Page 86 of The Devil's Daughter

“What the fuck? You should be with Elle.”

“I heard shots. I couldn’t let you two deal with it alone. She has a gun and insists she knows how to use it.”

“Don’t be a goddamn hero, Drake. It’s myjobto protectyou, not the other way around.”

His jaw clenches. “I don’t give a fuck. We’re all in danger now. I may not be as highly trained as you two, but I can hold my own.”

Just as he says it, a loud crash reaches us from the direction of his room, followed by a gunshot. We both break into a run, skidding to a halt and ducking into my room when a man fires at us. Behind him, another man has an arm locked around Elle’s neck, her back plastered to his chest and a gun to her head as he backs toward the stairwell. She’s fighting him with her entire being, scratching and screaming, every sound making my gut clench with terror. The man also has blood running down his cheek from what looks like the graze of a bullet that passed through the top of one ear. Too bad she didn’t aim a couple inches to the left.

Unfortunately we can’t shoot, or we’ll risk getting our heads blown off by his friend—or even worse, hitting Elle.

“They won’t hurt her if they want you,” I say, sharing a desperate look with Drake when they disappear up the stairs. He studies me, then nods, making a move to give chase. I grab his arm and pull him back. “But I don’t intend to give you up easily, either. I’m not crazy enough to think you’ll stay put if I tell you to go hide somewhere, so just stay behind me, okay? Let’s see if we can get to the bridge. Hopefully Baz made it and the three of us can regroup.”

Drake nods again and falls into step behind me. I move slow and steady so I can listen to whatever’s going on above. Elle’s angry screams and curses echo down to us, getting fainter as they take her farther away. I’m able to follow the sound up to the main deck, and it keeps rising until eventually, it stops. Chances are they gagged her—at least I hope that’s all they did.

But the only thing above us is the bridge deck, which includes the captain’s quarters, as well as the actual bridge. I glance behind me to warn Drake to stay close and quiet just in time to see another intruder grab him.

“Drop your fucking gun,” the man says, holding a knife to Drake’s throat.

“No problem. Don’t hurt him, okay?” I carefully squat to set my gun on the ground and lift both hands as I rise.

“Now go,” the man says, gesturing to the steps leading up to the bridge.

Gritting my teeth, I obey.

When I step through the open door onto the bridge, I’m greeted by two kneeling figures—Elle and Theo, gagged with their hands bound behind their backs and zip ties around their ankles.

Miles Sitnik sits in the captain’s chair, a phone to one ear, and swivels to face me as two sets of hands grab me and force me to my knees. I’m similarly bound and gagged, then lifted beneath my armpits and hauled to kneel beside Elle while they shove Drake to his knees in front of his brother.

“We have him,” Sitnik says into a phone he holds to his ear. “I can kill him now and snap a picture for you.” He glances at us and frowns. “Three witnesses. His girlfriend and his captain, and one other man I think is his bodyguard. We subdued the crew in their quarters, but it’s only the chef and his wife.”

He listens for a moment, his jaw clenching. “If you insist. Yes, there’s a helipad on both yachts. You’d better not be wasting my fucking time.”

“Your boss thinks you’ll fuck it up again, huh?” Drake says. “Sometimes if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

“Don’t get me started on whatyoufucked up,” Miles snaps. “Our father was building an empire before you came along and murdered him and burned all his hard work to the ground. I’m here to rebuild as soon as I get you out of the way.”

“If killing me is the answer, why wait? Why put surveillance all over my penthouse?”

“To make a fucking point. You’re no better than any of the men who paid to partake of the Kennel’s offerings. You’re not the only one with surveillance software on other people’s computers. Not the only one who likes towatch. I’ve been watching you for more than a year now, biding my time. Your old security chief nearly fucked up my plans when he found the cameras.”

“Soyoukilled Curt Hagler,” Drake says. “Or did you even bother getting your hands dirty with that?”

Miles waves his hand. “Like you, I can pay other people to do my dirty work. Outsource everything, Dad used to say. But they still couldn’t figure out where you ran to after you found the cameras. Your new live-in girlfriend was the weak spot I needed. If it weren’t for her big mouth, I’d have never found out where you were.”

I clench my jaw around the rag they stuffed into my mouth. Elle was the weak spot? How? It had to be something he overheard at the party.

I glance at her, and she gives me an apologetic shrug. I turn back to glare at Miles, hoping my expression conveys enough warning to leave her out of this. But a moment later, it sinks in that he has no clue who she is, or whoweare. He’s so singularly focused on Drake he seems to have entirely missed the connection to Flores.

Not that that will save us here. Whoever’s en route to observe Drake’s execution is the real devil, and unless Papá Flores himself materializes out of thin air to face off against him, we’re fucked. And I’m pretty sure we can’t count on Elle’s Navy SEAL brother and his friend to leap out of the water, knives clenched in their teeth, to wreak havoc on these fuckers.

The rhythmicthwapof a helicopter grows louder as it approaches us, and I brace myself. Miles gestures, and the man guarding Drake shoves a gag into his mouth and slaps duct tape over it. Drake shoots a panicked glance our way, eyes wide as he scans the three of us. His gaze brightens minutely, and I give a sharp shake of my head to warn him not to give away what might be our only advantage. My twin is still out there somewhere; with any luck, he’s still alive and figuring out how to come rescue us.

The helicopter lands, and a moment later, slow, heavy footsteps sound on the stairs. I’m expecting some old Serbian asshole to appear, but the man remains in shadows until he reaches the doorway and steps inside.

And then my eyes lock on the last fucker I ever wanted to see: GustavofuckingDelgado.

44

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