Page 88 of The Devil's Daughter

“The fuck you are,” Miles says. “We have a deal. I kill him and take his place as CEO of Typhon, and we’re golden. You don’t need him.”

Gustavo removes Drake’s gag with a swift rip of tape.

“Youdoneed me,” Drake says, glaring daggers at Miles. “You must be fucking dense if you think it’s that easy to take over Typhon. The Board has to unanimously approve a new CEO. It’s in the bylaws. And trust me,noneof them will approve you.”

“Is this true?” Gustavo asks, turning back to Miles. “You told me it was a done deal.”

“He’s full of shit,” Miles says. “I’ve personally met with each member and ensured all their votes. Not to mention thereis no dealwithout me. You’re forgetting who your supplier is.”

“Did he tell you that Typhon’s already been under investigation for human trafficking?” Drake says. “Why do you think my father had to go? I wasn’t about to let him destroy the entire company over his fucking side gig. You’re better off keeping your distance. Find another way, and leave my company the fuck out of your scheme.”

Gustavo rounds on Miles again and points in his face. “What the fuck? When I came to you with this, you claimed there was no way it could fail. Now not only are you full of shit about the power you have, but the entire corporation is fuckingtainted? Remind me why I agreed to enter into this partnership with Corluka.”

“We have other business besides the girls,” Miles says. “Other products that are easier to transport. Meth… heroin … guns…”

Gustavo laughs, his voice getting louder. “You think I don’t already have enough drugs? And no doubt better shit too. I’d be interested in the guns if I thought I could fuckingtrust you!”

He raises his fist and brings it down against Miles’ temple before the other man has time to lift his hands in defense. The impact makes a sickening crunch, and Miles crumples to the ground.

45

Elle

Gustavo doesn’t seemto register what just happened. All I see is rage in his eyes as he stares at the bleeding body on the floor below him. Miles’ eyes are wide open and staring, but devoid of life.

Gustavo turns on Drake, teeth bared, knuckles white where he clenches his metal-adorned fist.

Ben surges to his feet with a loud, inarticulate protest and topples over immediately.

I yell “No!” as Gustavo raises his fist, aiming for Drake’s face.

A shot echoes through the door, and a bullet hits the windshield just past Gustavo’s head. A web of tiny cracks spreads through the glass. He jerks back, and at first I think—no Ihope—he’s been hit, but he doesn’t cry out or stumble. Instead he mutters, “You fuckers aren’t worth it,” then turns and darts to the narrow door on the other side of the instrument panel leading to a weather deck just beyond the windows.

Another shot pings off the door, and he ducks as he leaps over the handrail and disappears.

A moment later, his helicopter’s rotors start up, then hit a whining crescendo. Baz lurches onto the bridge, holding his blood-soaked side as he stumbles past us and out the door, firing his gun at the retreating man. But none of the bullets hit their target, and soon Gustavo’s helicopter rises into the air.

Baz returns to us, panting, his eyes wild. “Are you guys okay?” He comes to me first, pulling out his knife and slicing easily through the zip ties around my wrists and ankles. I throw my arms around him.

“Baz. Thank god you’re okay. I thought they killed you!”

“I’m made of tough stuff,” he says, kissing me before turning to Ben who has managed to return to a seated position after tumbling over.

Once the captain, Drake, and Ben are all free, I push Baz down into the chair beside the captain’s chair and lift his shirt. “Jesus, what happened?” I gingerly dab gauze from a First Aid kit at the deep gash in his side.

“Got cornered in the galley. I disarmed the fucker, but he went for the cooking knives.”

“We have suture kits down in the med bay,” Theo says. “Take him down and we’ll get started cleaning up here.”

Ben kneels beside Miles’ body, placing his fingers to his neck to check his pulse.

“What are you going to do with him?” I ask.

He grimaces. “Bury him. He’s dead.”

“Fuck,” Drake mutters, swiping his hands over his face. “This could be really fucking bad for us.”

“Does the Corluka gang know who he was in business with?” I ask. “Because if they do, they probably won’t spend much time wondering if anyone but Gustavo could’ve done this.”

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