Chapter 16

Kian moved through the vessel, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. They'd cleared the upper deck and the saloon but hadn't spotted anyone else. His inner voice began yelling at him. That this was wrong. Either too easy or too quiet. And where the hell was the captain? Not that Kian had expected the man to be on the daybridge, but he should have been manning the helm adjoining the cabin. Finding it empty…

Voices echoed from the area down the set of stairs in front of them. What he assumed was Russo's stateroom. And while there was a chance the captain was in the head or talking to Russo, something felt off.

Waylen and Porter slid in beside him, nodding at the staircase. While Kian couldn't tell if Porter thought something was wrong, he knew with a single glance at Waylen that his buddy shared his concerns.

Not that they'd change their tactics, now. Better to clear the entire boat before deciding if they'd been wrong. That maybe Russo had suspected an ambush and had already left.

Kian took the stairs one at a time, careful not to make a sound. The boat pitched hard to the left for a moment, but he braced his elbow against the wall — didn't so much as move an inch. Another few steps and they were down — were clearing the head and the other stateroom, then heading for the closed door at the end. Music played in the background as someone laughed behind the closed door.

Waylen went first, showing the countdown on his hand before he turned the handle — barreled through. The guy dove across the floor, Kian going in high and right behind him with Porter bringing up their six. Scanning the room.

Realizing the voices were coming from a phone lying on the bed had his heart beating triple time. Hearing the engines from the Scarab rev, doubled it. Some insane rate that would have him stroking out. He didn't wait to explain. He simply turned and raced up the stairs, through the saloon then onto the deck. Just in time to see the boat speeding away, a tall silhouette at the helm. Another in the back.

Dead.

That's how he felt. Ice cold. Knowing that, regardless of how hard he tried, he'd never be able to catch that boat.

Waylen gave him a punch in the arm as he darted past, already working the anchor. "For god's sake, Kian, snap out of it. Porter's manning the helm. Help me get this bitch underway."

Kian pushed down the fear beading his body with sweat. One of the few times he'd ever truly been afraid. Felt as if this was it — the one mistake he wouldn't be able to fix. Taking a steadying breath, he went to work, ensuring Russo hadn't done anything crazy to the vessel before making his way to the helm. Porter already had the thing chugging forward. Not as fast as Kian would have pushed it but at least they were moving.

Porter glanced over at him, face white. Breath shallow. "They buggered the radio. But even if I could call your team or the Coast Guard, no one's reaching that Scarab before she docks wherever those assholes are taking her."

Kian didn't reply. Couldn't without shouting. He simply nodded then started flashing his light toward Lane. Praying his buddy would clue in. Though, with Blake onboard, taking a shot was risky. What if they had her propped up beside them? A physical barrier between them and any possible shot. It's what he'd do if he was in their position.

Waylen joined them on the bridge. "Not to be a prick, Porter, but…"

Porter moved out of the way. "I'm not ashamed to say you have more skill with a boat than I do. I just hope it's enough."

Waylen didn't answer, just bottomed the throttle — got that yacht rocking through the waves.

Kian placed his hand on his buddy's shoulder. He wouldn't tell his buddy not to kill them by going faster than was safe for the conditions. Not with Blake's life on the line.

He should have seen this coming. Had thought all along that Russo would want to pull the trigger himself. He should have trusted in his instincts instead of getting cocky. Thinking they could easily outsmart the other man.

Porter sighed. "I know this won't help, but it's not your fault. I've been involved in witness protection since I joined the marshals twenty years ago, and I've never come up against this kind of determination. I know my theory's right. Russo has someone involved working for him."

Kian took a breath. Reminded himself Porter wasn't to blame, either. "You thinking inside the Coast Guard?"

"Well, it's not me, and it's not your team, so you do the math. They're fucking dead by the time I'm done, though."

"Oh, they'll wish they were. I promise you that. Russo, too, because if he puts so much as a scratch on Blake…"

Empty threats when they all knew Russo would kill her. No hesitations. No doubts. And somehow, killing the guy after the fact was empty. Because there wasn't a future without Blake in it.

He palmed Waylen's shoulder.

Waylen grunted. "I know, but I can't get any more speed out of her. I'm already in the red."

Having the waves kick up higher and the wind increase didn't help their plight, any. Though, it meant the Scarab had to slow down, too. Being half the size, it wasn't fairing nearly as well, almost capsizing on the next big swell. What might be their only hope.

"Waylen."

Waylen glanced back at Kian. "I saw it, too. If they don't slow down further, they're going to tip her. And we'll be ready. You might want to get in a position to dive overboard. Just saying." Waylen gave him a raise of his brow. "Unless it's my turn, again."

Kian shook his head. "Nope. Definitely my turn."

Porter grabbed Kian's arm as he went to dodge past. "Are you sure? I know you're a SEAL but these waves are crazy. Quickly approaching that level I commented on before."

"I don't care if this is an incoming hurricane. If there's a chance I can save Blake, I'm going in."

"I've got lights up ahead. Several hundred meters out. Bastard was hiding in the next cove. They've still got a healthy lead, but we're gaining." Waylen glanced back at him. "If they tip…"

Kian nodded. He was more than aware of all the possible scenarios, especially if her hands were tied or they'd knocked her out. She'd sink. Fast. "Just do your best to close the distance. I'll worry about the rest."

"Roger that. And Kian…" Waylen looked him dead in the eyes. "Don't fucking die on me, or I'll give you an ass kicking."

"Like you could beat me in a fight."

"Don't make me have to find out."

Kian nodded, aware there wasn't anything left to say. Either he'd get Blake back or die trying.

Damn, she hurt.

Her head, her chest — her hair. All still jumping from the taser hits. As if she was holding onto an electrical current that wouldn't stop.

Blake tried to move her head — see if they really were still tasering her — but the signals weren't getting through. Just thinking about moving had her inching her chin to the side. Puking.

It took her a few minutes to catch her breath. Roll back. Attempt to assess the situation. Not that her brain was functioning all that well. But enough to know this was it. The last few moments she'd be alive if she didn't do something. Even if Kian and Raider got both boats moving — heading her way — they'd never reach her in time. Not with how quick the Scarab was. And that was assuming they'd realized she'd been taken.

Kian would know. Would have heard the engines rev up. Most likely saw the boat speeding away. Which meant he was racing after her, right now. Maybe running on top of the damn water in an effort to save her. Either way, she knew it would kill him if he didn't make it.

Not that she was confident they'd even reach Russo's yacht when the next swell nearly toppled the Scarab. Had the bow shooting a good sixty degrees into the air before coming down hard. Spraying water all across the interior.

The sudden splash of cold helped her shake off some of the residual effects. Not quite functioning, but at least she was able to wiggle her fingers — move one leg a fraction of an inch. It wasn't much, but it felt like a freaking victory. One worthy of a gold medal.

Especially when the next wave had whoever was piloting the vessel easing back on the throttles. Slowing the boat down to a speed that might allow Kian and his team to catch up. If they were already on the way.

Blake had no doubts he'd come for her. The only question was when.

Time for her contingency plan.

Of course, that plan had involved her stealing the Scarab and facing Russo, alone. With all her faculties intact. This plan revolved around her being able to move. Period. Which seemed as farfetched as Kian reaching her before they rendezvoused with Russo.

Kian had been right. The bastard obviously wanted to kill her, himself. Finish what he'd started three years ago. And what might be her only saving grace. Especially, when the rough conditions had the other men focused on the water. On not falling overboard or capsizing the boat. Assuming she was still out cold.

And she should be. After more than two hits, she should be unconscious for the next hour. And if they'd hit her in the right spot, she probably would be. But not every part of the body transmitted the shock all that well, and she'd lucked out that they hadn't thought that part through.

Or they simply didn't see her as a threat.

Which might explain why they'd only bound her hands. She hadn't realized it before. That her wrists were plastered together. Tape, she thought, though she couldn't be sure. Only that she wasn't able to pull them apart. Not like her legs. Even with everything still blurry, her head throbbing, she had enough of her senses back to tell her ankles weren't touching. And she'd use that fact to her advantage.

Blake concentrated on moving her legs. Wiggling her toes, then her feet, until she could swing them an inch side-to-side. It wasn't much, but it gave her a glimmer of hope. If she could focus long enough to kick out the bastard's legs standing beside her during the next big swell, she might have a chance.

Except when the next big one came a few seconds later, and all she managed to do was grunt — maybe sweep her heels a few inches across the floor. Nothing like the hit she'd imagined.

She kept trying, each time getting a bit closer to actually lifting her feet off the deck. Though, if she wasn't careful, the asshole she wanted to kick would clue in, and she'd be no match for him if he started focusing on her.

Was the boat slowing down more? She could have sworn she'd heard the engines spool down, again. And the deck definitely wasn't vibrating as fast as it had been. Either they were nearly at Russo's boat, or the weather had gotten even worse.

God, she hoped it was the latter. Otherwise, by the time she'd regained enough mobility to kick the asshole, it would already too late. Not that she wouldn't still try. She would. She hadn't given up that fateful day on the pier, and she wouldn't give up now. But a bit of luck wouldn't hurt.

Feeling the boat pitch left with her shoulders suggested it really was the weather. That they were hitting the largest wave, yet. Blake readied herself. Once they rocked up, they'd dip down even farther, and that's when she'd have to strike.

Had everything frozen? Just stalled with the boat halfway up the swell? Because it seemed to take forever for the Scarab to crest the wave, her body rolling right a bit in the process. Then, it was pitching hard. Dipping down. She waited until they reached the bottom, started rolling the other way before she used every ounce of strength she could muster — got a bit of a boost from the boat as it hit that next wave.

The man was already rocking partway over the edge as he gripped the rail, what looked like a rifle clasped in one hand. She aimed at the leg baring most of his weight and managed to hit him square in the knee — buckle it.

He vanished.

No shouting, no flailing. Just her knocking his knee out and him sailing over the edge.

Had his rifle clattered to the deck? Somehow not gone over the side with him? Because it looked as if it had fallen down. That he'd released it when he'd tried to catch his weight — stop himself for going overboard.

She twisted her head, that glimmer of hope burning into full-blown excitement when she realized it was definitely the rifle. The one lucky break that might get her out of this alive. Or at least allow her to take some of the remaining men with her.

Assuming she could move enough to grab it. Fire it.

A big ask when she was still recovering from that one hit. Was using all her energy just to breathe.

Knowing she probably only had a few more seconds before the guy driving would realize his buddy wasn't in the boat got her laser focused. Grunting through the effort to wiggle over — grab the stock.

The weapon felt oddly heavy. As if they'd weighed it down. But she managed to wrap her joined hands around the grip — drag it closer.

The guy was talking on the radio. At least, that's what she thought. Mumbled words rising above the sounds of the waves. Which meant they were getting close. That he'd surely turn around to take stock any moment.

One last burst of willpower, and she had that rifle on her chest — got her body upright and leaning against the edge. A check to see if the safety was still on, then she was doing her best to point it at the driver. She wasn't sure if it was remotely in the right direction, but if she kept firing, she might get lucky and hit him.

Having the asshole turn and look her dead in the eyes a second later was all she needed to test that theory. His eyes bulged as he went for his weapon, but she was already pressing the trigger. Slamming her body into the side as the rifle went off, practically vibrating out of her hands as she swept it left to right — caught the asshole several times in the process.

He jerked then fell back over the wheel, turning the boat to the left as the engines kicked up — propelling them forward. Hitting the next wave at some odd angle that nearly capsized them.

The radio hissed, some voice yelling a name. She couldn't quite get her brain focused enough to make sense of the words, but the voice had sounded agitated. Nervous even.

Another spray of water as the Scarab dipped low lifted a bit more of the fog. Allowed her to blink enough to realize they were nearly at Russo's yacht. Lights bobbed off the bow, no more than fifty meters away. What was a collision course if she didn't stop the Scarab in time.

She couldn't. Even if she managed to stand, she'd never cover the short distance between the stern and the wheel before they crashed. Not with how drained she felt.

Of course, the collision might be the second lucky break because there wasn't any way Russo's men could avoid it, either. Get that huge yacht moving fast enough to prevent the hit.

That singular thought — that she might actually take the bastard out — gave her the last boost of strength she needed. Two seconds flat, and she was on her feet. Shaking and barely standing but upright. Another, and she was at the railing, just like the guy she'd knocked overboard.

Shouts rose from the boat, the pop of gunfire sounding around her. They were only maybe twenty meters apart now, well within striking distance. Blake braced herself in the corner, gathering her energy for one last move. What it would take to launch herself over the edge. She wouldn't survive, but it beat dying in a fiery blaze.

She took a breath, when something hit her shoulder, knocked her back. There was a moment of hang time, the water dipping down as the boat hit the next big swell, shooting up and away from her. Then she was plunging beneath the surface — everything fading into black as the ocean enveloped her, dragging her down.