Page 30 of Tempest

“We’ll get her back,” Wire said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “I promise you that, brother.”

I stared out at the horizon. “Yeah,” I growled. “And God help anyone who gets in our way.”

“Shit,” Wire muttered. His fingers flew across the keyboard, the sound echoing through the phone. “They’re heading toward Cuba, just like I feared. But I’ve got a fix on their exact coordinates. For now.”

“How long?” I snapped.

“At their current speed, they’ll hit Cuban waters in about two hours.”

“Fuck!” I slammed my fist into my thigh, welcoming the burst of pain. “We need to intercept them before that happens.”

“Already on it,” Wire said. “I’m calling in some favors. The Devil’s Boneyard MC can get to your location the quickest. There’s also a group in Miami called Twisted Tides. I’ve dealt with them a few times in the past. I’m going to call their President, Tiger. He can probably have boats in the water within the hour.”

I nodded, my mind racing. “Good. Tell them to arm up. These fuckers won’t give her up without a fight.”

“What about you?”

I was already sprinting back toward the house. “I’m grabbing my gear and heading to the airstrip down the highway. Privately owned, but if I pay enough, maybe they’ll fly me to Miami. Tell the Twisted Tides I’m heading their way.”

“Tempest.” Wire’s voice was hesitant. “We should call Tank.”

My stomach twisted. “No. Not yet. Not until we have her back safe. He’s still recovering. This is the last thing he needs.”

“He deserves to know --”

“I said no!” I roared, then took a deep breath. “Look, I’ll take whatever beating he wants to dish out. But right now, I need to focus on getting Kasen back. You hear me?”

A pause. “All right. But you better pray we find her fast. And for the record, if you weren’t our Sergeant-at-Arms, I’d still tell Tank whether you liked it or not.”

I hung up without responding, my mind already mapping out the rescue. As I burst into the house, a cold, deadly focus settled over me. Those bastards had no idea what was coming for them.

Hold on, Kasen. I’m on my way.

I tore through the house, grabbing my go-bag and weapons. Things I always kept stashed in my saddlebags. My hands shook as I checked the clip in my Glock. Focus. I needed to be sharp. For Kasen.

The drive to the airstrip was a blur of screeching tires and ignored speed limits. I parked haphazardly, running toward the small office building. A sleepy-eyed man looked up as I burst through the door.

“I need a plane. Now.” I slammed a wad of cash on the counter. “Miami. It’s an emergency.”

He blinked, taking in my wild eyes and the visible gun at my hip. “Sir, I can’t just --”

I leaned in close, my voice a low growl. “Listen carefully. A girl’s life is at stake. Either you get me a pilot and a plane in the next five minutes, or I’ll take one myself. Your choice.”

Something in my expression must have convinced him. He swallowed hard and nodded.

Twenty minutes later, I was in the air, my knuckles white as I gripped the armrests. The pilot, a grizzled veteran who’d seen some shit, didn’t ask questions. Just nodded grimly when I told him to push it as fast as the plane could go.

My phone vibrated. Wire.

“Talk to me,” I barked.

“Twisted Tides is mobilizing. They’ll rendezvous with you at their clubhouse. I’ve sent coordinates to your phone.”

I grunted acknowledgment. “The traffickers?”

“Still on course for Cuba. But, Tempest…” Wire hesitated. “There’s chatter. These guys aren’t amateurs. They’ve got connections.”

Ice settled in my gut. “How bad?”

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