Wild Venom: A Coastal Caribbean Adventure (Tyson Wild Thriller Book 31)

by Tripp Ellis

  Concern washed over my face.

  "See, it's a good thing they broke up," Styxx said.

  "Please tell me she didn't get Crash on that shit," I said.

  Styxx shrugged.

  I groaned. "I know he's been acting a little down in the dumps lately, but I didn’t notice anything unusual about his behavior. Have either of you seen any indication he may be using?"

  "Not really," Dizzy said.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Crash’s number. It rang a few times then went to voicemail. "Hey, buddy. This is your manager speaking. Just calling to check on you. We are all at Tide Pool. Call me back and let me know you are doing all right."

  "I'm thinking maybe we should stop by his apartment just to check on him," JD said.

  "I think that's a good idea."

  "Want us to go with you?" Dizzy asked.

  "No. We’re just gonna run over there real quick. I’m sure he’s all right,” I said.

  We walked around the pool, soaking in the delightful visuals that Tide Pool had to offer. Waterlogged teeny bikinis were practically bursting at the seams as beauties splashed about. I had a mind to come back and jump in the pool after we checked on Crash.

  We walked through the main bar and stepped onto the sidewalk on Oyster Avenue. We had parked the Porsche on a side street.

  The tourists were out in full force, and music from live bands spilled into the street. The night was young and full of possibilities. In a few hours, drunken revelers would be listing down the sidewalks like ships tacking against the wind.

  We turned the corner onto the side street, and JD clicked the alarm to the Porsche. Only one yellow turn signal flashed. Both the headlights had been shot out, and the bonnet looked like Swiss cheese.

  JD stopped in his tracks. "You know I didn't think about how we were going to get home. Probably shouldn't drive without headlights."

  It had been daylight when we last left the vehicle.

  “Yeah, I would advise against it."

  “Deputy Wild," a sultry voice called from behind me.

  I turned to see a svelte blonde stalking toward me.

  "You following me around?" I asked Sophia.

  "It's just a coincidence. Random chance. The Universe has brought us together." She smirked.

  I rolled my eyes.

  JD drank in her mesmerizing form. "You know, I like you better as a blonde."

  She smiled. "Thank you. I don't think Tyson does."

  "Whatever gave you that impression?" I asked.

  She shrugged. "I had a much easier time seducing you when I was a brunette. I think you have a thing for brunettes."

  "I didn't know you were a killer then."

  "Should we arrest her," JD asked.

  She made a pouty face. "Where's the fun in that?” She paused. “But I could have a good time with you and a pair of handcuffs. I like handcuffs," she said with a naughty sparkle. “You could lock me up and punish me.” Her breathy voice was an aphrodisiac. “I need to be punished.”

  JD swallowed hard.

  The air got hotter.

  "What are you doing here?"

  30

  Sophia's eyes rounded, and she grabbed both of our shirts and yanked us to the ground. "Get down!"

  As we hit the concrete, gunfire echoed through the night air. Glass shattered, and bullets pelted cars parked on the street. Bullets ricocheted off nearby buildings. The Porsche took a few more hits.

  Tires squealed as the perps sped away and rounded the corner onto Oyster Avenue.

  Sophia had fallen on top of me. Her heartbeat vibrated my chest, and her plump lips hovered inches away. Her blonde hair dangled in my face.

  She smirked. “How many times is that now?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I think you owe me. I keep saving your ass.”

  I arched an eyebrow at her.

  “Friends of yours?”

  “Apparently.”

  She pushed off me and stood up.

  I climbed to my feet and scanned the area.

  Curious pedestrians peered around the corner in fear.

  The shooters had long since vanished into the night.

  "Did you get a good look at the perps?” I asked.

  "Silver four-door sedan,” Sophia said. “One driver, one passenger—both wearing ski masks. Fully automatic Uzi. Spray and pray."

  "You get a plate number?”

  “SCG something."

  The distant sound of sirens warbled. Someone had called the Sheriff's Department.

  "You better get going," I said.

  Sophia frowned. "Is that all the thanks I get? I was hoping for a little more." There was a devilish sparkle in her eyes.

  She stepped close and took what she wanted. She planted a kiss on my lips.

  I didn't kiss back.

  She pushed away, spun around, and sauntered toward the corner.

  She called over her shoulder, “Stay safe, boys."

  We both watched her hips sway as she walked away.

  “Are we just going to let a fugitive from justice walk away like that?” JD asked.

  "I think so."

  "I still don't like her," he said. "But I don't dislike her as much as I did." He paused for a second. "I believe I could put aside my dislike for a brief encounter."

  I rolled my eyes.

  “What!? I'm just saying. I forgot how captivating she can be."

  "That's a good word."

  "You said it yourself—she didn't kill Quinn.”

  "I never said that. I said she claims not to have killed Quinn.”

  “So, who did?"

  I shrugged. “A guy named Holden Cauley, maybe. Who knows?”

  Two patrol cars screeched to the scene, lights flashing, painting the nearby buildings a wash of blue and red. The deputies hopped out of their vehicles.

  Deputy Takashi shouted. "Wild, Donovan… I should have known you two were involved.”

  We gave statements to the deputies, and I gave them the partial plate letters and description of the car.

  "Any idea who these guys were, or why you were targeted?" Takashi asked.

  "Could have something to do with the bust in Pineapple Bay today,” I said. "How many Falcon Syndicate members are still out on the street?"

  "Maybe that’s something you ought to look into," Takashi said.

  "I plan on it."

  We waited for the forensics team to arrive. They showed up and documented the scene, snapped photos of a few spent shell casings, and collected slugs that were embedded into nearby buildings. With any luck, we might be able to get a ballistics match if the weapons had been used in the commission of another crime.

  We wrapped up at the scene, then caught a rideshare to Crash’s apartment. We banged on the door several times, but he didn’t answer. It was almost 11 PM, and we were starting to get worried.

  31

  I was about to break down the door when Crash finally pulled it open. His eyes were narrow and bloodshot. He could barely stand. A gust of whiskey from his breath hit me in the face. In an annoyed tone, he growled, "What?!"

  He swayed in the doorway.

  "We just came by to check on you," I said.

  "I'm fine."

  "You haven’t been answering your phone."

  "I gotta pick up my phone every time somebody calls?" he slurred.

  "We were just worried about you. You doing alright?"

  He forced a smile. "Never better."

  "You gonna invite us in?"

  "Yeah, sure. Come on in. Join the party." He stepped aside and motioned us in.

  We walked into the foyer.

  Crash closed the door behind us. "You guys want a drink?"

  "No thanks," I said, stepping into the living room. "I think I've had my limit."

  "No such thing," Crash slurred.

  There was a whiskey bottle on the coffee table that was almost dry. Empty beer bottles were strewn about. The place was a wreck. Dishes piled u
p in the sink, forming a mountain of roach bait.

  "When was the last time you had something to eat?" I asked.

  Crash shrugged. "Who needs food?”

  "I'm kinda hungry. How about we order a pizza?" I wasn't hungry at all.

  "Right on. Pizza party."

  "You got any coffee around here?" JD asked.

  "I think so. Check the cupboard."

  I dialed big Tony's and ordered a pizza for delivery while JD put on a pot of coffee.

  Crash flopped onto the couch and reached for the bottle.

  "Maybe you ought to slow down."

  "Slow down? This is life in the fast lane." He stretched out his arm and made a rock 'n' roll sign.

  "Give me the bottle." There were only a few swigs left.

  His face crinkled. “Why?”

  "Where's your hospitality?"

  He looked at me with suspicious eyes but handed the bottle to me.

  "Is this about Faye?" I asked.

  "Is what about Faye?"

  I wiggled the bottle.

  "I'm just having a good time."

  "Here, all by yourself.”

  "I just need a little me time. It's self-care."

  "Looks more like self-destruction."

  I glanced around the apartment. I wasn't going to make a big deal out of the bong on the coffee table. I was looking for something a little more illicit. I didn't see anything disturbing right away.

  "I know you’re going through a tough time."

  His red eyes teared up. His face tightened. The waterworks started. Crash sobbed—that drunken, sloppy sob. "She was everything, man."

  His chest jerked, and tears streamed down his cheek.

  I took a seat next to him on the couch and put my hand on his shoulder. I let him cry it out for a moment.

  "I know it's difficult right now, but you’ve got a great band. You’ve got great friends and a bright future. Don't piss it all away. We need you."

  He sighed and nodded.

  "Is there anything I need to be worried about?"

  "What do you mean?”

  “Are you doing anything else besides drinking?"

  He looked at me with caution. "A little herb here and there."

  "Anything else?"

  "Like what?"

  "Like anything that requires a needle?"

  His face crinkled. "No way, man. I don't touch that stuff."

  I gave him a stern gaze.

  He raised his hands innocently. "I swear, man. Don't make a big deal out of this. I just had a few drinks."

  "You’ve had more than a few drinks."

  "Am I not allowed to mourn the loss?"

  "Just do it in a healthy way. I don't want to go looking for another bass player. You’re the best on the island."

  Crash lifted his droopy head. Then a slight smirk tugged his lips. "I'm the best on the planet."

  I laughed. "Maybe."

  The coffee pot percolated, and the aroma filled the apartment. JD poured a cup, mixed in cream and sugar, and delivered it to Crash.

  He let it cool a moment before sipping the coffee. “Can we put a little whiskey in this?"

  I shook my head.

  "Party pooper."

  It wasn't long before the delivery guy banged on the door. I climbed off the couch and ambled down the foyer. I paid the guy in cash, and he handed me the cardboard box of steaming pizza. I brought it back into the living room and set it on the coffee table after pushing aside the empty beer bottles. I lifted the lid, and steam wafted from the gooey pizza, covered in toppings.

  Crash pulled off a slice, and the stringy cheese stretched about a foot before it snapped.

  We all chowed down, and Crash ended up devouring over half of the pizza. He probably hadn't eaten all day.

  We hung out at the apartment for a while as Crash became more lucid. I listened to him moan about Faye for the next hour. With a full belly and having vented, he passed out on the couch, despite the cup of coffee. His respiration was good, so I wasn't too concerned.

  JD and I cleaned up the apartment, poured out the rest of the whiskey, and took the remaining few beer bottles from the fridge. It was after 1 AM when we helped Crash off the couch and escorted him to the bedroom. He flopped on top of the covers and passed out fully dressed.

  I didn't want Crash to meet the typical rock star demise, so I told JD I'd sleep on the couch and keep a watch on him during the night.

  "How are we going to handle this?" JD asked.

  "I think he's just blowing off a little steam."

  "Let's hope that's all this is."

  Jack left, and I rummaged through the apartment, looking for a spare blanket. I turned the couch into a makeshift bed and tried to get comfortable. It didn't have a lot of support. Needless to say, I didn’t get a good night's sleep.

  I got up a few times to check on Crash, and he seemed to be doing okay. I slipped out before sunrise and caught a rideshare back to the marina. Buddy was excited to see me. I leashed him up, took him out for a walk, then decided to crawl in bed for a few more hours.

  I climbed up to my stateroom, and there was an interesting surprise waiting for me.

  32

  I had to ask myself, was it me? Was I inviting this kind of drama into my life? I was like catnip for crazies and psychos.

  Sophia Breslin was curled up in my bed.

  She yawned and stretched and peeled an eye open. She rolled to face me, and the covers slipped away, revealing a round, perky breast. "You missed out last night. Where were you? Having fun with some floozy?"

  I laughed. "Babysitting a drunken bandmate."

  She made an adorable face. "Aw, you're so caring. I think that's what I like about you. You're ruthless, but you’re a sweetheart underneath it all."

  "What are you doing here?"

  She lifted a sassy eyebrow. "What do you think I'm doing here? I was looking for a good time.”

  She pulled away the rest of the covers, revealing her naked form. Her graceful curves were inspiring. "See what you missed out on."

  I couldn't help but soak in her beauty.

  "It's not too late. I'm a fan of morning sex, how about you?"

  I was a fan of it whenever I could get it—day or night didn't matter. But she was out of her mind if she thought I was gonna hop in the sack with her.

  I'm not gonna lie, I gave it serious consideration for a minute… or two. Maybe three.

  “I don’t have any weapons. You can frisk me if you’d like,” she said with a diabolical grin.

  “Oh, you have weapons, alright.”

  “My charm is deadly.” Her eyes smoldered. “You can handcuff me if it will make you feel safer.”

  Tempting.

  “I know you get a lot of ass, Tyson. But are you really going to turn this down?”

  She knew exactly what she had to offer.

  The devil on my shoulder whispered—screamed—in my ear. Maybe she didn’t kill Quinn Palmer. Maybe I’d been too harsh in my judgment. The little brain teamed up with the devil and added to the discussion. Even my voice of reason was making compelling arguments. Her tight, toned midriff, her round, supple orbs and perky peaks. Her plump assets. Her smooth legs. Her pillowy soft lips. Her mesmerizing eyes. Her breathy voice that loved to moan the naughtiest of phrases. Her eagerness to please. The danger and excitement of it all.

  With every passing second, my willpower weakened. My cognitive function declined as blood flow rushed south. I began to roast in the flames of desire.

  33

  I was on the verge of a bad decision when Sheriff Daniels called and spoiled the mood.

  "I need you and numbnuts to get down to the station ASAP."

  "What's going on?"

  "Two divers found something I think you're gonna want to have a look at."

  I groaned. "I'll be right there."

  I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket. I frowned and exhaled a deep breath. "Sorry. Duty calls."

  "Your lo
ss."

  "You showed yourself in. You can show yourself out."

  "Have a nice day, dear," she mocked.

  I rolled my eyes, marched out of the stateroom, and plummeted down the steps to the main deck. I grabbed my helmet and gloves and jogged to the dock. I called JD along the way and gave him an update.

  I hopped on the bike and zipped across town to the Sheriff's Department. JD pulled into the parking lot a moment later with the stereo blasting. He had called a mobile windshield replacement company to come to his house and fix the demolished glass after hours. Jack had a connection for everything. Visibility was good now, but the headlights were still a mess. He looked bright and cheery. I’m glad he got a full night’s sleep. Meanwhile, I was stiff and sore from the couch and sleep-deprived, not to mention worked up.

  Daniels greeted us on the dock with a dive team and the medical examiner. We trotted to the patrol boat and climbed aboard.

  I cast off the lines, and Daniels cranked up the engines and idled us out of the marina. He brought the boat on plane, and the engines growled. The Defender class aluminum patrol boat carved through the swells, and the teal water glistened with the morning sun. The outboards spit a frothy wake as the boat bounced across the water, spraying mists of saltwater.

  "Want to give me more details?" I shouted over the rumble of the engines.

  "Two recreational divers found a steamer trunk at the bottom of the ocean north of Barracuda Key. When they popped it open, they found the body inside."

  I cringed. "Eva Orton?"

  "That's my guess."

  "How did they find it?"

  "Amateur treasure hunters. I guess they were out fiddle-farting around with sonar and discovered the object. They made a quick dive and discovered the body."

  JD gave me a worried look. I knew what he was concerned about. We had discovered the wreckage of an old French ship not long ago—40 brass cannons and a handful of gold coins. We were pretty sure we’d found the lost treasure of Jaques De La Fontaine, the infamous French pirate. We hadn’t been to the dive site in a while, but we were confident that nobody else knew where it was. It had been down there for over 400 years, and we happened to stumble across it. We had started the search in a few areas north of Barracuda Key, and rumors circulated about treasure in the area. Fortunately, our dive site was far removed from Barracuda Key.