I divide the vials into a bunch of shot glasses on the bar and top them off with a cheap bottle of vodka. Michele helps me force the liquid down each of the men’s throats, and it doesn’t take long to incapacitate them. It will keep them quiet for now, but by the time we reach our destination, they’ll be slightly more alert and pliable enough for what we need to do.
We stop at a Bratva smuggling buoy in the middle of Puget Sound to meet up with Cristian. I turn on the AIS while we’re there, leaving a digital breadcrumb, and we transfer the men to Cal’s yacht. When Rafe shows up with the women in the third boat, Cristian predictably loses his shit.
“What is she doing here?” He glowers at Chantel.
She offers him a smile designed to test his patience. “I know this may be a novel concept for you, but I make my own decisions, so you can find someone else to manage.”
Cristian’s gaze darkens as it slides over her barely-there dress, and his hand flexes at his side.
“Trust me, you would know if I were managing you. I don’t do gentle correction.”
A flush crawls up Chantel’s neck, which only seems to increase the tension between the two of them.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she bites out.
They continue to stare at each other until Angelo interrupts. “Did you bring what we need for photos?”
“Yes.” Chantel points at the duffel bag between Jasmine and Honey.
“Then do what you need to do,” he tells them. “We’ll get the men situated.”
The women get ready, pulling on silicone face masks and wigs, while we set up staging areas for the men.
I dump some blow on the table in the salon and scatter dirty cocktail glasses throughout while Michele handles the main cabin. When he’s done tossing around condoms and dildos like confetti, we bring the women in.
“Oh, God, these motherfuckers.” Jasmine grimaces.
“You know them?” Rafe asks.
“Oh yeah, we know them.” Honey narrows her eyes at Cal. “Can I shove a couple dildos up his ass with no lube?”
“If you want.” Rafe snorts. “They’re yours to play with for the next hour.”
Jasmine and Honey glance at each other and smirk. Meanwhile, Chantel focuses on an attorney named Winston, and Cristian doesn’t miss it.
“What did this one do?” His eyes flash.
“Well, let’s see.” She counts off the offenses on her fingers. “He grabbed my ass, yanked me onto his lap during a show, and tried to shove his hand down my shorts. Then, when he got banned from the club, he followed me through the parking garage and tried to get me to retract my complaints against him.”
Cristian levels Winston with a rare display of emotion as a vein in his neck pulses. He’s usually the calm one, but he looks tempted to gut him right now.
He confirms it when he shoots me a look, quietly letting me know he wants me to save Winston for him.
“Should we get this party started?” Jasmine asks.
Both the other women nod, but when Chantel tries to join them, Cristian grabs her by the arm and halts her.
“No physical contact. You can help take photos.”
“Why?” she argues. “I put the mask and wig on.”
“Because I fucking said so,” he snaps.
“Better do what daddy says,” Honey sings. “He sounds cranky.”
Chantel yanks her arm free and holds out her hand. “Give me a phone so I can take these stupid pictures.”
I toss Richard’s phone to her first and line up the rest, so they’re ready when we need them.
