A sound around the corner of the bridge house told him he didn’t have time to get his weapon in the ready position. Mason bellied out and opened up on the two men sneaking aboard the back of the boat at the same time Bran spun and slapped the barrel of a SCAR-L away from his head just as it peeked around the corner and aimed. The metal was cold and wet against the side of his hand, and the rifle hit the deck with a clatter before skidding toward the railing.
Bran barely had time to brace himself before his would-be assassin let loose with a bloodcurdling scream and launched himself. The two of them slammed onto the deck in a tangle of arms and legs as the sound of two roundszzzzzippedthrough the air beside them.
As Mason laid down a covering fire, keeping the assailants at the back of the boat pinned, Bran fought to gain the upper hand with all the rage and fury inside him. Still rolling across the deck, he yanked his knife from the sheath around his calf. With a grunt and twist, he was able to end up atop his attacker. He didn’t hesitate. He plunged the blade straight toward the merc’s heart, but the man grabbed his wrist at the last moment and stayed the deathblow.
“Whoareyou guys?” the mercenary gritted as they both struggled to control the direction of the blade.
It’s the dude with the Southern accent.Bran would recognize that voice anywhere.
“I’m the last guy you’ll ever see,” he snarled, putting his full weight against the hilt of the blade, ignoring the ache in his thigh. The local anesthetic the medic—the nowdeadmedic—had given him was wearing off. “Brought to you courtesy of the United States Navy.”
“Please,” Southern Accent begged, his eyes wide and frightened inside the holes of the balaclava he still wore. “You wouldn’t kill a brother in arms, would you? I was Navy too.”
The tip of Bran’s knife pierced the merc’s flesh. Tears welled in the villain’s eyes. “You’re no brother of mine.” The monster was alive inside Bran. It yelled for blood. For death. For vengeance in the name of the brave Coast Guardsman who was dead on the deck not two feet away. “You sold your soul to the devil, dickhole. And I’m here to collect.”
With that, Bran twisted slightly to the merc’s left, toward the man’s nondominant hand, and was rewarded when his blade cut deeper. Deeper still. The mercenary tried to buck him off, tried to twist away, but it was no use. Bran’s knife slipped between the man’s ribs and pierced his black heart, blood bubbling around the blade, the sound of the mercenary’s scream slicing through the humid air before quieting to an open-mouthed wheeze.
Bran didn’t wait for the light to dim in the merc’s eyes before jumping to help Mason, swinging his M4 over his head. But Mason didn’t need his help. He’d already taken out the men who’d tried to board the vessel. Well…oneof them anyway. The other was crawling across the deck, leaving a bloody path like a slug’s trail in his wake.
Mason walked up behind him, M4 trained, and yelled, “Stay where you are, motherfucker!”
The man flipped onto his back, revealing the pistol in his hands. But he didn’t have time to squeeze off a round before Mason drilled one right between his eyes at the same time Bran squeezed his trigger, his round hitting the merc center mass.
Mason looked down at the blood oozing up through the man’s wet-suit-clad chest and twisted his lips. “Thanks for the assist.” He glanced over his shoulder at Bran. “But I had that one.”
Bran shrugged and cocked his ears, straining to hear the sound of more swimmers in the water, or more men trying to slip stealthily aboard the cutter. But nothing breached the stillness except for the gentle lapping of the waves and the softthump-thumpof the boats rocking together.
The seconds ticked by. His breath held. And just when he thought it might be over, a voice split the odd peace of the night, sending an icy chill skittering down his spine.
“Madison Powers! Come out right now, and no one else has to die!”
* * *
1:15 a.m.…
“Mmm! Mmmm!” Gene grunted behind the length of duct tape covering his mouth. He struggled against his restraints and Tony’s death grip. For such a wiry old fart he was amazingly strong. Luckily Tony had three inches and thirty pounds on him, so he was able to muscle Gene closer to the rail of the yacht’s back deck without losing his hold.
“Shut up, Gene!” he snarled, pressing the pistol tighter against Gene’s temple and making sure to keep Gene in front of him.
Fifteen minutes…
Rory would arrive to implement Plan D in minutes.
Plan C had been for Tony to call in a Mayday. Once the Coast Guard cutter arrived to provide aid, the six armed men Rory had deposited on the yacht and in the surrounding waters would take out the Guardsmen and the two mystery men while Tony remained belowdecks with Gene. Then Rory’s guys would retrieve the bodies, grab Maddy and the girls, sink the cutter to destroy any evidence that might remain, and proceed with the original ransom scheme.
It was risky as hell. But Rory had assured Tonythisplan would be a slam dunk.
Some slam dunk.
As far as Tony could figure from the number of bodies littering the decks or floating in the sea around the two boats, all of Rory’s men were either dead or dying.
Thisnewestplan was devised during the quick, desperate phone call Tony had made when he realized their third attempt to secure Maddy and the teenagers and take back the bodies was going to hell in a handbasket. He had called for Rory to sail over as quickly as he could with the two men he’d kept with him as well as the two rocket launchers he had onboard.
“Stall them!” Rory’s voice had shouted through the satellite phone’s receiver, the sound of the trawler’s engines loud in the background but not nearly as loud as the Coast Guard’s mammoth machine gun as it set about chewing away chunks of the anchored yacht.
“And how would you suggest I do that?” Tony had screeched, cowering beside the bed in the main cabin, his ears ringing from the sound of the big gun. He reached for the bottle of scotch he’d brought down with him. Twisting off the cap, he took a healthy slug. The liquor burned his throat and belly, but he appreciated the heat. It told him he was still alive.
How much longer willthatlast?
