“Remove your masks and put your hands in the air.” The one standing in the cockpit gave the order. The leader. The one Chris would take out first.
Layla bumped into him as she removed her mask and rebreather. Chris did the same, putting his hands up while bobbing in the water. He positioned himself in front of Layla so if bullets started flying, they would hit him first.
His best guess: Pirates. Their boat anchored next to the Catamaran was built for speed and durability when approaching bigger ships and for a fast getaway. But pirates didn’t make sense. There hadn’t been any incidents involving pirates in the Bahamas in years. The closest would be Haiti.
“On the boat,” the leader ordered.
Chris removed his fins, as did Layla, before he pulled himself out of the water onto the step. He turned with a hand extended to hoist Layla up next to him.
His gaze slid from one man to the next. Dark skinned, average heights and builds. Nothing stood out on any of them. Except the leader. He had a scar slashing down his cheek.
A distinct smell drifted past his nose. Smoke.
“Come aboard,” the leader said. “And remove your equipment.”
The man blocking their entry stepped aside. Chris kept Layla closely behind him as they climbed onto the deck and removed their tanks. Water pooled at their bare feet. He couldn’t risk a glance at Layla to see how she was handling this. His attention remained centered on the threat.
The leader swaggered over to stand in front of him. Without warning he raised his AK and slammed it into Chris’s temple. Pain exploded through his head. Pissed, he lashed out, landing a hard blow to the man’s midsection.
He heard Layla scream as the other two moved in, grabbing him by the arms and holding him back. The leader stepped close and punched him in the gut. Followed immediately with a right hook to the jaw that twisted Chris’s head. A flurry of blows rained down on him. He felt blood gush from his nose and the hits to his kidneys would have him pissing blood for a week.
Layla was screaming at them to stop. One of the men let go of him too subdue her. He heard the back of the man’s hand connect with her cheek. Her gasp of pain and surprise.
Chris saw red, but he knew now wasn’t the time to retaliate. He had to stay smart. Play the game to survive.
Finally, the asshole stopped using him for a punching bag. The pain in his body only fueled his desire to put these guys down. And he would fucking take them down.
“Lock him in the engine room,” the leader ordered. “The smoke will suffocate him.”
“No!” Layla cried as they opened the hatch and threw him down.
He landed on his shoulder with a grunt. Before he could roll to his feet the two men latched onto him and hauled him into the engine room which had begun to fill with smoke.
Without a word they closed the door and barred it from the outside.
Chris coughed as smoke irritated his lungs. He didn’t have a shirt to cover his mouth so he crouched low to avoid as much smoke as possible as he investigated the source. A small fire still burned around the engines. They had destroyed the mechanics. This boat wasn’t going anywhere.
Fuck.
Grabbing the fire extinguisher off the wall, he pulled the pin and put out the fire. Then he moved to the door and tried to get it open. No amount of effort budged it. He slammed his good shoulder into it over and over, cursing a blue streak when the door held.
Spinning, he began searching for something to jimmy the lock. Once he got that he could use brute force to break through the barrier.
He had to get the hell out of this room before he ran out of air. And before they hurt Layla.
4
Layla pressed a hand to her stinging cheek. Her mind reeled trying to process what was happening. She’d sailed all around the world, many times, and had never had a problem. How did this happen? They were in the Bahamas. Not freaking Haiti. Things like this just didn’t happen here.
What did they want?
They had abused Chris and gotten rid of him in the blink of an eye. He’d been outnumbered three-to-one. And, they had nasty looking weapons pointed at his head that she didn’t doubt they would use if prompted. The thought made her sick. She could only pray he wasn’t dead down there. She may not trust bodyguards, but she needed him to do his job and protect her from scary men with guns.
Which begged another question: Where was Tim? What had they done to him?
One of the men grabbed her roughly by the arm. The dark-skinned man with the mean eyes and scar running the length of his cheek stepped closer. She smelled sweat and bad breath, making her want to gag.
“Where is your computer?” he asked. “The Defender software.”
Her stomach dropped to her feet. They were here for Defender. They weren’t pirates. Someone had hired them. But, who? No one outside of Scott Solutions and the government knew about the program. The government forbid the company from discussing it outside their own walls. Not top secret, but not meant to be shared for duplication.
This could only mean one thing. They had a mole and traitor inside the company.
Her mind raced. What did she do? She couldn’t hand the program over. She was under contract. If she didn’t, they might kill her. Then again, they might kill her either way.
One of the men poked her in the shoulder with the tip of his weapon. She had no choice but to tell them where to find her laptop.
“It’s in the master stateroom,” she relented, glaring at the man. “Locked in the desk drawer.”
Pleased, the leader nodded at one of the men who took off in search of her room. How he planned on getting in the drawer without her remained a mystery.
Minutes later the man’s walkie filed with static then another voice.
The leader looked at her. “The code.”
She rattled off the numbers, hating herself for giving in so easily. If she could come up with another alternative, she would surely take it. Right now, her mind was blank. The gun pointed at her face didn’t help.
The leader repeated the numbers through a walkie to the other man. Minutes later, the other man returned carrying her laptop and all of her notes.
“Kill her,” the leader ordered before spinning on a heel and taking the steps down to climb aboard his own boat, followed by the man who had collected the items.
Layla felt her body go numb with fear. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t run.
She was frozen.
The last man on board lifted his weapon and aimed it directly at her.
Layla closed her eyes.
A shot echoed through the serene day.
Nothing. No pain. No blow from the bullet entering her flesh.
“Layla. Run.”
Her eyes flew open as chaos erupted around her. Tim leaned against one of the benches, bleeding from his chest, a gun wavering in his hand. Where did he get a gun?The man who had been ordered to shoot her lie in a heap on the deck, blood pouring out of a hole in his neck.
Tim had saved her life.
Forcing her leaden legs to move she sprinted for the glass doors. Bullets rained around her. Something struck her calf, buckling her legs as she dove through the doors.
Men shouted behind her, more staccato bullets.
A moment of eerie silence as she pushed to her feet.
Then a deafening explosion that sent her flying into the corner bar.
All went dark.
5
Chris heard a small war breaking out around him. Bullets peppered the side of the boat.
He dove for the floor, holding his hands over his head to protect himself as bullets sprayed the sides of the catamaran. Christ, were they trying to sink the boat with bullet holes? That would take a lot of damn holes.
The shooting stopped. Maybe they’d given up. Sinking a vessel like this wouldn’t be easy. Not with a couple AK-47’s.
An explosion rocked the boat, throwing him against the wall. What the hell was that? Coughing, his lungs burning from the smoke, he m
oved to the door to once again try working the lock. He had to get out of this room. Had to find Layla.
He tried the lock again. This time it released. Not from the inside, but the outside. The barrier was released and the door opened.
Layla stood there, eyes wide with shock, face ashen.
Chris rose to his feet. Relief flooded through him. Thank God nothing had happened to her.
Then he saw the way she favored her right leg. The blood soaking her bare foot.
“Layla,” he said cautiously, not liking the vacant look in her eyes. “It’s me, Chris. Sweetheart, you’re safe now.”
He touched her arm and she jumped, drawing in a gasp. Then she blinked, finally, and saw him as if seeing him for the first time.
“Chris,” she whispered.
He pulled her into his arms, cupping the back of her head against his chest. “It’s me. I’ve got you.”
She trembled against him and he cursed himself for not being there to protect her. He’d underestimated the pirates. A mistake that could have cost them both their lives.
She pushed him away, holding up a warning hand. “They shot Tim,” she said. “He’s dead.”
Damn.
He kept his distance. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “Just my leg. I think I got grazed by a bullet.”
They didn’t have time to worry about that now. Unfortunately, there were more pressing matters. He reached for her hand, then stopped, remembering she didn’t like to be touched. Since when was he so eager to touch one of his charge’s anyway? Keeping things professional had never been a problem. Until now. What the hell?
“We have to move fast.” To emphasize the urgency the boat shifted, tossing them off balance. Layla gasped, grabbing onto him. He steadied them as the boat settled. Time was not on their side. This girl was going down fast.
“There was an explosion,” Layla said, dazed.
She was still in shock.
“Yes. The boat is sinking. We have to grab as many supplies as we can before she goes down.”
Her eyes widened and she shook her head. Unable to process.
“Can you go into the galley and fill as many bags as you can with food. Nothing perishable.”
Layla simply stared at him. He gave her a shake. Rough enough to snap her out of it.
“Y—yes,” she stammered. “Food.”
“Go. Now. I’ll get the life raft and the rest of the supplies. Hurry.”
She nodded, shaky. “Please don’t leave me.”
He squeezed her hand. “Never. Now go.”
With a firm nod she climbed the stairs to the cockpit. Chris went in search of the life raft.
God willing, they would make it out of this alive.
* * *
Chris found the life raft and had it set up in the water within minutes. He tied it off and went in search of supplies. The raft held the basics, but they would need more. He ran through the rooms collecting items they may need, throwing them in a waterproof sack he’d found with the life raft.
The hull of the boat was completely encompassed in water now turning the boat vertical. He wished they had more time but she was sinking fast and taking on water at an alarming rate.
Time to get the hell off this boat.
He found Layla in the galley: three waterproof bags filled to the brim. They weighed her down as she struggled to find purchase on the downward slope.
Chris took the bags from her, slung them over his shoulder with the other bags and grabbed her hand.
“We have to go,” he urged.
The boat groaned around them and lurched as if hit from behind by something bigger and heftier. Water began to swirl around their knees, rising fast.
“Come on,” he said, pushing through the water with Layla in tow.
By time they reached the salon they were neck-deep and fighting wave after wave as the boat took on more water. Weighed down by the supplies and Layla, it took all of his effort to swim upward toward the glass doors.
He’d always been a strong swimmer. Made Hell Week slightly easier.
The water that had provided peace and solace for them a short time ago now clawed at them, threatening to pull them under with the ship.
Water splashed his face repeatedly. His arms burned from swimming against the current. Layla clung to his back, kicking with her feet, trying to help. She coughed and gagged as water filled her mouth and nose.
Finally, they broke the surface. They both breathed raggedly. Chris didn’t stop for a rest. If they didn’t get to that life raft it would be pulled under with the boat.
“We’re almost there,” he said, launching forward, swimming with broad strokes to get to the raft he saw bobbing in the water. It tugged slightly, the boat wanting to take it down with her.
He reached it just as the boat began to pull it under. The front dipped, the nylon rope securing it stretched taut. Chris quickly unstrapped the knife from his thigh, thankful he’d found it earlier and thought to put it on. He used it to cut the rope and release the raft. It bobbed upward, free of its restraints.
Beneath them the cockpit disappeared into the water, sliding gracefully into her watery grave. Waves rocked them, making climbing the ladder into the raft difficult. Chris helped Layla in first, then handed her the bags, one by one, before climbing in himself. He pulled the ladder up and turned to Layla.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded. “I’m okay.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slow. Almost like meditation. “What are we going to do now?”
She definitely sounded calmer. Her earlier shock having worn off. Or, it had consumed her and was her way of dealing with their situation.
“We try to get to the island I saw on the maps.” He found the collapsible aluminum paddles and extended them. He’d left the canopy off for now so he could paddle from both sides. The midday sun had lost some of its heat indicating evening was pending. He really didn’t want to spend the night on the water. Navigation would be that much more difficult.
“An island,” she repeated. “How far away is it?”
“Fifteen miles.”
She frowned, silent for a moment. Then, “That’s at least seven hours.”
He got out the compass and set it on his thigh before starting to paddle. As long as they stayed on course, they might make it by nightfall.
“We’ll make it,” he assured her. “There’s a first aid kit in the pocket to your right.”
She glanced down at her leg. “Right.”
He continued to paddle, ignoring the pull in his shoulder from where they’d pushed him down the hatch and the aches in his body from his beating. Layla found the first aid kit and laid it out in the bottom of the raft. She rolled her scuba suit past her calf.
“Did the bullet go through?” he asked.
“No. Just grazed me.”
“Will you need stitches?”
She bit her lip. “Maybe. It’s pretty deep.”
He stopped paddling and twisted to inspect the wound. A chunk of flesh was missing. Definitely needed stitches.
“Can you row?” he asked. “I’ll do the stitching.”
She took over the paddles while he shifted in the raft to gain better access to her leg. Not an easy task given the soft floor. Layla didn’t look comfortable with her leg kinked to the side so he could work on it, but she didn’t complain. They both knew they couldn’t afford to stray off course or sit idle. Not if they wanted to make it to the island by nightfall.
He worked quickly. Threaded the needle, sanitized and cleaned out the wound. Apologized for the sting from the antiseptic when she hissed out a breath. He wasted no time squeezing the flesh and sewing it together. To Layla’s credit, she didn’t miss a stroke. Paddled a little faster in response to the pain, but never said a word. Chris’s respect for her grew.
He covered the wound with a fresh bandage and carefully pulled her suit over it. The tight fit of the wetsuit would help keep the bleeding at bay. He
put everything away, disposed of the bloody gauze in a plastic bag and tied it closed before tucking it away in one of the bags. Sharks were attracted to the scent of blood and they didn’t need trouble of that kind.
Layla handed over the paddles and he took over rowing, keeping an eagle eye on the compass so they didn’t stray off course.
She busied herself arranging the bags in the raft. Chris understood her restless energy. He felt it, too. Shit had hit the fan and the outlook was grim at best. He’d only seen this island on a map. It looked like it had trees and structure, but there was no guarantee. Could be all rock like the other one. If that was the case they were screwed.
He kept his thoughts to himself. Scaring Layla wouldn’t do either of them any good. She looked fragile right now. Pale, shaky.
“Chris?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re going to be okay, right?”
“Yes,” he replied, praying it was the truth.
6
Layla clasped her hands together in her lap, trying to steady them. She didn’t want Chris to see her shake. You didn’t become one of America’s top five software developers by showing fear. Her father preached that to all of his employees daily. Although more into her than the others. She was, after all, his only child. Even if she had been conceived in an extra-marital affair. A fact her stepmother never let her forget.
Her calf was killing her. It stung and ached where the stitches had been put in. The pain served as an effective distraction from the fact they were stranded in the middle of the ocean on a six-foot life raft.
They. Her and a man she’d only just met. A hired bodyguard, albeit, but a stranger all the same. A stranger like her last security guard. Look how that had ended. She still had nightmares about his hand over her mouth, his knee driving her legs apart.
Despite the warmth of the day, a chill spread over her. All she could hope for was that Chris wasn’t a psycho like the last one. She directed her thoughts away from the past and to the present. Which didn’t look much more appealing. How had this happened? One minute she was enjoying her favorite pastime and the next she was fighting for survival. Being shot at. Stolen from. Seeing dead men. A shudder worked through her. She couldn’t process it right now.
Necessary Risk: Wolff Securities Book 4 Page 2