I flick the bag toward him, but Bishop snatches it out of the air. “And if Coco finds out you’re high on a job?”
Cruz shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels, gaze sweeping the trashed cabin like he’s bored. “What job? I thought we were just out for a midnight stroll on some asshole’s yacht.”
Rafe lets out a humorless bark of laughter. Bishop doesn’t even blink.
But me? My head’s not on the safe. Or the haul. Or the weed.
It’s still on the silhouette at the back of a fleeing boat.
The image won’t let go. Burned clean and bright behind my eyes. A fucking ghost I swore I’d stopped chasing.
The yacht feels too small all at once. The air too tight to get a full breath.
Cruz pushes off the counter with a sigh sharp enough to cut glass. “Okay. Let’s break this down. Someone hit this before us. Question is—who?”
“No one’s working this marina,” Rafe snaps. “We would’ve heard.”
Cruz tilts his head, unimpressed. “Please. You don’t even hear Bishop breathing unless he wants you to.”
“Who the fuck do you think taught him that?” Rafe flips him off without looking.
Bishop turns from the safe, gaze cold and razor-focused. “We’re missing something. Search it again. Top to bottom.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Walls, vents, lockers—every damn inch.”
Rafe grumbles but starts yanking cushions up again. Cruz ducks into the galley and begins tapping along the underside of the cabinets, listening for hollow points. Bishop moves with surgical precision—lifting, pulling, stripping the space for secrets.
And me?
I try to move. Try to focus. Try to stop seeing that silhouette burned onto the back of my eyelids.
Bellamy.
Couldn’t be her—couldn’t. But the shape of her body. The way she leaned when she ran. The quick, sure movements?—
Stop. Fuckingfocus.
I force my hands into motion, start opening drawers, but I’m not really seeing any of it. My body’s here.
My head is still on the pier.
Rafe slams a locker shut. “This is bullshit. Who the hell out here even knows the owner keeps cash on board?”
Cruz doesn’t look up. “No one, everyone.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“This was supposed to be an easy job,” Rafe bites out.
“Well,” Cruz drawls. “It wasn’t.”
Rafe’s jaw flexes like he’s swallowing all the shit he wants to say.
Bishop cuts clean through it. “If someone’s hitting the same marks as us, I want to know who.” His gaze sweeps the room, cold and assessing. “Before they fuck us on another job.”
Cruz straightens, eyes sharpening. “Could be a rival crew. Someone new, trying to cut their teeth. Or maybe some old player returned.” A devilish grin flickers. “Or, fuck, I don’t know. Maybe the guy fucked someone’s girl, and they took their revenge in cash.”
I look down at my hands. They’re steady. Too steady. Under the skin, they’re shaking like hell. I curl them into fists until my nails bite into my palms hard enough to anchor me.
Rafe scoffs. “You got a lot of ideas, don’t you, brother?”
Cruz’s grin goes feral. “You’d be surprised how many.”
