by Kate Kinsley
“We need to do something,” I mouth.
Dalton nods.
He looks around behind the bar and finds a knife. It’s small – probably used to cut fruit, but it’ll do.
Dalton takes his right hand and places his palm down. Moving his arm up and down, I know he wants to drop to a crawl position. Crouching on all fours, I follow him toward the opening of the bar. He peers his head around just enough to see the hostages and the hostiles. Holding up three fingers, I know there are three hostiles.
Fuck.
I was hoping for even numbers.
Just as well.
Makes it a little more of a challenge, but Dalton and I won’t have a problem.
Dalton turns back for a beat. “Try not to make too much noise,” he mutters.
“I’ll do my best.”
He holds up three fingers and does a silent countdown. Once he’s made a fist, we make our move.
We stay low to the floor, and as luck would have it, their backs are to us. Unfortunately, the hostages aren’t, and their heads swinging toward us are a sure-fire giveaway.
Both of us spring upward. I take the guy to the right, Dalton to the left.
Dalton has a reverse grip on his knife. As the hostile turns to defend himself, he leaves his neck wide open. Within a split second, Dalton’s knife moves like butter across his throat. The victim’s first instinct is to bring their hands to their throat to stop the bleeding – but it won’t. Even if the knife was dull and doesn’t immediately kill him, he can’t scream. But Dalton used extreme force, and I’m pretty sure we won’t have to worry about him anymore.
One down.
My hostile attempts to raise his assault rifle and fire, but I’m too quick. I grab it by the barrel and yank, then thrust forward. The butt of the gun cracks him across the nose and stuns him long enough for me to spin behind him and twist his neck until I hear the snap. He collapses like a pile of bricks.
Two down.
The five seconds it took for Dalton and me to incapacitate the two men wasn’t enough time for the third to react. He’s farther into the room and didn’t see the hostage’s reactions to our presence. By the time he realizes we’re in the room, he’s dead.
Three.
“Jason!” Beca screams.
I spin toward her voice. She’s tied up on the floor next to Ava.
I fall to my knees, but Dalton beats me to them. He unties Ava and hands her the knife. “Untie the hostages. Jase and I need to take care of the rest of these assholes.”
As Ava sets Beca free, she crawls into my arms. “Jason, I was so scared,” she sobs.
Rage like I’ve never felt starts burning inside of me.
No one threatens to hurt my Beca.
No one.
They’re lucky they didn’t lay a hand on her.
I hold her tight, but I can’t stay.
“Baby, you need to stay with Ava. I have to go.”
“Jason, there’s something I need to tell you,” she whispers through tears.
“Later,” I assure her.
“But what if there isn’t a later?” she demands, her tear-stained eyes pleading with me to stay.
That was always what I was afraid of – but I’m not afraid today. Helping her stand, I take her hands in mine. “I slipped my heart into your pocket the first day I met you,” I inform her, pulling her close. “So, whether it beats another day or a thousand years,” I whisper just under her ear. “It’s all yours.” I felt an urge to do something, to comfort her, but also myself, but she beats me to it.
Her lips brush mine.
Not innocently, like a tease but hot, fiery, passionate and demanding.
I want to pull away before I lose myself, but I can’t seem to.
“Jase, we gotta go,” Dalton urges.
When we break apart, I rest my forehead against hers. “I’ve gotta go, baby.”
Releasing her, I take a step back. Dalton hands me one of the assault rifles, and I make sure it’s stocked with ammo. When I’m satisfied, I give him a nod.
“Please be careful,” she whispers, tears still streaming down her face.
“I’ll be right back,” I insist. “You’ll see.”
Dalton slings the third rifle over his shoulders and we set off to find the rest of the hostiles. I have complete faith in leaving Beca with Ava – she’ll take care of her.
“Which floor do you think they’re on?” I mutter low.
“I’m guessing up top?” Dalton whispers. “We’ve got a fifty-fifty shot either way.”
“Top it is.” I move so I’m a step behind him. No one is going to sneak up on us.
“Alright, let’s do this. Watch your six,” Dalton warns, looking straight ahead. “Go slow and steady.”
I tap him once on the right shoulder, and we’re on the move. We take step after step with caution. Once he’s high enough to see, he puts his arm up with his elbow down and hand in a fist. I stop and wait for his signal. He holds up three fingers in order and touches the inside of his left wrist. Then one finger and places his hand up by his throat.
Three hostiles.
One hostage.
That’s six hostiles…where is hostile number seven?
And where is Cookie?
Dalton gives the all clear signal and we advance slow. Once we’re at the top, we crouch down behind the hot tub. This gives us a view of the entire upper deck all the way to the bow. Three armed men stand around the hostage, whose hands are still tied.
The man with the scar is missing.
What is he up to?
“Where is the leader of this shit show?” I whisper.
“Good question,” Dalton answers. “This is going to be hard to do quietly.”
“Let’s get rid of these three, then worry about that other asshole.”
Dalton and I both take aim behind the hot tub. One thing I’m good at – it’s long-range shooting. I may not be a sniper, but I could have been if I wanted to.
“Ready,” I whisper as I steady my breathing and take aim.
“I’ll take the two on the left, you take the one on the right.”
“Okay, let’s do this.”
“On three,” he answers.
“One.”
Steady my rifle.
“Two.”
Take a deep breath in.
“Three.”
With my breath out goes my bullet.
Three pops, three heads snap back. The hostage screams and drops to the floor. Still not convinced that other asshole isn’t lingering around somewhere, we stay put.
Once we’re certain he won’t pop out of a cushion, we approach the hostage. “Give me your hands,” I coax him. He’s uncertain of my intentions, but I win him over and he holds out his arms. “What the fuck did these guys want with you, anyway?” I ask as I undo the knots.
“They were going to kidnap me.”
“And, why would they do that?” Dalton asks while he keeps lookout.
“I work for the NSA. They wanted information about some new technology we’re developing.”
“And they thought that by kidnapping you the NSA would just fork over that information?” I ask on a chuckle.
“No. I’m the one who designed it.”
“Oh, shit,” Dalton breathes.
“Yeah. You have no idea what you just saved.”
“Well, you’re not safe yet. Where’s that guy with the scar?”
“He told these guys to wait here for him, then he went below deck.”
“Okay. We should go—”
The loud roar of a motor comes from below deck, and a man flies out from under the boat on a jet ski. With a woman in front of him.
“Sonofabitch,” I mutter.
“Dalton!” Cookie comes running up the stairs. “That lunatic sabotaged the controls of the yacht, and took Beca with him!”
Out of all the fucking people he could have taken, he takes my Beca.
I’ll kill him.
Throwin
g the assault rifle over my shoulder, I bolt down the two flights of stairs to the bottom deck and race to the garage where the jet skis are kept. The space is large enough to hold four jet skis – one that asshole is on with my girl, one Cookie used to set the boat free which is now floating useless a distance behind us, and two that are left – neither of which have keys.
It’s a good thing I was a delinquent in high school and know how to hotwire a car. This can’t be too different. I open the trim box and look for the ignition wire. I search for a blue wire, but there isn’t one. Taking a chance, I cross it with the yellow striped wire. After a few attempts, the jet ski starts.
I push it into the water and jump on, pushing it to the limit as I try and catch Beca.
He has at least a good two-minute head start on me, but as long as he doesn’t know I’m following him, I might be alright.
He’s ahead of me, driving straight for the free-floating boat we set loose earlier. If he boards and gets it started before I can catch them...
Gripping the throttle, I lean forward and race to catch them. My only advantage is I’m one person lighter, and I might be able to gain some ground.
That douchebag’s boat is about a mile away, and about a minute into the chase he turns back and sees me.
It’s my fear that fuels my rage – fear that I may be too late and lose her forever.
My anger is a hot burning hatred that seeks to break every bone in his body.
No.
I will catch them, and I will kill him.
I’m coming for you, Beca.
Minutes tick by as I inch closer to my target. Each time he turns back to gauge how close I’m getting, his face shows more and more anxiety. By the time he reaches the boat, full-on panic has set in. I’m less than ten seconds behind, and as my jet ski approaches the back of the boat, I leap off and onto the landing.
Muffled curses come from the engine room as he starts the engines and throws the boat into gear. Had I been a second slower, I’d be floating in the Caribbean – but I anticipated his move and grabbed onto one of the cleats as he attempted to toss me off the boat.
I leap over the rear bench seats and run toward the center of the boat. As I enter the bridge, I stare in horror at the 9mm pointed to the side of Beca’s head.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” the man with the scar snarls. “I have no problem putting a bullet in her head.”
Glancing past him, I notice he’s got the throttle pinned using a bungee cord. I also notice a large wave from the wake of another boat just ahead of us. All I need to do is stall for a minute…
“Leave her out of it, point the gun at me,” I shout, tapping my chest. “She’s not the one you want. I’m the guy who killed your untrained men.”
Forty-five seconds.
The gun twitches against her temple, but he leaves it right where it is. “There’s plenty more where they came from,” he sneers, pressing the gun harder against her head. Her eyes widen and her breaths become ragged and harsh. With the exception of her hands trembling at her sides, she doesn’t move.
Thirty seconds.
“What was so important you needed to hijack a bunch of tourists?” I ask, trying to buy time. Beca furrows her brows, but I keep my focus on the pistol.
Twenty-five seconds.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he grins, and the temperature of the cabin falls a little. In that moment his motives are laid bare – he’s a mocker, one who enjoys whatever torment he can inflict on others.
Twenty seconds.
Keep him talking.
“I’m sure we can work this out. Just let her go, and we’ll get back on the jet ski. You can go on your merry way. It’s not like we know who you are,” I insist, hoping he’s desperate enough to listen.
Ten seconds.
“My name is Noah Walker,” he replies, his lips curling into an evil grin. “Now, you know who I am.”
Five seconds.
I count down from five in my head and on one, I lunge toward him. As the wave hits the front side of the boat, he’s thrown off balance and I’m able to get in between the gun and Beca. My shoulder rams into his chest, and I’m able to push him farther from her.
With the boat rocking viciously from side to side, neither of us are able to keep our balance and are tossed out of the cabin and toward the side of the boat. He loses his grip on the gun and it flies overboard.
That Cheshire grin he wore earlier changes to a tight-lipped smile.
Good.
I want him confident while I drain the life from his eyes.
“Beca, you alright?” I call out, still keeping an eye on Noah.
“Fine,” she shouts back over the lapping water. “Kick his foreign, fucking ass!”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice.
Noah scrambles up and races to the back of the boat. Finding a long, wooden gaff hook, he picks it up and spins toward me.
Is that all he’s got?
No problem.
Noah plants his feet and drops into a crouch. He starts to pull the gaff back low, like a tennis swing. All of his momentum cocking backward. In order for me to defend against this kind of swing, I need to get there early – before the hook ends up in my skull.
I leap forward in an explosion of energy and reach Noah mid-swing. Catching the gaff in the center of the rod, I’m able to yank it from his weak hands. As I’m removing the weapon from his grip, I grab hold with my other hand and thrust it at his head – similar to how I’d use the butt of a rifle. The connection, like a well-placed punch to the center of his right temple, sends him flying sideways.
He stumbles a few steps and shakes his head, then stands like I haven’t touched him.
What the fuck is this guy’s head made of?
“You’ll need to do better than that,” he mocks, moving a step in my direction.
“Your mother won’t be able to identify you after I get through with you,” I hiss.
He takes a few steps closer. “It won’t matter. The damage will have already been done.”
“Did I shake something loose in your brain? You can’t cause any more damage,” I snap.
“You fool,” he sneers. “We never planned on leaving you alive. I’ve placed a bomb on the bottom of the boat.”
“Wait?” I chuckle, trying to enrage him even more. “There’s a bomb on the boat?”
His sinister smile becomes wider.
“I’m not too concerned about that,” I say with a smug shrug.
The angrier he gets, the more mistakes he’ll make.
“You see,” I add. “My two friends who are still on the boat – they’re both SEALs, as am I. Except my one buddy is an expert at explosives. They’ll comb that yacht, bow to stern, and find it. I have no doubts. So, if you’re waiting for a boom…don’t hold your breath.”
That pisses him off.
Clenching his jaw, he charges me.
I snap a vicious straight right across his cheek, causing him to rock back a step. Shaking his head, he pops a straight right of his own. I know it’s coming, and lean left. His fist buzzes past my ear.
It’s all about being faster…and smarter.
Noah stumbles forward as he’s tangled up in the follow through.
This gives me the perfect opportunity.
I throw a hard, left hook.
It scythes through the air – every muscle in my arm working in synchronous harmony as I aim for his neck. My fist connects with his Adam’s apple. The bones in his neck compress and crunch, and he goes down like he’d run straight into a clothesline. His legs come out from under him and he lands with a thud onto the floor.
I move so I’m standing over him. He tries to get up, but I’m too quick. Using all of my force, I fire my foot into his midsection. The snapping of bone indicates I cracked a few ribs. He groans and rolls on his side, facing away from me.
“Beca, baby. You still good?” Keeping Noah in my peripheral vision, I lift my head to search for Beca. She’s
standing in the wheelhouse, watching me pummel Noah from a safe distance.
“Fine,” she calls back. She gives me a weak smile, and I remember why I can’t let this prick live.
“Almost done here,” I call back, then focus my attention to the lump on the floor. I imagine all of the different ways I can kill him, but I settle on quick and clean. Leaning down, I take his head between my hands – my right hand under his chin and my left arm across the nape of his neck gripping his skull just under his ear. “This, is for touching my Beca,” I whisper, then with a sharp pull upward and sideways twist, snap his neck.
Had I not been trained in this kind of combat, I would have most likely just paralyzed him. Breaking someone’s neck is a difficult task.
But, part of our tactical training is hand to hand combat.
I’ve perfected the neck twist.
“Jason!” Beca’s still hiding in the cabin.
“It’s safe to come out now,” I coax her with a wave. As she slowly advances, her eyes drift to the corpse at my feet. “Don’t look at him,” I murmur, reaching out to her. “Look at me.”
Bringing her gaze to mine, she quickens the pace and runs into my arms. “Jason, I was so scared!” she sobs, the tears falling free from her beautiful green eyes.
“I got you, baby,” I sooth, rubbing her back as she cries. “I never would have let anything happen to you.” I give her another thirty seconds to vent her fears, then say, “Baby, we’ve got to go.”
She lifts her head, her eyes moist and red. “Okay.”
Beca
Jason guides me to the jet ski with the key in the ignition and helps me on. I cling to his back for dear life as we race through the water back to the yacht. I’m still shaking – I’m not sure if it’s the adrenaline talking or my unadulterated fear of what just transpired. I can still feel the cold steel against my temple. But, I can’t imagine what would have happened if Jason hadn’t been here. I know I wouldn’t have been on the boat in the first place if I’d never met him, but it’s not his fault.
What are the odds that we would get hijacked – must be one in over a million.
As we reach the portside, Ava runs over to the side rail. “Jason, you need to hurry!”