I would find out soon enough, and then both he and Grey would get what they deserved. By my own hands.
I hoisted Shorty higher into my arms. “Let’s head to the helipad.”
“I can walk,” she objected, but her body betrayed her, clinging to me like a spider monkey, her face buried against the side of my neck.
“Faster this way,” I murmured against the crown of her hair, ignoring her protests.
Birdie forced Moretti ahead at gunpoint, and to my surprise, she handed Isabella her backup weapon when she passed by. “You cover our back, monkey.”
Isabella nodded, and her expression shifted to focused determination.
These women were borderline frightening.
We navigated up the stairs and the yacht’s upper decks, encountering zero resistance. The storm’s intensity probably had most of the crew seeking shelter, or maybe Anton and Cristo had cleared the decks for us.
Then Isabella fired two shots before I even realized someone was behind us. I turned around. Two men dropped in slow-mo.
“I’ve got your back,” she explained at my surprised look.
“Remind me never to piss you off,” I said.
She winked at me, the unexpected playfulness catching me off guard.
Marcus stumbled ahead, occasionally requiring rough encouragement from Birdie’s weapon pressing into his back.
We encountered Anton and Cristo moving in from the opposite direction, both soaking wet from their own descent to the yacht.
“Cara’s still with Grey,” Cristo reported, his expression fierce. “They haven’t tried to board yet.”
Matt’s voice crackled over the comms: “Guys, I have bad news. I’ve got some engine troubles, so I need to head back, and the other boat is heading away from the yacht and toward open water.”
“Grey realized the yacht’s compromised,” Anton added. “He’s trying to escape with Cara.”
I processed this information instantly. “We can’t all fit,” I shouted over the rotor noise as we reached the helicopter with Hawk still at the controls. I looked at Anton, Cristo, then Birdie with Moretti.
Isabella’s arms tightened around my neck before she slid down and let go. “We need to get Cara.”
I clenched my jaw, my mind still reeling with Grey’s betrayal. How could the man I knew as my mentor be this fucked up? He was the one who’d formed me into a monster. Had made me what I was by forcing me to fight for my life, later using that knowledge to mold me into what…the perfect weapon?
Every muscle in my body tensed. Every instinct screamed for vengeance, for justice. For blood. Or maybe it was my programming. That single-minded focus on the target. The perfect killer Grey had created me to be. My body automatically moved toward the helicopter before I caught myself.
Isabella watched me. Probably saw the war raging inside me. “Go,” she said quietly. “Get your revenge. I can make it back on my own.”
The man I had been my whole life would already be moving, weapon ready, to exact revenge for a lifetime of manipulation and lies. But as I looked at Isabella—brave, fierce, the woman who had somehow broken through years of conditioning, had torn down my walls and turned everything upside down—I realized the truth.
This choice defined who I truly was. Chasing Grey meant I was still a weapon. Still the fighting machine he had created. To stay with Isabella meant choosing the man I wanted to become. The man who promised to himself and her brother to protect her, to bring her back, to make sure she was safe.
“Go and get them,” I barked into my comms while looking at Cristo and Anton, “Save Cara. And get Grey for me,” I ordered Anton, who probably didn’t understand how torn I was and the rage I was barely keeping in check.
I would tell him later…after.
Cristo nodded once with a dangerous intensity in his expression, then jumped into the helicopter. His eyes were fixed on the direction Grey had taken Cara.
“You think we should take the bird?” Birdie asked and pointed at Grey’s helicopter, which was strapped down on the helipad.
“Too much work. Let’s take the boat,” I said and looked at Birdie, who nodded and made sure Marcus’s restraints were secure, then pushed him forward.
I grabbed Isabella’s hand. “We’re making our way back by boat.”
