Page 10 of Baby for the Bratva

“Sir.” Chekhov’s voice is deep and urgent. That can’t be good news.

I spin around, nearly tossing my cigar into the ocean. “What is it? What’s the news?”

He sighs. “No Brazilian police on board as far as I can tell, but they’re on to you. I just received word that you have a bounty on your head.”

“I always do,” I reply in a dismissive manner. “Is that all you came to tell me?”

“It’s a pretty big thing,” he replies, his eyes shifting to avoid mine. “A million dollars.”

Every muscle in my body tenses at the same time. “I hope you’re talking about Brazilian Reals and not US Dollars.”

He gives me that lame office-worker-at-the-water-cooler smile, and I know it’s dollars. Jesus, they must really have it out for me. I wonder whose toes I stepped on this time.

I try not to show my anxiety about this. It’s not like we’re going straight to Brazil this time. We’ve been taking the long way through South America, and this time is no different. Brazil won’t even be getting the majority of our shipment, just the leftovers.

But now, I’m thinking we might need to avoid them completely.

“Okay,” I say, taking a puff of my cigar. “We don’t sweat Brazil right now. Let them cool down. I’m assuming this bounty is only valid if I’m returned in one piece.”

He shakes his head, and my stomach sinks. “Dead or alive, and you know every amateur bounty hunter is going to be on your ass. It’s not just the Brazilians, either. Once the word gets out, you’re in real trouble.”

“Shit,” I hiss, turning back to the water. I almost feel like throwing myself over the railing, but I resist the temptation to take the easy way out.

I’ve been through things like this before. One time, I sold cocaine to the son of a king, who promptly mixed it with amphetamines and overdosed. I thought for sure that I was a dead man, but it turned out that money spoke louder than half-hearted apologies, and I walked away with emptier pockets and my head still intact.

I figure that this time, I could pay off my own bounty somehow, and get away clean.

But until then, I’m going to have to watch my back. Stuff like this gets people real antsy, and itchy trigger fingers on a cruise ship are never a good thing. It could blow up my entire drug operation in an instant.

Any attention is bad attention when you’re trafficking enough cocaine to get an entire country high.

Or seven countries, in my case. We’re unloading a portion at each port, and by the end of it, the ship should be empty, and we’ll be able to plan our next move. I might lay low for a while after this and figure out why the Brazilian authorities want me dead so badly.

That, or I’m taking another cruise with a shipload of cocaine. The world isn’t going to stop for a million-dollar bounty, so why should I?

“Okay,” I say, forcing a smile as I turn back to Chekhov. “Tell me something good. There don’t appear to be any undercover police or bounty hunters on the boat, as far as you can tell. I’m assuming you’ve already checked in with the first port. Everything in order?”

He nods. “Everything is good on that side of things, and our men have dispersed with the regular crew, giving us eyes and ears everywhere. If something does happen, we’ll know.”

“I’m hoping it doesn’t, but I know you can handle things if we need to act quickly,” I reply, pulling a second cigar out of my pocket when I catch Chekhov eying mine with palpable envy. “Take this. You look like you need it.”

He hesitates for a moment, but the allure of nicotine after a long day is hard to resist. Taking the cigar, he joins me against the railing for a long smoke. It’s just us and the sound of the waves hitting the side of the boat.

It’ll be peaceful like this for the next couple of days, but it never lasts. Inevitably, something comes up, and I must tend to business.

This time, that something comes before I even have the chance to loosen my shoulders and finish my cigar.

A boat on the horizon.

And a swirling blue emergency light.

I look over to Chekhov as he’s muttering a curse. “Alert the men and meet me down in the storeroom. I want everyone armed and ready.”

He takes one last drag from his cigar and throws it into the water, following me as I rush up the metal stairs to the main lobby. If the police are heading toward our boat, it could mean serious trouble.

The last thing I want to do is shoot my way out of this, but if push comes to shove…

I’m using bullets instead of my fists.

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