by Meghan March
His eyes bulge. “Crash it? No fucking way!”
“You’ll be fine as long as you dive off before it blows.”
* * *
He calls me a crazy motherfucker a half dozen times as we motor in as close to the island as we can get without drawing attention. I turn off the engine, and we paddle the rest of the way. I untie him so he can help, but keep the gun close at hand.
Once we’re close enough for me to swim to the beach, I take off my shirt and cut it into a few long strips. Opening the red plastic gas tank, I shove one end of the strips inside and pull them out when they’re soaked. I loosen the hose leading to the engine and tie the end around it, before reaching into the compartment below the helm and pulling out the dry bag with the lighter and the cigarettes.
He shakes his head at what I’m doing. “You’re gonna kill me. No way that thing doesn’t explode before I get there.”
“It’ll take a minute for the flame to work its way up the fabric to the hose, and for the gas inside the hose to ignite.” I’m mostly sure about that. This isn’t rocket science. “All you have to do is point the boat at the beach, make sure the throttle is tied down, and dive off before it gets there. The gas will do the rest.”
At least, I really fucking hope so. It’s been a while since I rigged explosives, and it was never my best skill.
“If I get dead, I’m gonna haunt your ass.”
“You don’t go through with the plan, and I’m going to hunt you down—”
“And make me wish I’m dead before you kill me. Got it.”
I flick the lighter and nothing happens.
Fuck. This whole diversion rests on a shitty lighter that might not work.
“Give it to me.”
I hand it over to him, and he shakes it and smacks it against the side before trying again.
Flame. Thank God.
I tuck the gun into the dry bag and seal it up before tying it to my shorts. The knife goes in my cargo pocket.
My heartbeat slows, just like it would before I’d rappel down the ropes from a chopper.
I got this. This is what I do. This is in my blood. This is who I fucking am.
No one takes my wife from me.
I grab the lighter from him and ignite the hem of the gas-soaked shirt. It catches immediately, and I slip over the edge.
“You better fucking go.”
He gives me a nod. “Good luck.”
That’s when we hear a gunshot and the screams.
Chapter 33
Kat
Someone screams uncontrollably, and until Vander stomps across the room and grabs me by the hair, I don’t realize it’s me.
“Shut the fuck up. You want to scream? I can give you a reason to scream.”
He drags me out of the one-room hut onto a sandy beach, pausing when the sound of an engine comes roaring out of the distance. Anton is nowhere in sight.
“What the fuck?”
The vessel flies toward us, and a man tumbles over the side. Vander shoves me to the ground before it hits the shore with a crack. For a moment, the motor continues running, digging into the sand.
Vander rises to a crouch, taking a step toward the shore, and then all hell breaks loose.
The boat explodes, sending flames streaking into the sky and fiberglass pieces flying everywhere. I huddle into a ball on the beach as Vander takes a chunk of something to the head, knocking him to his knees again.
And then the impossible happens. I hear Dane’s voice.
“Kat!”
I turn and see him running toward me, wearing no shirt, his face bruised.
As soon as I have my wits, I spring to my feet and race toward him, only to be stopped mid-dash by the percussion of gunshots and sand flying around my feet.
“Take another step, and the next one is in your kneecap,” Vander says.
Dane’s reaching behind his back when Anton appears from the darkness, a wooden club in hand.
“Watch out!” I scream.
Dane swings to the side, and the blow glances off his head instead of hitting him straight on. Anton moves to swing again, but Dane tackles him to the ground.
Vander’s hand tangles in my hair, jerking me back against his body. The hot barrel of the gun presses into my temple as Dane lands blow after blow on Anton’s face.
“You want to watch her die, Cross?”
Dane sits up, Anton pinned beneath him, but his attention turns to me.
“I will shoot her in the fucking head.”
“Let her go.”
Vander laughs, sounding like a deranged movie villain. “Not a fucking chance.”
“I will kill you.”
“Not before I kill her. Put your hands up. Now.”
When Dane hesitates, Vander digs the barrel of the gun into my head. “I’m not fucking around, Cross. I will pull this fucking trigger, and I’ll still get paid. Do not push me.”
“Who’s paying you?”
“Doesn’t fucking matter anymore, because instead of sending you alive, I’ll just send your head. I’ll take a hit, but it’ll still be a fat payday.”
Something flashes over Dane’s face too quickly for me to interpret. Who the hell would pay him?
“Bonitez,” Dane says, tossing out a name I’ve never heard.
Vander laughs again. “Try again.”
“Vargas.”
“And on the second try, we have a winner.”
This name doesn’t mean anything to me either, but from the way Dane stiffens, it obviously does to him.
“Now put your fucking hands up.”
Dane moves like he’s about to comply, but instead his hands go behind his back. He pulls a gun and squeezes the trigger.
Click.
Vander yanks the gun away from my head and throws me to the ground before firing at him.
As I roll in the sand, I see Dane’s body jerk back with the impact, and I scream.
“Should’ve checked your gun first. A year out of the field, and you’re a fucking amateur again.”
My ears are ringing from the shot, but Vander snatches me by the hair before I can bolt toward my husband.
“Get him up. On his fucking knees.”
Anton wrenches Dane up into a kneeling position. Blood smears his upper arm, but I can’t tell where the wound is.
Once again, Vander presses the barrel into my temple.
Tears track down my face as Dane’s dark gaze meets mine. There’s no pain. No fear. Just . . . regret.
And then it becomes something else—rage. His eyes burn with it.
Anton pulls a wicked-looking blade from a sheath at his side. One that looks more suited to fileting fish than anything else, and holds it to Dane’s throat.
“Spent the last hour sharpening it myself. You move, and it’ll slice right through.” Anton’s eye is swelling shut, and he spits. A red glob lands in the sand. “I won’t feel bad about it either.”
What is wrong with these people?
Dane’s gun lies on the beach in front of him, just out of reach.
“I get more if he’s alive. Vargas wants to do the honors. But if he moves, fucking kill him.”
Dane jerks forward, and blood spills down his throat as the blade cuts into his skin. His nostrils flare, the rage burning hotter.
“Why take her? Why not just me?”
“Because I increase my profit margins with her, and there are no pesky loose ends,” Vander says with a note of twisted humor.
“You know enough about me to know that there’s always someone coming next. They won’t stop until you’re dead.”
“I’ll be long gone. I’m not afraid of your little band of commandos.” His tone turns darker. “And your wife will never be seen or heard from again. I already have buyers lined up to bid for her. You’ll die knowing you couldn’t save her. The most important mission of your life, and you fucked up. Pitiful excuse for a mercenary.”
A battle cry comes from behind Vander, stealing his attention
away from Dane.
A man charges him, but Vander is too quick. The gun leaves my head and two shots are fired into the man’s chest, dropping him to the sand.
Chapter 34
Dane
My unwilling helper takes two bullets, and there’s not shit I can do to help him. I wrap a hand around Anton’s wrist and snap it backward, breaking bones until the knife falls to the ground.
The sound of another boat coming toward the island sends a shaft of unease down my spine, but all I care about is getting to Kat.
I grab Anton’s knife and charge toward Vander. Only a few feet of sand separate us when he turns toward me, the barrel raised, his finger on the trigger. I brace for the impact, but it doesn’t come from him.
The sound of automatic-weapon fire rips through the darkness as hot lead hits my thigh and I stumble to my knees. Sand flies up all around me from the impact of bullets.
Vander spins around and yells, “Don’t fucking kill him yet, you idiots!”
Three men splash into the water and race up on the beach, all holding AKs.
Any plans I had of taking out Vander and getting the hell out of here with Kat are just as fucked as this rescue attempt.
Vander stalks over to me and swings, the butt of the pistol catching me on the cheekbone, whipping my head sideways.
“No!” Kat screams. Her anguished tone guts me as she crawls across the sand, tears spilling down her bruised face.
Vander brings the barrel to my head and she freezes.
I failed.
I fucking failed.
“Forget her. She’s not yours anymore.”
“The fuck she isn’t. Always and forever.” I say it for Kat, but it doesn’t soothe the despair in her tear-filled eyes.
I failed her.
In a hoarse whisper, she repeats it back to me. “Always and forever.”
“Fucking precious. But you’re both wrong.”
Vander swings the pistol again, and then I feel nothing at all.
Chapter 35
Kat
“No!” I scream in a hoarse voice as Dane’s body falls forward, landing facedown in the sand. I’m silenced by the back of Vander’s hand.
A man in a black shirt and pressed khaki pants stalks toward us.
All I can focus on are the knife-like pleats in his khakis as my brain reels, unable to process everything that just happened. My face throbs, but all I want is to crawl to where Dane lies unconscious in the sand.
Never before in my life have I ever wanted to live more than I do right now.
Vander snaps out his orders. “Take her to the boat. We’re leaving.”
“What about him, sir?”
“Jan and Borne stay with him. Arrange for another pickup, right the fuck now. Get him to the port for the handoff yourselves. No more fuckups by the locals.”
“Yes, sir.”
Anton rises to his feet. “Ain’t my fault—”
Vander points the gun at him, and with one shot to the head, Anton goes down.
I squeeze my eyes closed, wishing I could unsee what I just saw. All of it. I want to rewind. This can’t be real.
The man in the black polo shirt reaches for me, and I pull away. It doesn’t matter, though; he jerks me to my feet by the bindings on my wrists. My arms feel like they’re being torn from the sockets.
“Try not to break her. Buyers pay less for damaged goods.”
Two other men close in on Dane. They each grab an arm and drag him through the sand, still facedown.
Vander stops beside me. “Get a good look, Kat, because that’s the last time you’re ever going to see your husband. The man I’m going to deliver him to will torture him for days before he finally ends him.” A ghastly smile stretches over his face.
I stumble as the man takes me toward the boat and away from Dane. “Why? Why would you do this?”
“Your husband pissed off the wrong member of the cartel. Walked right into his house and helped his wife disappear and never come back. He needs to restore his honor, and since he can’t find his wife, he’s taking it out on your husband, and generously compensating the person who delivers him. You’re lucky he didn’t ask for you. He has no more patience for women, and only wants revenge.”
Prickles of fear trail down my spine, and part of me wishes that the man had asked for us both. At least then, we’d die together.
How morbid.
My thoughts are cut off when I’m picked up, tossed over a shoulder, and carried the rest of the way to a speedboat.
Vander follows behind us, and they both jump in. I’m dropped on a thickly cushioned bench seat, and Vander advances toward me with a rope. I lift my knees, ready to kick out, but he’s already got it looped around my ankles and cinches it tight.
“You jump out of this one, and I swear to God I will let you drown.” He turns to the other man, who fires up the engine. “Hurry the fuck up so we can get back on schedule. I want to be out of Belizean waters as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
We pull away from the dock, and my gaze goes to the beach where I last saw my husband.
My husband, the mercenary.
Right now, I could forgive him for anything if he’d walk down this dock, sweep me up, and take us both away from here.
But the only traces that remain of him are drag marks and dark stains in the sand from his blood . . . like the red petals that dotted the aisle on our wedding day.
* * *
Two years ago
I hadn’t spent much time thinking about weddings when I was younger, but I’d always assumed my dad would walk me down the aisle. After he left my mom, and then she passed, I knew I would never do the conventional thing.
That was why I was standing beneath a pergola, waiting for the signal that it was time for me to make my way down the beach alone to the man who was going to be my husband. Even though it was just the two of us with no guests, the wedding coordinator at the small resort had a plan to make it beautiful and memorable.
A waiter who appeared much too brawny for his polo shirt watched me from the periphery of the restaurant. He was the biggest guy I’d seen in Costa Rica since we got here—even bigger than Dane. With his blue eyes, he didn’t look like a native, but what did I know?
I glanced toward the pool, and the most masculine and beautiful gay couple lay on the loungers, arguing because one wouldn’t put sunscreen on the back of the other. They both looked like they could have walked onto the screen of a Hollywood action flick and not been out of place.
A few couples gathered near the gazebo where Dane waited for me, and the wedding coordinator gave me the sign to begin.
I was so focused on my husband-to-be, I almost didn’t notice the fit blond man trying to blend in behind three younger girls.
Dane, in his white linen shirt and tan pants, stood in the middle of the gazebo as the sun sank into the ocean. The sand in front of me was dotted with red petals from some sort of native flower I couldn’t remember the name of. My hair blew in the breeze, as did my short white dress. My heart pounded harder as I got closer to him.
Had I looked down at where I was walking, I would have seen the step, but I didn’t. Instead, I tripped on the concrete, dropping my bouquet, but Dane caught me before I fell flat on my face.
The officiant coughed behind his Bible.
“Careful, baby. Can’t be getting married with skinned knees.”
“I was distracted.”
“By what?” Dane asked.
“You.”
A brilliant smile stretched across Dane’s face, and he leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead.
“Let’s get married.”
Chapter 36
Dane
Present day
A slap to my face awakens me, and I roll over, baring my teeth.
“Whoa, brother.” The voice is familiar.
Am I fucking dreaming? I blink to adjust to the bright light.
“He’s gonna need more th
an a field dressing. He needs a fucking hospital.”
My vision clears, and faces I recognize hover over me.
Faces that haunt my dreams, asking me why I abandoned them.
“Two guys—” I croak, my throat burning.
“With AKs. Got ’em. They’re down. The perimeter is secure. No one’s gettin’ the drop on us.” Rome Hennessy cuts through the rope tying my ankles first, and then my hands. “The fuck happened here? We got two dead bodies. Another guy barely hanging on, and I’m not sure whether he’s good, bad, or indifferent. Give me sitrep, DC.”
Tanner drops the first aid kit next to me on the floor.
“Don’t fucking worry about me. You gotta go after them. They’ve got Kat. Taking her to a boat.”
“We’ll get her. We can’t be far behind. One of the bodies is still warm.”
Tanner shoots a look at Rome. “It’s the fucking tropics. Of course it’s warm.”
“Whatever. He hasn’t been dead long.”
“Then fucking go!” I try to yell, but my voice is wrecked.
“I know you’ve been gone for a year, but we’re still of the leave no man behind philosophy. We’ll get you patched up, and we’ll figure out a plan. We’re not walking into this blind, which is what I’m guessing you did here.”
The shame of my fucked-up rescue attempt eats at me like acid. “I had a plan. It went balls up.”
“I told you to wait for us.”
I meet Rome’s gaze. “I don’t wait when it comes to Kat.”
Pain burns through my arm as Tanner swabs it with antiseptic. “Lucky news—this one’s a through and through. But . . .” He shifts to look at my leg. “I’m gonna have to dig this one out of your leg, and it’s going to fucking suck.”
“We need to get in the air. Now.”
“We’re here by water. Gotta take a boat to the chopper. Next time you want to be rescued by air, pick a fucking place where a chopper can land.”
Tanner spends the next ten minutes supergluing the cut on my throat, digging a bullet out of my leg, dumping QuikClot on it, and then slapping duct tape across both gunshot wounds.