.”
I did, biting back another grin.
Showtime.