Accidental Shield

Bringing the ring closer, I stare at it harder.

That’s what Flint did for me. Gave me freedom when I didn’t know who I was. He gave me hope, wisdom, and so much love.

My throat burns. I can’t hold it in anymore.

Love.

I do love him. No question. More than I ever imagined possible.

I love Bryce, too.

And I want to keep loving them forever.

The ring goes blurry through my tears, but I can still see how it sparkles and shines.

The black pearl. Freedom. So pure and wild no one can ever take it away.

That’s what I need to become.

Free.

I swipe away the tears and grab Ray’s hand, whispering so the goon standing by the door can’t hear. “You have to get up. We need to hide.”

Ray shakes his head. “There’s nowhere to hide on this ship.” He nods at the door. “He has men watching our every move.”

Crud, he’s right. Free doesn’t mean hiding and cowering, anyway.

It means listening to your inner muse when it whispers, improvise.

Scanning the room, I look for something, anything. A reflection on the floor catches my eye.

The broken table.

Its top is shattered into several good-sized glassy pieces sitting in a pile of tiny beads. I stretch my foot under the table and slowly drag a few of the bigger chunks closer to the sofa, then plant my feet over the top of them.

They’ll do just fine.

20

Tough Stuff (Flint)

The huge, imposing yacht barely has any lights.

Neither do we, but I know it’s him.

Joel Cornaro.

I can feel the oily dread in the air, the same sticky weight that was there in Bali. I lift the night vision binoculars to my face and adjust the focus. Cash follows my lead.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Cash drops the binoculars and picks up another pair. The kind he uses for watching night birds because he swears he sees more with those than military grade scopes.

I adjust the focus on my pair again, trying to make out what’s happening at the side of the yacht. It looks like they’re attaching something to the rail on the lower deck.

“It’s almost like…a door? Laid flat?” Cash snorts, whipping his head from side to side. “Is he making some kind of plank? Is this guy that big of a fucking egomaniac?”

“He’s a monster,” I growl, moving my binoculars so I can scan the side of the walkway. People come into view, and I sharpen the focus. “It’s Ray. Cornaro’s right behind him. Poking him in the back with something…a gun. A goddamned golden gun.”

“Nice knowing some things never change,” he bites off.

Snarling, I toss down my binoculars. “Nate, we have to slow them down. Hit that yacht hard enough to punch a hole in the hull.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Nate shouts, an otter of a man with tall, lean muscles. Laughing, he adds, “That’s the beauty of having this rig. They’re gonna think it’s their own guys until we’re right up their ass.”

“Pour on the coals!” Davis shouts.

“This won’t be easy. We’ll need to bail out at high speed,” I tell Davis, Cash, Wallis, and Frank, all good men who’d been in Bali with me. “The water’s hard and rough. Keep your wits.”

“The ladders are on the back of the boat at ten o’clock and eight o’clock. The skiff is hanging at three o’clock on the starboard side,” Cash says, while everyone gets into position. “So far, I’ve counted five people, not including the two hostages. Seven total. Probably more lurking around somewhere.” He then lists off the location of the five known targets, plus Ray and Valerie.

My heart is already a war drum. Adrenaline pumping full blast.

But this time, there’s more going on inside me.

Fear. Panicked knowing that something could still happen to her.

If this goes sideways, there won’t be a second chance.

Everyone calls out their target. Cash takes two, and so do the other guys.

“The hostages,” I say. “I’ll secure them.”

Val’s name sticks in my throat.

“Ready, my man?” Nate asks.

I focus on what’s happening. At the right speed, we’ll ram them head-on, dealing a fair amount of damage to the yacht.

We have to bail before the collision, just at the right moment. They all know it and so do I.

“Ready,” I tell him. “Wait for my mark.”

He throws the throttle forward. The boat bounces as it slams hard against each wave crest. I’m calculating the distance, counting the seconds. Like the others, I’m up on the edge, crouched down and holding on until the precise minute.

The motor whines at breakneck speed, but faint shouts can still be heard coming from the yacht. They see us now. They realize we’re not stopping.

I hold myself back from jumping, just like the rest of my crew. Ten more seconds.

We drive on. A few bullets blaze past, darting into the churning waves around us.

The boat is almost on the ship when I shout, “Now!”