Chapter 61
Rocco jolted forward, his body ricocheting off the walls of the sub as he tumbled to a stop near Lachlan.
“We have visitors,” Lachlan said with a calmness that belied the attack they were under.
Rocco scanned the row of pistols secured to the curved side wall of the sub and grabbed a Browning and a Beretta M9 from the rack. They’d brought more than enough fire power for an occasion such as this. It was a possibility they’d hoped wouldn’t occur but had prepared for—an ambush on the open seas by Ortiz and his men.
He secured the Browning in his waistband and gripped the Beretta M9 as he shifted closer to the hatch. He glanced back across the dimly lit cabin. Jemma was sprawled against the back of the vessel, clutching a side bench to stop herself from rolling back and forth from each jostle.
Rocco welcomed the chance to face off against Jemma’s nemesis. But this would be the last time. He would make sure of it.
“I’m going up,” Rocco announced.
“No, you’re outnumbered,” Lachlan said, pointing to the periscope.
Rocco peered through the narrow lens. Two heavily armed thugs hovered around the hatch, beating crowbars against the door trying to force it open. In the periphery, he could barely make out a speed boat racing alongside them. Waves sloshed over the view making it damn near impossible to discern how many more guards might be on the boat.
The banging on the hatch grew louder. The steel enclosure whined and squealed from the force to open it. The gunmen outside wouldn’t expect them to open the door and welcome them inside. A move that could work to Rocco’s advantage.
Scrambling up the ladder, he dislodged the latch and forced the hatch open. The night air rushed in to fill the suffocating space of the SPSS with its salty chill.
There was a loud grunt as one of the gunmen lost his balance. A splash followed as Rocco raced up the ladder, gun first. He fired at the other gunman, sending him into the waves of the Caribbean.
There were shouts from the speed boat, frantic yells lost in the crashing waves battering the SPSS. Rocco heaved his body higher, and turned to assess the situation.
A series of shots fired at him.
He ducked in time as the bullets hit the inside of the hatch door. Rising quickly, he fired a round of shots toward the speedboat, connecting with one guard who fell backward. Rocco lowered his body back inside the sub and shut the hatch.
A heavy thud rocked the boat.
Rocco surmised another one of Ortiz’s men had jumped on top of the sub to pick up where the others left off. He eased up slowly, ready to take the man out when shots came from the distance, riddling the man’s chest as he toppled into the water.
Gunplay continued across the ocean from invisible weapons in the dark of night. Sebastian’s voice came through on the comms. “I took out the other two guards on the speedboat. The captain is left. No sign of Nomar?—”
Another thud shook the sub. Heavy footsteps came closer to the hatch.
“Speak of the fucking devil,” Sebastian screamed through the comms. Shots were fired. “Damn it, I missed. Too far away. Can’t get a clean shot.”
“I’ll take it from here,” Rocco said. He felt the hatch give way beneath a relentless force. An iron grip clamped around his shoulders, pulling him out into the open. His hand banged against the metal opening, dislodging the Beretta M9 from his grip. Rocco fell backward onto the top of the sub from the force, his boots slipping on the narrow, slick unstable vessel.
The waves crested and fell with furious energy around them as the SPSS was tossed between the waters. The white foam caught the moonlight in brief flashes of silver. The sub rocked violently at the mercy of the sea’s whims, its movements unpredictable and sharp. Each wave that crashed against the hull sent spray flying, soaking both men. The salt stung Rocco’s eyes as he fought to free himself from Ortiz’s death grip.
Despite deafening roar of the raging waters around them, the man’s anger-filled words were crystal clear. “You’re a fucking fool for taking Jemma from me. I should have killed you in Samana. I won’t make that mistake again.”
Nomar wasted no time, his first punch like a battering ram to the stomach. Rocco tucked his body absorbing the sickening pain of the blow. He slid perilously close to the edge. Below, the dark abyss of the sea beckoned for a misstep to claim another victim to its bowels.
Rocco shifted to regain his balance. Nomar had sprung to his feet, stalking toward him with surprising balance on the slick hull.
Biding his time, Rocco calculated his next move. Every maneuver, every grapple, every strike, had to be carefully executed amidst the sub’s erratic dance with the waves. Rocco swiftly rolled to a crouch, then stood, stumbling with small steps to maintain his balance on the slippery deck.
Nomar was on him in seconds, executing a litany of punches in succession. Rocco countered each, then landed a few, pushing Nomar further back from the hatch. The fight was surreal, stretching and warping as the sub tilted and jerked through the chaotic waves. His balance adjusted out of necessity, keeping him upright as Nomar landed a hard blow to his chin and a few jabs to his kidney. The pain damn near knocked the wind out of him, but he remained upright, fueled by the ultimate motivation—the sound of Jemma’s voice crying out to him.
His head jerked toward the sound.
“Rocco!” Jemma screamed again, her face lined with fear yet strong. Her eyes locked on his, willing to survive and take down the threat she’d sought to vanquish for years.
It was for Jemma, for their shared hope of ending this long-waged war to embark on a new life with each other, that he found the strength to push back against Nomar.
Rocco forged ahead, slamming his fist in the center of Nomar’s face. The man was stunned but didn’t stumble. The waves crashed against them with impartial cruelty. Rocco pressed faster, executing two more blows to the man’s face. Nomar absorbed the blows and countered by ramming into Rocco. They fell backward onto the hull, Rocco pinned to the sub by Ortiz’s weight. A harsh pain pierced Rocco’s back. As he struggled to get the man off him, he remembered the Browning he’d tucked in his waistband.
With a renewed strategy, Rocco let go of Ortiz and took a blow to the chest. Ortiz reeled backward, gripping Rocco to toss him over the side of the SPSS. When the man made his move, Rocco grabbed his weapon. Sliding overboard, his finger found the trigger.
The force of the bullets slammed into Ortiz. He careened over the opposite side of the sub into the sea.
As the tepid waters of the Caribbean sucked Rocco under, the last sound he heard was the tortured beautiful cry of Jemma, screaming his name.